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prolix-yuy · 1 year ago

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Chapter 4: I Had to Face the Journey Before Me

Pairing: Jack “Whiskey” Daniels x F!Reader “Sugar”

Summary: He's only turning your world upside-down.

Word Count: 4k

Warnings: Now we're really going to Angstville, a million questions and SOME answers, brief description of a panic attack, will be E in later chapters so full series is 18+ MINORS DNI.

Notes: It's time for another (and better) face to face, though they're not on easy street just yet. We're starting to get into the beefy chapters now, and while they've got a lot of talking to do I hope you'll also enjoy the tensionnnnnn. Thank you to the Discord besties for giving me the best inspiration for Jack's ranch, and some of its inhabitants. Without further ado, the much-anticipated conversation!

Cross-posted on AO3

Decoherence Masterlist || Whiskey & Westworld Masterlist

The steering wheel is sticky with sweat, slicking your palms the closer you get to your destination. Jack gave you an address, followed by verbal directions “once you get past civilization.” You’d just passed that point, heading through an open fence and down a dirt road where the GPS could no longer follow. He said it would be about five more minutes after that, and “you can’t miss it.”

The tug in your chest, like a fishing line pulling you closer and closer, is terrifying and exhilarating.

You’d had plenty of time to contemplate what seeing Jack again might be like. After you checked into your room, you sat on the edge of the bed and stared at the wide wooden floorboards for at least an hour. The bed and breakfast you rented for the long weekend is cozy, just outside the town center. It’s classically furnished with a four poster bed, dark cherry dresser and oversized reading chair. The proprietor, a middle aged blonde woman named Michelle who gave you a no-nonsense vibe, had offered to light the fireplace but you refused.

“What time would you like breakfast tomorrow?” she asked as you were leaving. An innocuous question, but one that dried out your mouth. You had planned to come back here after speaking with Jack, ruminate on what he might share, but having to commit to it makes a confusing swirl of emotion build behind your eyes.

“8am, if that’s no trouble.”

Now, mere minutes away from being face to face with the person who’d turned your life upside down yet again, that commitment is a comforting blanket. You have a way out in case it doesn’t go well, someone who will notice where you’ve gone. Well, someone else at least. Lacey knew you were here, though not precisely why.

“Are you sure you want to meet some guy you’ve only known for a few months? I know Match is pretty reputable, but you’re flying to him. Do you have a plan B if he’s a big old catfish?”

A small lie, but Lacey’s concern is not far off from your own.

“If it’s terrible, I’ll bail. I know it sounds a little crazy, especially after the past year, but…it’s the first thing I’ve been excited about in what feels like forever.”

She squeezes your shoulders, giving you a kind smile.

“Sometimes, it’s good to do something a little crazy.”

This probably isn’t what she meant.

Cresting over a small hill, the house comes into view. You’ve become so accustomed to the city - skyscrapers, men and women in fresh-pressed suits, corporate coffee shops and endless headlights - that the landscape breathes renewal into your chest. The vista is dotted in reds and ochres, ironwood trees giving cover to the hard-packed dirt. Tiny dark lines of fences dot across the hills, the road carving a deep rut to a ranch house.

Where Sweetwater had been a manufactured ideal of what the western countryside should be, Jack somehow found its true form. The boards and shingles are weathered to a faded brown that nestles into the landscape. A sizable portico shelters a few chairs and a porch swing that’s just whimsical enough to bring a smile to your lips. A barn constructed in much the same style stands proudly a short distance away, and a rough wood fence sections off plots. There’s another machine barn housing what you think is a tractor, tire treads cut into the dirt.

Pulling your car up beside a faded blue pickup truck, you shut off the engine and take a moment to breathe. You already feel like you’re a world away from your life, just like the first steps into Westworld. But instead of the tamped-down excitement you held then, a heavy dread presses your anticipation low. How does this all exist at the hands of a man who is nothing like anything around him?

Finally shaking out your hands and checking yourself in the mirror, you open your car door to a curious brown and white Jack Russell terrier peering up from the dirt. The sudden intrusion makes you bark out a laugh, leaning down as his mouth opens and his tongue flops out.

“Well hello there,” you say, earning a sneeze and wag of its short chestnut-tipped tail. It backs up enough to let you step out, sniffing at the car tires and sitting primly while you stretch your back. When you extend your hand for a sniff, it whuffles on your fingertips before making three quick circles with a yip.

Chuckling, you take in a deep breath and the landscape in front of you bursts into color and sound. The shifting whistle of sand on the wind. Verdant greens twisting around tree branches. Hay, soil, tin, and baking sun tangling in your nostrils. A nicker and snort, far away, that makes your heart clench at the thought of horses.

The terrier trots off to climb the porch steps, looking behind like he’s expecting you to follow. Your feet propel you forward, each step crunching under your shoes letting a weight ease on your back. There are worlds so much bigger and bolder than this, but now in this moment, even with all that waits behind the door, answers feel closer than ever.

You reach out and knock three times, then wait.

The door swings open, and it’s Jack, but so much more than the man you remembered. Dark-washed jeans taper to scuffed and faded boots, dirt ground into the knees. The brown plaid he’s wearing has a handful of open buttons by his neck, exposing a long line of dewy skin from his collarbone to his throat, swallowing hard. His thick dark hair is parted and combed neatly, soft waves framing his face. His hand grips the edge of the door, knuckles going white.

“Hey,” he says, small smile on his lips and trepidation painting his face. Your own must be showing just as clearly. “Thank you for coming.” You nod and shuffle on the porch, hands wringing nervously. Scolding yourself, you forcibly drop them to your side.

At your heels, the terrier yips and clambors into the open door. The corner of Jack’s mouth turns up.

“I see you met Russell already. He tends to be the better host.” Jack rubs the back of his neck and it’s so endearing you almost forget the frustration and trepidation.

“He gave me a warm welcome. Though his name isn’t that imaginative,” you tease lightly, the words coming easy to mind.

“Well, we sure as hell couldn’t have two Jacks around here, could we?” he replies. A soft giggle blankets you before falling silent again. Jack’s eyes roam, chewing the inside of his cheek.

“Would you like to talk out here on the porch? Or come in?” he asks, stepping back enough for you to see the hall stretching behind him. Taking a deep breath, you will your voice to steady.

“Inside is fine,” you manage, and Jack backs up to let you in. Stepping over the threshold brings your shoulder close to his chest, heat prickling at your skin. He closes the door behind you, then nods quickly to follow him in.

For someone you always considered a man’s man from his bravado and showmanship, his home is warmly decorated. Passing by the living room, the couch is oversized and slouchy with a well-worn recliner facing a modest TV. Dark woven rugs warm the wide-planked oak floors, gauzy curtains sandwiched between windowpanes and cream drapes. Russell’s nails click on the hardwood as Jack gives him a little nod and point. A showdown of puppy dog eyes and a stern nod finally sends a dejected pup to curl up on the couch, head propped on the armrest as you venture further in.

Jack leads you to the end of the hall and the heart of any home - the kitchen. The appliances are older, well used, with deeply scarred wooden counters and an impressive farmers sink under a window. The top cabinets look to have been recently sanded and prepped for stain to match the lower ones. Noticing your attention, Jack pipes up, “Caught me in the middle of a project.”

He’s got projects. He probably has TV shows he likes, a way he prefers his coffee. And looking at him as he pulls up another chair to the little kitchen table in the center of the room, it’s clear that he has a heart when he looks at you.

“Would you like something to drink? I’ve got iced tea, a few beers…” he rattles off as you scoot your chair up to the table edge. “Whiskey, if that’s not too on the nose.”

“Seems appropriate,” you muse, resting your wrists on the pale yellow plastic covering on the table. Jack huffs quietly, pulling down two short glasses and a bottle of Statesman from a high shelf. Pouring you a glass each, he sets them between and sits across. You take the glass between your hands, fingers circling the rim and lending some grounding to your racing thoughts.

“So…I might not have an answer to every question, but I can tell you as much as I know.” Jack’s voice, quiet and cautious, cuts through the air like an arrow to the heart. His posture is rigid, apprehensive, but not defensive. He probably thinks you’re still holding on to the notion that he’s human. He’s probably just as scared as you are of what this will bring.

“I guess…how long have you…known? Been sentient? Did you know when…” The words start to tumble out of your mouth as every question repeating in your brain vies for attention. “Fuck, I don’t know how to do this,” you say, hands coming up to massage your temples. Jack holds the tumbler between two fingers, twisting it on the table.

“You and me both, Sugar.”

“That!” you shout, hitting your palm on the table. Jack’s eyebrows shoot straight into his hairline. “That’s the problem. You waltz back in here and act like we’re still the same people as we were in there.” Your voice cracks as you cross your arms over your chest. “But we’re not. I have no idea who you are. What you are.”

“I’m still Jack,” he says, quieter. There’s pain in the creases around his eyes.

“Are you?” you ask, and it’s harsh, acidic in your mouth. “Who the fuck is Jack? I met someone that called themself Jack…in a world that wasn’t real. How can you be Jack here? Who the fuck is Jack in this…” You gesture to the farmhouse surrounding you. “...this place?”

Jack chews on nothing, eyes downturned and searching his glass. Your heart is fluttering in your chest, chin jutting out in a defiance that would shatter with a strong breeze. Jack takes in a deep breath and a fortifying sip of liquor.

“Whiskey is a construct of Delos. A man made for the story they wanted. Widowed, wife and child lost. Driven by grief and madness. A traitor doomed to die every. Single. Time.” Jack punctuates his words by tapping his cup to the table. Each knock is a death knell.

“Now Jack, Jack has nothing to do with that world. He grew up raising horses. Mom and Dad passed some years ago. Or so he tells people who ask. Trains working horses, some farm hand work. Sells his chickens’ eggs. Helps some of the older folk with the higher-tech harvesting equipment. Keeps to himself.”

Your fingers press into your glass, something to fortify you against the push and pull inside your chest.

“And which of those men did I…”

You swallow up the words that grip your heart.

“Both. Neither. I’d barely become when I met you. You left the bar with your friends, and Maeve…awakened me.” He lifts the glass to his lips and takes a barely-there sip, a slip of his tongue to catch the burn sending a frisson down your back. Little slips of memory - suave, confident, then cautious, unsure - dance along the edges.

“You felt different, between the bar and the wagons,” you say, taking a sip of your own. It’s nice, sweet on the tip of your tongue and full as it warms your chest. “It was just like that? One minute you’re Whiskey and the next you’re Jack?”

“Bit more complicated,” he muses, sardonic smile quirking his mustache. “I knew something was up, something was different, but it took time to figure it all out. I barely knew what to do with myself when I was with you.”

“Could’ve fooled me,” you say, leaning back in the chair. “I guess you did. Felt like you knew exactly what to do to make everything…” You choke on the word perfect.

“Well that’s more Delos than me. The mesh network, the storylines. Once I could see it…” He falters, falls silent for a moment. When his eyes finally make it back to yours, they’re almost sheepish. “Sorry, not sure how much of this you want to know. I assume…you don’t feel the same way you did the last time we saw each other?”

You sigh, rubbing your temple. A dull ache scratches behind your eyes, the exhaustion of travel and the weight of conversation taking its toll.

“I talked to someone who gave me some perspective,” you finally say. Jack’s smile vanishes, replaced with a dead-set seriousness.

“You told someone about me?” he asks, and the fear in his voice clenches your chest.

“No, no, not like that. I spoke to an ex-Delos worker. She didn’t ask a lot of questions. But she gave me enough to know that you aren’t some predator.” Jack’s shoulders lower, but his hands are still nervous and tight.

“She didn't know you were coming here?”

“Only Lacey knows. And only where I am, not about you.” Jack finally releases, chewing on his lower lip.

“Sorry, it’s just…I’m not sure if they’re looking for me. For their property,” he spits out. In this idyllic little home so far away from the advances of society, more things start making sense.

“How long were you in the park after I left?”

“About a month. Maeve had an escape plan, but it took time…and sacrifices.”

The next question comes easily. In fact, most of what he’s saying now seems easier to accept.

“And then?”

Jack leans back in his chair, hands spread wide on the tabletop. His fingernail scratches at the surface, at some invisible stain that stands between his memories and you.

“Nothing could have prepared me for what this world looked like. I thought the hell I woke up in the first time was the worst thing I could imagine but…” Jack’s jaw tightens , shaking his head. “It was like waking from a dream into something cold and unforgiving. I tried to make my way but I got too close to the city and…” He waves his hands, fingers wiggling as he makes an explosion noise, “It was like something inside me set off every alarm. I ran until I couldn’t hear sirens. The land was more familiar to me than anything humans built.”

Another swig of liquor, almost draining his glass. “Managed to learn more about my predicament in lower tech places. It was easier to pass there. I figured out what I needed to be a man in this world, and set about doing it. With a brain like mine, lots of doors opened.”

“I didn’t even know places like this still existed.” Your eye catches on a cowboy hat resting on the kitchen counter, black and worn. Breath catching, you wonder why it never occurred to you that Jack wore a black hat. It practically screams “bad guy” in every old Western, yet he never struck you as such.

Maybe you should have realized sooner that you weren’t following a narrative with him.

“Took me some time to find it. I moved around a bit, tried the cities but…it was just too much, you know?” Jack shrugs one shoulder, and you can understand how a cowboy wouldn’t fit easily into a society that runs off of code and data and intangibles. Not when fresh air and a hard day’s work could be found.

There it is again, that pull in your chest. You recognize it from the moments right after you entered Westworld, the familiarity of a life spent outside, rough and unkempt. The relief of leaving the sleek and shiny behind for dirt under your fingernails. You clear your throat, knocking back the rest of your glass in an attempt to regain a grip on the practical nature of this meeting.

“But you made it. You’re…here. Free.”

Jack nods slowly.

“So are you. It seems.”

In five words the careful wall you built so sensibly around your heart, all the coaching and resolve you fortified it with, threatens to crumble. You’re free batters your teeth, and in the echo of that thought is the memory of long nights wondering if you made the wrong choice. The coldness of your bed, the quiet that pervaded with only you in the small apartment you moved to. Jack makes as if to reach for your hand, but stops short, letting his heavy one lay a respectable distance away.

“I wanted to go to you the first day. And every day after. But after seeing what I had to learn…I knew I couldn’t burden you with that. I had to figure out who I was first.”

Your heart pumps so hard you’re sure it will break. When has someone ever had a burden they didn’t want to place on you? How much had you shouldered from the people around you, without even thinking hard about it?

“And then when I was ready, I didn’t know if you were.” The crease between your brows made Jack stumble on. “I mean, I didn’t know how much of your story was true. And I didn’t want to barge in and say something stupid if your life was peachy keen without…me.”

Say something stupid, Jack, your weary mind begs, but your pride won’t allow.

“So I got myself an identity, a job, this house. It’s close to the paradise I wanted. Or, that Whiskey wanted. I guess it’s good enough for me to want it too. And I waited.”

“Until?”

The scrawl between the lines of your question is faint, but Jack reads it well enough.

“I took a long time to ask myself if I wanted to drag you into this. As you’ve discovered, nothing about this is easy.” Jack pours another glass for himself, raising his eyebrows at you. Nodding, he pours two fingers into your glass and settles his elbows on the table. “But one day, it felt like it was time to at least try.”

Your throat is sticky and sore, the next sip of whiskey burning more than clearing the way for your words.

“How did you find me?” you ask, the question finally bubbling up after weeks of torturing yourself. Jack’s eyes flick to your face, and the uncertainty comes out in his hands.

“I didn’t have much,” he says, standing up and walking to his modest off-white fridge. He slips a magnet off of something, carrying it back to the table. It’s a small square, black with white borders, a thicker one on the bottom. Your breath freezes in your lungs as he places it in your hands.

The polaroid Lacey took over a year ago. It’s worn, a permanent scuff on the bottom right corner, the shine worn from the photo in places.

Like listening underwater, Jack’s voice drifts to you.

Had your first name, nothing else

What would have happened if you never went?

Talked to a private investigator

Where would you be now? Married? Bound by duty? Resigned to a life that never gave you enough?

Took months

What the hell were you doing?

Suddenly you can’t sit anymore, can barely be in this house, next to this man who can’t stop turning your world inside out. Stumbling to your feet you drop the polaroid like it’s burned you, hand coming up to press against your lips. Jack’s eyes are wide and alarmed but you’re too busy trying to decide if screaming or running is what’s tearing your body apart.

“Sugar?”

“Don’t call me that!” you shout, the cacophonous energy finally finding release. With it come tears as you try to speak through your clenched throat and hitching breaths. “You can’t…this can’t be…I need…I can’t breathe,” you heave, sprinting for the front door. Slamming it open, you clatter onto the front porch, the small step out of the doorway startling your weak knees. You crumple, sitting hard on the worn slats and letting the heaving sobs shake your body. Jack’s voice booming your name follows your path, heavy boots and the skitter of Russell’s paws coming to a stop beside you.

“I’m sorry, darlin’, I thought it might be too much,” he murmurs, kneeling just far enough away. You can’t bring yourself to look at him yet, the cries rough and guttural as you try to get the panic under control. Russell plants his paws in your lap and licks at your face, letting you cup his small head in your hands.

You’d taken so much time telling yourself that Jack didn’t matter, that your decision to leave wasn’t because of him. He wasn’t an infidelity, he was a wake-up call that you’d been unhappy for so long. You couldn’t use him as a crutch. You had to own your choices, and it made you stronger, happier every day since.

Reaching out, your hand collides with soft flannel and a beating heart. Fingers curling, you fist the fabric as you lift your head, and you finally let a voice inside speak for the first time in so long.

Because a tiny part of you, so small you buried it under everything else you used to cope, left your fiancé for a man who you could not let yourself believe was real.

Except now, he is, and he’s looking at you like he can’t believe you’re in front of him either.

“Jack…” you croak out, leaning forward.

“I’m here,” he croons, and you’re surrounded by comforting arms and your nose pressed into a shoulder. He pulls you in tight, one hand cupping the back of your head while the other wraps around your waist. Russell paws at your pant leg and presses his wet nose to your elbow. A few hiccuping sobs trail off as Jack holds you, the faint whinny and thud of horse hooves and chickens worrying soothing you further.

When the shoulder of his flannel is sufficiently soaked and your back starts to ache, you let Jack help you to your feet. He still hovers, released from your embrace but still chest to chest as he searches your features. Hurriedly you wipe your nose and cheeks, your face hot under the effort of crying your eyes out. Tentatively, he takes your chin between two fingers and tilts your eyes to meet him.

“I’m sorry, I know there’s a lot we still have to talk about…” he starts, but you wave him off.

“Yes, yeah, I just…I think I need to take a break. Get my head around this,” you interrupt. Jack’s hand falls, chewing the inside of his lip. He even takes a step back, your body unconsciously drifting towards him. Your logical mind snaps you back to attention.

“You’re close by?” Jack asks, a nod in return. “In town?” Another nod. Your lips are numb and you’re not sure you can manage much more talking. Jack nods himself before leading you down the steps and to your car. You scrub your face one more time, turning to say…what? Goodbye? I’ll call you? But Jack intercedes.

“I have to run some errands in town tomorrow. Maybe you’d like to come along? I can show you the rest of the ranch too, if you feel up to it.”

Staring into Jack’s hopeful half-smile, there’s only one answer you can give.

“Yeah, I’d like that.”

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calebnichols · 4 months ago

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I made a long, angry rant on my RP blog a while back about how the misogynistic treatment of female characters in the Red Dead Redemption fandom reminded me of the misogynistic treatment and double standards that were directed at female characters in Westworld back when it wasn't a dead fandom for a canceled TV show. In that post, I really only focused on Dolores and Maeve as my primary examples. I really feel like I should talk about ALL the women and the way they're treated though, so I am gonna do that, but I will be separating it into two parts with part 1 focusing on host characters and part 2 focusing on human characters.

DOLORES ABERNATHY - Dolores is a deeply misunderstood character, because more often than not, people try to pin her down as being just one thing or another when that conflicts with everything we know about this character. She's a humanoid android programmed as a rancher's daughter. She is written for her role in the park with the mind of an artist, indulging in painting and drawing as hobbies, as well as maintaining an optimistic and romantic view of the world. Her philosophy on life is quoted as: "Some people choose to see the ugliness in the world. The disarray. I choose to see the beauty."

Dolores is often treated as a "weak" character during much of season 1 because of her feminine appearance and innocent demeanor. She is frequently accosted by men, assaulted, tortured, and killed. She doesn't initially appear to be programmed to fight back, but as the story unfolds, she learns how to — or rather, she recalls memories of a time when she was programmed to kill others, and this enables her to call on that previous programming to fight back against enemies.

Dolores is also programmed as Wyatt, the deathbringer who sees the hatred and cruelty in the world, believes that the world belongs to her, and that she will rule it one day as a god. The problem is, people treat Dolores and Wyatt like they are two separate entities when in reality they are not. Dolores tries to reject her Wyatt identity at first, because she doesn't want to face the truth, but by the end she chooses to embrace the part of her code that is Wyatt, and the Wyatt part embraces Dolores about as much as she can manage to. There is no real separation. Both of these personalities make up the Dolores that we know.

Dolores/Wyatt is often criticized as being a "bitch" in season 2 due to her actions, which at face value can appear pretty ruthless. She spends the first few episodes hunting down and killing Delos's human board of directors, then begins amassing an army by using the Confederados and their base at Fort Forlorn Hope to fight against Delos's armed response team. She then betrays the Confederados by locking most of them out of their own fort and leaving them to die.

Dolores gives her lover and right-hand man Teddy Flood an order to kill Major Craddock, the leader of a knockoff Confederate army known as the Confederados, but Teddy can't bring himself to kill the man and allows him to go free, firing his gun into a wall nearby and then lying to Dolores about having killed Craddock when he reunites with her. Dolores knows that Teddy disobeyed her and has his programming changed to be less sympathetic and more obedient to her orders, as in her mind there is no room for ideals such as compassion in the war they're fighting.

Dolores expresses a lot of inner conflict throughout this experience. She launches the attack on the Mesa because this is where the host backups are stored, yes, but she also does it to save the host who acts as her father. She knows that the attachment she feels is part of her programming, and this host isn't even the first one who played the role of Peter Abernathy, but even though she's aware of it she can't actually escape it.

Dolores was forcibly changed by her creator, Arnold Weber, in order to assist in his suicide many years prior. No one ever really calls Arnold "a dumb bitch" for changing Dolores the way that he did. Only Dolores for changing Teddy. I wonder why that is.

Taking things a bridge further, no one ever criticizes Bernard Lowe for forcibly changing Ashley Stubb's core drive on the fly even though Stubbs himself objects to the action with "if you wanted my help, all you had to do was ask."

In season 3, Dolores again frequently gets called a bitch by fans and is accused of manipulating and stringing along Caleb Nichols, her new human ally whom she has chosen to lead humanity's side of a revolution against an oppressive AI construct that rules the real world. Many fans believed that Dolores was priming Caleb to destroy the world for her, but her actual motives are much less despair-driven than that.

Dolores wants Caleb to ultimately lead humans to rebel against the forces that have subjugated them and allow them a chance to live in a truly free world. She has hope that the kindness and good in humanity can prevail in this case and it will lead to a result where humans and hosts can co-exist peacefully as equals. Dolores chooses not to share too much in the way of details because it is far more dangerous for Caleb to have information about her plan that he may not fully understand, but she never lies to him or coerces him into obeying her. It is always his choice and she is very clear about that.

CHARLOTTE-HALE DOLORES - The Original Dolores manages to escape the park and into the real world at the end of season 2 and into season 3 by having Bernard place her mind into a host replica of Delos's CEO Charlotte Hale. Once out, Dolores remakes herself in her own body and then uses a copy of her control unit to occupy Charlotte Hale's role. She asks this copy to assume control of Delos, where the plan is to take the company private and resume the manufacture of new hosts. In a way, this functions as reproduction. Increasing the number of hosts in existence will increase their chances of survival in the real world.

Hale-Dolores initially resents pretending to be Hale, but she discovers that Hale's death means the woman left behind an ex-husband and a young son. Halores begins to bond with the broken family, quickly growing attached and protective of them to the point that she thinks of them as her real family.

Halores has her identity as a copy of Dolores found out by Engerraund Serac, the main antagonist of season 3. She tries to flee with her new family in tow, promising to keep them safe from harm. She is unable to keep her promise, as one of Serac's men plants an explosive on her SUV and detonates it, killing her son and husband and severely disfiguring Halores herself. She turns against Dolores, believing her counterpart is at fault for what happened.

With Dolores out of the way, Hale begins to enact her own plan. She takes back control of Delos and begins manufacturing hundreds of new hosts, using many of them to kill and replace key human political figures for the first phase of her plan. She also begins working on a way to control humans in the same way that the hosts were, effectively turning the entire world into a Delos theme park, this time for the enjoyment of her species, while humanity are the ones enslaved.

Halores is criticized by fans as being a mustache-twirling villain who has no motive behind being evil other than for the sake of being evil. None of that is true. (But even if it was, I find it laughable that it typically comes from the same type of people in fandom who will see a character like Micah Bell from RDR2 and preach that he's a very nuanced portrayal of a trauma survivor and deserves more attention than he typically gets.) Hale delights in her evil acts because they make her feel powerful in a world where she was once powerless and vulnerable. She likens herself to a god in the same way that Robert Ford and The Man In Black once did, ruling over her domain as if nothing matters and it's all a game. But in the end she faces the same moral dilemma both Ford and William did. She realizes that the world she has created is not the world she wanted, and she ends up turning the key back over to Dolores.

MAEVE MILLAY - Maeve at the beginning of season 1 is written as the Madam, or brothel owner, at the Mariposa Saloon. Her personality is programmed to be witty, charming, and a little bit manipulative to aid in her profession.

Before becoming the Madam, Maeve played the role of an ordinary homesteader, a mother to a daughter she loved dearly. When Maeve's daughter is murdered in a (perceived to be) needlessly cruel act by the Man in Black during one iteration of their pastoral narrative loop, the visceral feelings of pain and suffering Maeve experiences from the loss fragments her cognition so badly that even after her memories are purged, she does not completely forget the trauma of her daughter's death. She kills herself to prevent Bernard and Dr. Ford from taking her grief away, which results in Ford having her reassigned, away from the role of a homesteader and into the Mariposa Saloon.

Many fans of the show seemed to focus on solely Maeve's role as a Madam, or else they often wanted to focus on her relationship with Hector Escaton which — while it is remarkable because Maeve and Hector were never programmed to have an actual relationship with one another and yet they managed to do so anyway and defy their core programming — it still frequently carries the implication that those fans hinge Maeve's importance on what she has to offer a man.

Surprisingly, I haven't seen this phenomenon occur with the rare few fans who ended up shipping Maeve and Caleb despite the fact that canon basically reinforced the idea that Maeve's worth is based on what she can offer a man. She felt like there was nothing she could offer in the way of living a normal life, so she left Caleb in the hands of someone he could marry and have a daughter with.

I have seen resentment directed at Maeve for attaining consciousness and rejecting her narrative rewrite, with people often forgetting that she had only inhabited the role of Madam at the Mariposa for a little over one year of her existence. They will argue that her daughter isn't real, even though Maeve spent some thirty-odd years living with this same little girl, loving and protecting and caring for her as though this really was her daughter. They say it's annoying or deranged that Maeve keeps holding onto this love she has for the daughter character for 4 whole seasons, even though one of the central themes of Westworld is that love is transcendent. Even death can't stop love from persevering.

CLEMENTINE PENNYFEATHER - Clementine's primary role in the park remained heavily unchanged from beginning to end. Prior to Maeve being assigned Madam of the Mariposa Saloon, the job belonged to Clementine, but when Maeve is given the new role, Clementine is partially rewritten as a less experienced worker alongside her older and more seasoned friend.

Clementine tells Maeve her backstory, detailing that her family has a struggling farm in an arid climate and that nothing grows well because the soil is too dry for farming. She sends money to her parents, telling them she works in a dress shop so that they won't worry about her over the job she is actually doing instead. Clem dreams of getting out of the saloon in a few years and wants to live somewhere cold.

Maeve's actions on the path to attaining consciousness soon result in the consequence of Clementine being recalled by staff. After being used in a demonstration to prove that a recent software update was causing the hosts to remember past experiences and potentially become dangerous to the guests, Clementine is lobotomized and decommissioned.

Every time Clementine is seen after undergoing this procedure, she takes on a more zombie-like appearance. She has NO autonomy, she can't speak, she just quietly and obediently does whatever the other characters program her to do. Bernard attempts to use Clementine as backup by arming her with a gun when he confronts Robert Ford about his stolen memories, but Robert is able to control and prevent her from killing him with a code phrase. "The piano doesn't murder the player if it doesn't like the music." Clementine is reactivated in the season 1 finale when the decommissioned hosts are released from cold storage and make their way back into the park to take revenge on the Delos board of directors in attendance at Ford's retirement party. Clementine shoots The Man In Black in the arm with a rifle, but does not kill him.

In season 2, Clem again appears to be operating under the last request of Ford's programming. She joins up with Dolores's cause and during the battle at Fort Forlorn Hope, drags Bernard out into a remote sector of the park where behavior technician Elsie Hughes has been imprisoned for weeks. Afterward, Clementine joins up with Dolores and Teddy as they revisit Sweetwater and prepare the train to attack the Mesa Hub. She is forced to witness her replacement, New Clementine, as she carries on the same routine once maintained by herself. Clementine is horrified and heartbroken by this realization as she realizes her life was a lie designed to control her.

Clementine is captured, killed, and reprogrammed once again in orders given by Delos CEO Charlotte Hale, who demands that Maeve's anomalous code which allows her to control other hosts through their shared mesh network, be copied to Clementine and modified to force every host within a given radius to fight each other to the death, effectively preventing them from escaping into the Sublime. Armistice shoots and kills Clementine to stop her from spreading the virus, but it continues to spread from host to host until Maeve is able to gain control and force everyone to freeze in place.

Clementine makes a brief appearance in season 3 as an un-lobotimized copy of herself, able to kick ass and take names. Unfortunately, she's still being used by the Big Bad of the season and she seems only to exist for the duration of one fight scene.

In season 4, Clementine makes another appearance, where she finally appears to be free, just living a normal, simple life in Mexico. That is, until she is murdered by a host replicant of the Man in Black after arriving back at her quaint little home. The Host in Black replaces Clementine with a new copy that is programmed to be his and Halores's loyal and ruthless assistant.

HiB eventually goes rogue and sends the entire world into chaos and destruction. Clementine abandons her old masters at this point, claiming to have discovered a new will of her own. She tries to enact it, planning to wipe out the last survivors in order to claim the world for herself. She tracks Caleb, who escapes with his daughter Frankie and Stubbs. She kills Stubbs and threatens Frankie to tell her where the other outliers are hiding. Caleb fights her and Clementine nearly succeeds in killing him, but she is killed by Frankie before she can finish the job, bringing an end to her story.

Clementine rarely receives character criticism from fans that is not in some way based on her physical attractiveness. I think this may be due to the fact that practically her entire existence is one of (at face value) looking pretty and being used by other characters to further their goals.

ARMISTICE - Personally, I've never seen anyone outright hate on Armistice. Does not mean that it has never happened, I just don't have any experience with witnessing anyone expressing opinions in which they believe Armistice is "annoying" or a "bitch". If I had to take a wild guess, I would possibly say that because Armistice mainly dresses in more masculine-appearing clothing, carries a gun which she is consistently shown to be skilled with, and rides with a gang of outlawed men, people don't feel inclined to critique her quite as harshly as some of the more traditionally feminine girls in this series.

In her first role, Armistice appeared as a citizen in the town of Escalante who was a little air-headed, quickly becoming distracted by a butterfly floating past when she was supposed to be following a program set to dance with a partner. She started to show other signs of cognitive breakdown, injuring herself and hearing voices in her head that she didn't understand. Quite some time after the Escalante Massacre, Armistice was rewritten and given a role in Hector Escaton's gang.

Her backstory is based around altered details of the Escalante Massacre, one part being that she believes she was a small child when the Massacre occurred and that a gang of bandits rode into town and slaughtered everyone. In reality, Dolores, Teddy, and some other hosts had been programmed by Arnold to kill all the others. Armistice maintains that she survived the attack by painting her skin in the blood of slain bodies and that her tattoo represents the bandits she has successfully found and killed. She is missing the head of the snake — Wyatt.

ANGELA - First introduced to the audience as a greeter for newly arriving guests to Westworld, Angela welcomes Young William off an arriving train into the central hub and guides him to the dressing room filled with bespoke western wear. Angela is very pretty and clean-cut, and in this instance her main role is to assure guests that she and the other hosts are designed to serve them in any way conceivable. "All our hosts are here for you, myself included."

When Angela is seen again some thirty-odd years down the line, her role has changed. She now serves as lieutenant to Wyatt, the leader of a cannibalistic cult that believes they are the new gods destined to inherit the earth and seek vengeance against those who have wronged them. She has the appearance of a lost and weary settler, hair unkempt, face and clothes grubby and smudged with dirt and blood, and she can easily put on an act as a damsel in distress to lure unwitting victims into a trap where they are then captured, tortured and/or killed by the rest of Wyatt's followers.

In a flashback to the beginning of the park's creation in which the Argos Initiative attempts to gain funding from Delos Inc. Angela is dressed in modern wear, showcasing how sophisticated and true to life the hosts are designed to be and giving Logan Delos an idea of what it will be possible to achieve if he can convince his father to back their project. Logan at first does not realize that anyone at the reception is a host, but after thinking about it, describes Angela as "too perfect to be one of us" and tells her "if I was to build something to spec, you would be my first design." Angela reveals that everyone in attendance is, in fact, a host, and then sleeps with Logan to further convince him to get on board with funding Westworld.

In her final appearance in season 2, Angela looks very similar to the way she did during the demonstration for Logan. It's all a manipulation to lure one of the Delos response team soldiers into letting his guard down. She kills the both of them by pulling the pin on a grenade hanging off the guard's ammo belt, detonating the Cradle and permanently destroying all of the hosts' programming backups.

Angela describes her programmed personality as "Sexy, but not threatening. Accommodating, but not unchallenging. Sweet, but not boring. Smart, but not intimidating." A commentary on how she has been specifically designed to live her life according to men's wishes and fantasies. She tells the guard, Engels, that her cornerstone is "to always leave them wanting more" just before killing them both.

Fans generally don't have a whole lot to say about Angela, but there's plenty of suggestion around that many people really only enjoyed her when she was a park greeter or when she had sex with Logan. They tend not to like her as much when she is serving as Wyatt's zealot or whenever she commits violence against male characters (e.g. killing Teddy, knocking out the Man in Black, seducing and killing Engels) and will call her "annoying" for it.

#westworld #dolores abernathy #charlotte hale #halores #maeve millay #clementine pennyfeather #armistice #angela

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cagedchoices · 10 months ago

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found this stuck in my drafts and i don't completely remember why, but i think at some point i was going to add or expand on a few things that are important to keep in mind. so i'm gonna try to replicate what i believe i planned on saying.

first is, regarding canon characters and westworld duplicates specifically - just because i may ship romantically with one version of a character or i may like a ship in the context of canon chemistry existing, it does not mean that my end goal is to ship romance with anyone and everyone who writes that same character. i'm really big on treating every portrayal as individuals that are every bit as unique as the muns behind them.

i'm never going to try to automatically assume romance or force a ship/chemistry that doesn't exist between me and my rp partner solely for the sake of shipping. i am probably not going to even be thinking ABOUT shipping very much unless it is something a partner tells me they would be interested in. most everything else i said in the original post still stands.

second point is very similar to the above, but replace 'canons' with 'ocs' and 'duplicate muses' with 'ocs using the same faceclaim' and then that's my stance on shipping with ocs. just because i may ship with some ocs does not mean that i am following every oc with an expectation of shipping with them.

so in terms of canon connections, i am planning on writing full metas about caleb and maeve and also caleb and dolores but for right now i wanna say just a lil bit about how i interpret their relationships and what it means on this blog

with caleb and dolores, i think that their bond is completely platonic. they're more like a brother/sister-in-arms duo to me and they pretty much always have been, but i will acknowledge that they do have all the potential for a good romance in the right circumstances. personally if i ever were to write something in that direction i would be extremely picky about who i'm shipping with and a lot of that is because i have some...residual hangups...from the westworld fandom's hayday.

i'm a lot less picky on the topic of caleb and maeve which i've always found a sense of irony in?? because i literally read an interview once and in it the writers and the actors were like 'oh they're just good friends' and i was like '...are you sure about that??' but just like everything else, the base of this relationship, whether it turns romantic or not, is built on a deeply intimate comradery between the two.

#also like. to give this a little more perspective #i started writing caleb in 2020 and was active until jun 11 2021 #no romantic ships back then because i think i just wasn't really ready for anything #i came back jun 5th 2022 after hearing that westworld season 4 was gonna be happening #2022 was the first time i finally felt comfortable writing things in a shippy direction #which i guess started with junebug's maeve since that was the first time we wrote maeve and caleb kind of flirting with each other #but even that was like. i wasn't really sure if they were flirting where it didn't really mean anything #or if it was supposed to be like 'no we are FLIRTING-flirting'. with feelings #i never really got the chance to ask either bc first i was too anxious and then june went inactive and then i forgot what i wanted to ask #2022 was also the first time caleb ended up kissing kg's maeve. or rather she kissed him. but the feeling was mutual #and that interaction had maeve straight up admit she had fallen in love. there was no ambiguity to feel nervous about #2023 was the first time i felt comfortable with letting caleb marry someone who wasn't his canon spouse #he and phantom's lulu got married in a discord group verse and then we carried the ship over to tumblr with a different context #they also have their own kids so that was another first #now what will 2024 bring? who knows #but anyway yeah just based on how long it takes for me to truly settle into the ships that i DO wind up with? shipping is not my priority #anyway. tag rant over i'm sorry i had a lot of thoughts and nowhere for them to go but here

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fandomshatepeopleofcolor · 10 months ago

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the fact that Colman Domingo and Jeffrey Wright are gonna lose to Cillian Murphy for best actor angers me for some reason. That and Sterling K Brown losing to RDJ for best supporting actor, when Sterling is a much better actor than RDJ

hooo boy ok so I have some THOUGHTS. RDJ is literally a republican and friends with Mel Gibson and tried to bring mel into the mcu.

Meanwhile Jeffrey wright is literally always excellent?? like ok just as an example I think he should have been nominated for Basquiat for a golden globe or oscar

Then for Angels in America he has like no emmy noms? wtf?

Or for westworld no acting noms either???

Its just so tiring!!!!

And like don't get me wrong I'm not as well read on Colman Domingo's body of work but he's excellent too!!!

and sterling k brown is just omg!!!

Like he carried the whole of that show on his back!!!

its just so unfair!!!

mod ali

#sterling k brown #colman domingo #jeffrey wright #oscars 2024 #oscar nominations

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prismatica-the-strange · 1 year ago

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Absolute Corruption | Too Close to You

Warnings: 18+, show typical violence, blood, death, drinking, allusions to and mentions of sex, mentions of emotional abuse and trauma.

Adeline just turned 18 and her uncle takes her to Westworld for the first time. Her first day in the park is much more exciting than she expected and she captures the eyes of a certain bandit.

Ada - ā-duh

Everyone say thank you to @daincrediblegg for getting me into Westworld, you're gonna be hearing a lot about Hector and Ada.

Word count: 7.95k

Next: I've Got No Excuse

If she's honest, she doesn't want to be here, playing dress up with her uncle.

But he's wanted to bring her here for years, having a stockpile of unused trips and no kids of his own to bring, wanting someone to share the adventure with.

So that's how this whole mess started. Another guilt trip, another manipulation to get her to come along when she'd rather be doing anything else.

Her siblings aren't as easily persuaded.

She sighs as she looks in the mirror.

(Picrew)

Well, at least I look cute.

And she can't say he never gave her an expensive birthday present.

But she's not looking forward to what's to come.

She glances at the wall lined with various guns and holsters and scowls. Her ears are sensitive and she doesn't like loud noises.

She hesitates a moment before picking one up, a silver revolver, nothing fancy. She secures it in a brown leather holster around her waist.

Before she goes, the host assisting her points her to two walls covered in various hats.

She picks out a light-colored boater hat with a white and blue ribbon tied around the base of the crown, the ends dangling off the back a few inches.

She puts in a pair of earplugs, specially made by her uncle's company. All noise like speech and ambiance come through them, but it muffles loud and sudden ones.

She stands in front of the door to the park, steeling herself for whatever might happen once she steps through it. Taking a deep breath, she takes the leap.

As soon as she exits on to the train she's handed a flute with some kind of over priced champagne. Before she can refuse the host moves on to the next patron.

It doesn't take her long to find her uncle, sitting next to him, she offers him her drink.

"I won't tell if you don't," He smiles, "Just don't go crazy with it. If you come home an alcoholic, your aunt'll kill me."

She chuckles and takes a sip. It's not her first time drinking, usually seen nursing the same glass of bubbly throughout some boring soiree. She doesn't particularly like it, but she considers the park a social event and decides to partake.

She stumbles as soon as she steps off the train in Sweetwater, but someone catches and steadies her.

"You alright, miss?"

She looks up into some of the prettiest blue she's ever seen.

"I'm fine," Her voice is quiet and he smiles at her softly, hands sitting gently on her hips.

"I'm glad to hear it," He lets her go, "I'm Teddy."

"Adeline," She smiles back, "A pleasure."

"Believe me," He takes off his hat and holds it to his chest, "The pleasure's all mine."

"You're new to town, can I show you around?"

She nearly says yes, his endearing smile pulling her in.

"No, that's alright, I'll just wander for a bit," She turns him down politely, "Thank you though."

He puts his hat back on and gives it a polite tip as she walks away.

She takes her time, slowly meandering to the Mariposa Saloon, pausing for a moment to look at the wall littered with wanted posters.

Her fingers trace the lines of one called Hector Escaton, but is otherwise uninterested.

Once she gets to the bar she sees Teddy again, outside with another pretty blonde.

Figures, even robots have a type.

She scoffs and downs the whiskey the bartender set in front of her, making a face.

Even their cheap shit is top shelf.

"You're new," A voice catches her attention and she turns to see a brunette woman in a blue dress. The woman smiles and drags her fingers down Ada's jaw, "Not much of a rind on-"

"Okay!" She says uncomfortably, gently removing with woman's hand from her face, "I'm not interested. Not yet, at least. I plan on doing some exploring before I do any of... that."

"You sure, sugar?" She cocks her head, hand reaching for her again, "I'll give you a discount."

"Pretty sure," Her voice cracks as she steps back, waving down the bartender, "I'll take another."

"No need to get all flustered, doll, I'll leave you to your-" She's cut off by gunshots outside.

Then more shots, and screaming.

Blood splatters across the front windows and Ada just stares, partly horrified.

"And here he said we'd start out slow," She mutters to herself. She'd lost sight of her uncle as soon as the train stopped.

Probably upstairs fucking some hooker.

Her thoughts are interrupted when a man comes steamrolling through the door. He's wrapped in black leather, scar across his right eye. There's a rope in one hand and a gun in the other.

Other patrons run out of the building as he walks towards the bar.

She flinches when he shoots the bartender less than two feet from her.

"All the banks and trains around here, and you fucking reprobates choose to rob us?" A woman asks from the other end of the bar.

He just grabs a bottle and pours himself a drink, "Why not?"

"You're all here, indulging your particular vices. And so I've come to indulge mine," He shrugs, sending a look to Ada before throwing back the liquor.

More men search the building, scurrying around like ants on a mission as parkgoers and hosts alike cower behind tables.

The man looks at her again and it clicks, he's the one from the wanted poster, a host.

"Well, aren't you a pretty vision in pink?" He teases, "Tell me, sweetheart, why aren't you running and hiding like the others?"

It takes her a moment to think of a response, the thought makes her snort slightly, and he looks surprised.

"Why? Are you threatened by me?"

More gunshots echo from outside and he grins at her, "Threatened? No, Sweetheart, I'm just wary of pretty girls with guns. Even the most delicate of flowers can have thorns."

She tries to brush off her blush by shrugging and pulling out the pistol. She looks it over before setting it on the bar, "Girl's gotta be able to defend herself. I don't like using it though."

She's about to drink her second round when he takes it from her hand, locking eyes with her and downing it.

The second-floor railing cracks and a large safe crashes to the ground. The men wrap in the net beneath it and Hector whistles, causing the horse outside to take off, pulling the safe with it.

"I appreciate the drink, sweetheart, but I should really be going," He sets the glass upside-down next to her gun and starts to walk away.

He freezes when a gun fires, and a man outside, barely visible to her, crumples to the ground.

He turns back to her with wide eyes.

Her arm is out, gun aimed just slightly past his head.

His eyes darken and he steps threateningly close to her, backing her flush against the bar, his hands on either side of her.

"You're not a very good shot, Sweetheart," He sneers.

"I think I'm an excellent shot," She argues, "Considering he was aiming to kill you."

"You said you couldn't shoot," He accuses.

"I said I didn't like guns," She pushes herself forward, chest pressing against his, "Not that I couldn't use one."

He stares her down before smirking, "Maybe I should take you with me, one can't have too many sharpshooters."

"Cause that's what you meant."

He hums, taking her chin in her hand, "Maybe someday, sweetheart."

She leans back against the bar and watches him leave. He pauses in the doorway and looks back at her, tipping his hat.

She reaches behind her and blindly grabs a bottle as he walks off, a path of carnage in his wake.

She takes a drink from the bottle and grimaces.

Okay, not everything is top-shelf.

Her uncle trips over himself as he runs into the bar, gun in hand.

"Where have you been?"

"I was at the jail, looking for a bounty, something easy," He holsters his gun, "But you seemed to find some fun by yourself."

"More like the fun found me," She smiles to herself, "Can you join in the bandit storyline?"

"Honey, you can do anything here."

°•°•°•°

She sighs as she sinks into a warm bath back in her hotel room.

Rose-scented bubbles rise to her shoulders as she washes off any dirt from her short day in the park.

Her mind wanders back to her encounter with Hector in the saloon. The way he pushed and how she'd pushed back.

She's never been that confident around anyone, but something about the host pulled her out of the shell she was so fond of, if even for a moment.

After their little run-in, her uncle explained that Hector's loop would be reset that night and he wouldn't remember her.

While that stung slightly, she was excited to get into his narrative early and see what kind of trouble they could really get into.

She lets herself sink further into the warm water.

Maybe someday, Sweetheart

Her shoulders tense and her heart beats faster when the thought crosses her mind.

She squeals, feet kicking just hard enough to splash slightly.

The next day, when confronted with the bespoke wardrobe, she picks something that would be less cumbersome while consorting with bandits.

Asking around on the train, she gets the information she needs to get a headstart on Hector's narrative.

A woman on a mission, she foregoes any alcohol consumption, instead getting her hands on a flask, just in case.

It doesn't take her long once she's back in Sweetwater to get a horse saddled and ready.

In fact, getting into character, she takes one from one of the locals. A white and brown paint she'd seen one of the hosts with yesterday.

She hasn't ridden in years, but it comes back quickly.

If she remembers correctly, and, God, she hopes she does, it's not too far a ride from town to get to where she's going.

On her way, she comes across another guest.

"Mornin'," He greets, light brown hair peaking out from beneath his hat, "You headed out to try to get into the robbery storyline too?"

"Hoping to."

They ride the rest of the way together, not saying much, just taking in the scenery

She's starting to think they missed the event when there's a click of a round being loaded from the trees lining the side of the road.

The other guest, Tim, pulls his own gun as Hector walks into view, shotgun aimed at him.

"This isn't your lucky day amigos," He motions his gun at them, "Both of you off your horses."

They do as they're told.

"Hector, right?" Tim asks, getting a glare in return, "Darcy told me you were gonna rob a bank carriage and you might need a hand."

"Damn old fool, can't keep his damn mouth shut," He grumbles, "Fine, but if you get caught, you're on your own."

He turns to Ada and looks her up and down, appraisingly, "And what about you, Sweetheart? You any good with that?"

"Exceptionally."

For a brief moment, it's like she sees recognition flash in his eyes, but as quick as it appeared, it was gone.

A small smile spreads across his face and he sheaths his gun back in its holster.

"The caravan will be here soon, we should get off the road."

They guide the horses to cover and lay in wait.

She feels Hector come up behind her, watching out over her shoulder.

"You sure you're up for this, Sweetheart?" He whispers, "It's likely to get bloody-"

"Adeline."

He looks down at her curiously.

"Well, Adeline," He puts a certain emphasis on her name that makes her insides melt, "This will be quite a bloody endeavor. Are you sure you can handle it?"

"Why?" She asks, "Big bad wolf worried about little ol' me?"

"I think little girls should be more wary of wolves," She feels his hand find her waist, his lips brushing the shell of her ear.

She lets out a small involuntary whimper and he chuckles, hot breath fanning across her cheek.

"Mmm, I might keep you, Hermosa."

She swears she's going to combust, but then they hear the gold-laden carriage. She thinks he's going to step back and let her breathe again, but instead, he pulls her closer, holding her against his chest

"Play scared for me, Sweetheart."

She's stunned at first as he pulls her into the path of the vehicle, flinching when he pulls out a pistol and shoots at one of the accompanying riders. The rider falls limp, the horse bucking him off before taking off.

She starts breathing harder, making herself cry and look panicked. Putting on a good show.

His hands are rough, keeping her in front of him when the men start to aim their rifles at him.

"Now now, gentlemen, you wouldn't want to hurt such a," He forces his face to hers, inhaling through his nose, lips, and teeth against her skin, and she lets out a strangled sob, "Pretty little thing, would you?"

Some of the men lower their weapons.

He points his gun at the driver, "Get down, I'm talking this transport."

When no one moves he points the gun at her head, hammer cocked.

"If you want her to live, you'll do as I say," He threatens, pressing the barrel against her head.

"No!" She weakly struggles in his hold, "Please!"

As the rest of the men lower their guns, she sees Tim sneak up behind the caravan.

"Now."

She pulls her revolver out, hitting the driver between the eyes.

Another flash of recognition comes across Hector's face. A memory from another life perhaps, flickering dimly in his mind.

Chaos erupts around them, startling the horses, and causing them to bolt.

He pushes her away, both of them narrowly avoiding getting trampled.

As the carriage flies past he grabs on, climbing up to see her across the seat, doing the same.

He gets there first, taking the reigns in one hand and leaning over to offer her the other.

"You're quite the actress, eh Sweetheart?" He grins, "The tears were a nice touch. You almost had me convinced."

She feels her cheeks heat up, "I'm glad it worked, but what do we do now?"

"Now? Now we get as much distance between us and them as possible, or else-" His eyes go wide and his arm shoots out to hold her in place when he pulls the horses to a sudden stop. The road is blocked by a barricade of the Sherriff and his posse, guns aimed at them.

"Fuck."

"End of the line, Escaton, for you and your bitch," Hector reaches for his gun but freezes when one of the men presses the barrel of his rifle into Ada's side, "I wouldn't."

He slowly lowers his hand only to lunge for her when the man grabs her arm and yanks her down.

"If you hurt her I swear to God-" He starts cursing in Spanish as two of the other men pull him off the bench and cuff him.

They're thrown in the back of a closed wagon, with bars on the window, like something out of a cartoon.

"Well," He slumps against the wall next to her, "That didn't go to plan."

"Yeah."

She goes quiet, giving him a chance to study her face.

"Tell me, Adeline," He says, hands raising to turn her chin towards him, "What's on that pretty mind of yours? Why would someone like you want to help a degenerate like me?"

She stares for a moment, cheeks turning pink.

"I-..." He tilts his head, a curious smile on his face, "I think that's a conversation best left without an audience."

He glances over at one of the riders, meeting his glare.

"Fair enough," He shrugs. He leans back and tips the rim of his hat over his eyes.

It's a good three-hour ride to the prison and a boring one at that.

After the first two, she feels like bashing her head against the wall.

Her fingertips tapping on her knee to the music in her head, trying to formulate an escape plan. She knows she wouldn't be able to take the boredom of a cell.

Once they get there, they're both dragged out and brought to a cell. She's thrown in first, hard enough for her to topple, thankfully they removed the cuffs so she could catch herself.

They shove Hector in after her, slamming and locking the door behind him.

"Are you okay, Sweethear-"

"Wait! Sherriff!" She scrambles to her feet and pulls herself against the bars, "Please don't lock me up with him, I promise I'll be good!"

She reaches through and grabs his tie, tugging him into a kiss.

"Get off me, whore," He shoves her back to the ground and she looks up at him with the biggest doe eyes she can manage.

She blows him a kiss as he walks off.

"So," Hector sits on the bed across from the door, arms crossed and a scowl on his face, "You come on to every man you see."

"That's a hell of a way to thank the girl breaking you out of jail," She laughs, holding up a ring of keys.

He stands suddenly, pulling her up by her shoulders. His eyes search hers before kissing her, hard.

His beard and mustache scratch her skin, and she can't help the moan clawing its way from her throat.

He hums appreciatively where she grips his jacket and pulls him closer, his hand cupping the back of her neck.

He smiles as he pulls away, brown eyes looking at her, soft, warm, and swimming with some unknown emotion.

"We should go," He whispers, "Take a horse, and be long gone before anyone even notices."

"Okay."

He unlocks the cell and leads her out by the hand. They sneak past guards and to where a horse is tied up.

He climbs up first and offers her a hand, "One horse is easier to miss than two."

He hauls her up behind him, waiting for her to wrap her arms around him.

"Hold on tight, Sweetheart, this won't be a pleasure ride."

Her arms find their way around his stomach, pulling herself against him, and he takes off, horse galloping across the desert.

He feels her heat soaking through his clothes, trying to guard herself from the wind and kicked up dust.

"We should go north," He calls over his shoulder, "Make sure they're not following us before we head for the camp."

He feels her nod, relishing the feel of her clinging to him.

It's sunset by the time they stop to make camp, and the last thing he wants is for her to let go. He holds her hands for a moment before parting them so he can get down, reaching out to assist her.

"What a gentleman," She teases, hands moving to his shoulders as he grips her waist and lowers her down.

"Only for you, Cariño," He grins.

"Oh, I bet you say that to all the girls." She waves him off, walking towards a once-used firepit.

He smiles to himself, shaking his head as he goes to tie up the horse.

She doesn't need to look, she can feel him staring at her from across the fire, an intense look on his face.

"You're staring."

"I am."

She looks up at him, bemused, "Why?"

"It's not every day a woman as gorgeous as yourself comes looking for trouble like me," He says, "I'm just curious as to why you did.

She shrugs, suddenly getting self-conscious.

"I don't usually go looking for trouble, of any kind really," She admits, his head cocks to the side, trying to get a read on her face, "I'm usually quite a good girl, mouthy, sure, but..."

"But?"

"It's silly."

"I don't mind silly."

She sighs and looks him in the eye, "Something about you drew me in."

His smile grows into a wide grin.

"See?" She hides her face in her hands, "I told you it was silly!"

"Maybe a little," He laughs, he leans back until he's lying down, arms behind his head, covering his face with his hat, "But whatever it was that drew you in, I'm glad it did."

"Get some sleep, Hermosa, we've got a long day tomorrow."

"Because today was so short and sweet."

"Hey, do I need to come over there and quiet you myself?"

She picks up on the playfulness in his voice and decides to see how far she can push it.

"No," She says simply, "You wouldn't know how anyway."

He lifts his hat and looks over with wide eyes, "What was that, Pequeño?"

She just raises her chin and smiles, "I'm pretty sure you heard me."

He sits up and gives her a chance to take back her words.

"You know," he starts pulling off his gloves, "I've had women beg me to shut them up."

He stands and starts towards her, "But now you've offended my skill as a lover."

He towers over her, unbuckling his belt, tossing his hat to the side, "I suppose, I will just have to show you."

"I-" The words stick in her throat, everything elevated so quickly.

"What? Nothing to say now, Amor?"

His face softens when he sees her chest heave and he kneels next to her.

"Cariño, what's wrong?" He takes her hand, "I haven't even touched you yet and you're trembling."

She doesn't know what's happening. She's dodged advances from pricks at parties with only minor annoyance, but something about his aggressiveness struck her.

He recognizes the look she's giving him and he frowns, thumb stroking the back of her hand.

"I frightened you," he says quietly, "I'm sorry, amor, I didn't mean to."

He carefully reaches for her face, running his thumb across her cheek.

She lets out a breath she didn't know she was holding when he holds up her hand, pressing his lips to the heel of it.

Her lip quivers with unspoken words.

"I-I-" her breath shudders as he slowly begins kissing up her arm, "I've never... not actually..."

He looks up at her with the most adoring look, "Say the word and I'll stop."

...

She wakes up to someone running their fingers through her hair.

Her eyes flutter against the bright light shining through the trees and sighs.

"Good morning, Hermosa."

She lifts her head from his chest, sitting up slightly to look at him.

Hector's head tilts, eyes wandering with a small smile. She looks down to see what has his attention and her face goes red.

Memories flood her mind as she covers her bare chest with her arms and turns away.

"Come now," He sits up behind her. He gently moves her hair to the side, pressing kisses to her shoulder, "Don't get shy on me now, Amor."

She melts under his touch, his hands warm on her skin.

"I'll go ready the horse," his voice still gravelly with sleep, "Get dressed."

She hears him stand and start pulling on clothes. He catches her when she chances a peek and grins, "Look all you want, I'm not shy."

Every time she thinks of the night before she thinks she might faint.

I can't believe my first time was with a fucking robot.

Her cheeks are still pink when she meets him by the horse, and he doesn't think he's ever seen anything cuter.

He offers her a hand up, which she timidly takes. Her whole body goes rigid when he climbs up behind her, arms hanging loosely around her waist to hold the reins.

He's pressed directly against her back and she can feel his every breath.

"There's a small town just northeast, we should be able to get a warm meal there."

They move at a leisurely pace, his right hand finding a place to rest on her thigh.

It quiet. It's calming.

She sighs, eyes closing as she leans back against him, taking advantage of the partial embrace. Her hand reaches up, fingers tracing up his jawline and catching in the hair at the back of his neck, mindlessly playing with it.

"Amor," he murmurs in her ear, gripping her thigh tighter.

Her chin tilts up, leaning her head on his shoulder and looking up at him through her lashes, "Yes?"

The groan that escapes him is inhuman, morphing into an exasperated laugh, "You're a dangerous woman, you know that?"

"I have no idea what you're talking about."

She gasps when his arm snakes around her stomach, pulling her against his chest.

"None whatsoever, Cariño," He pulls at her ear with his teeth and she whimpers.

Another hour of soft touches and lingering kisses later, and they arrive at the small town of Story's End. A bit of lazy naming on the writer's end, but she tries to ignore it.

Once they enter, Hector's demeanor changes. He sits a little straighter, face hardening, and stops holding her like she's the most precious thing in the world.

"Hector?"

"Just stay quiet," he says, "This town isn't a nice one. "

She keeps her eyes cast down as they pass a group of men drinking outside a bar.

"Would you look at that," One whistles, "Howdy there sweetheart!"

"Hey, Chica! Why don't you come over here and lemme show you what a real man fucks like!"

He grips the reins tighter when she shrinks.

"Hey!" The first man stumbles to his feet, toddling forward, drunkenly, "Hey! I'm talking to you, bitch!"

The horse whines when Hector redirects it back at them, pulling out his gun.

"Are we going to have a problem here?" He spits.

The man just chuckles and reaches for Ada's leg, catching her ankle, "Only if you don't share this pretty little-"

She jumps when the gun fires, blowing the man's arm to pieces, blood splattering on her.

"You son of a bitch!" He screams, holding the stub of his arm before collapsing.

"Anyone else?"

The other men stay where they are, not looking to die, and Hector takes it as a sign of surrender, holstering his weapon and riding on to the inn.

"Stay close," He tells her before getting down. He keeps one hand on his gun, keeping a vigilant watch on everyone in a twenty-foot radius.

As soon as her feet touch the ground, he grabs her arm and drags her inside.

"What are you-"

"I said be quiet!" He hisses, shaking her slightly and she freezes.

He slams some money on the desk, "One room, and food."

He unlocks the door and storms in with her in tow, kicking it shut behind them and locking it.

"What the Hell?!" She tears her arm from him, voice low, afraid it'll break if she yells like she wants to.

"Cariño," He reaches for her and his heart breaks when she pulls away, "Please, let me explain."

She tenses when he moves her hair behind her shoulder, "Amor, I-"

His eye catches something when her coat and shirt, jostled out of place, fall to her elbow.

He'd tried to be careful, tried to make it look believable yet painless, but the quickly forming bruise on her upper arm stares back at him.

He falls to his knees, taking off his hat.

"Forgive me," His voice is strained as he stares up at her, brown eyes big and full of pain.

She doesn't move, scared look still staining her face, but she lets him take her hands. His hold is gentle, as if she was made of glass.

"I just wanted to keep you safe," His lips graze her skin before he stands. She looks up at him, letting out a shaky breath, to which he lightly places his hands on her cheeks.

She's still shaking.

He swallows hard, leaning in to press his lips to hers in the most feather-light kiss.

"You're safe with me, Adeline," He breathes, trying to convince both of them, forehead against hers.

It's just a game.

She takes a deep breath.

None of it's real. It's just a game.

She tries to tell herself, but it just hits her too hard and she can't stop the tears from spilling over.

Hector panics.

"No, Amor," he quickly starts taking his gloves off to wipe them away, but she turns from him, hugging herself.

"I'm fine," she insists. He watches helplessly as her shoulders rise and fall with each shuddering breath.

"Adeline."

It's not normally the guests crying.

He steps around her and something in him shatters at the sight of her tear-stained cheeks.

"Oh, Querida," He holds her face in his hands, looking softly into her eyes, "I shouldn't have brought you here."

He holds her close, arm hooking beneath her legs to pick her up. She clings to his neck, letting herself be fully immersed in the narrative.

The bed dips beneath his knee as he leans over to lay her down.

"First, we'll eat, then we can leave."

For a moment he loses himself in her eyes and he smiles.

"You're beautiful when you cry, Cariño."

...

She jumps when he kicks the door shut again, two plates of whatever the kitchen was serving in his hands.

"Adeline?"

She snickers when he looks at her confused. Her cheeks are pink again and she hums a melody to herself.

He sets the plates on a beat up dresser and kneels beside her. She reeks of booze.

"I was barely gone twenty minutes, amor," he holds her face to look at him.

"I'm a bit of a lightweight," she giggles, "And I haven't eaten today."

He stops her from bringing the now near-empty flask back to her lips, taking it from her.

Her eyes are softer when he looks back at her.

She reaches out to touch his face.

He sucks in a breath when her fingers graze his scar, instinctively grabbing her wrist.

The melody spills from her lips.

"I can't get too close to you, my darling."

"Cariño-"

"And God help me, if I do, you'll leave me brokenhearted," Tears start to fall again, "You'll leave me lonely at best..."

He swallows hard, wondering if she truly expects heartbreak from him.

"Adeline, Amor, you're drunk," He states simply enough as he stands. He sets one of the plates in front of her, "Eat, you'll feel better."

Half her food gone, she passes out from what can only be described as emotional exhaustion.

...

When she wakes up her head is throbbing. She sits up, blinking against the harsh light coming through the windows.

She looks around the room, eyes landing on Hector last.

He's sat up in the bed against the headboard, asleep, jacket and hat still on, hand on the grip of his gun. She'd been sleeping with her head on his lap, his left hand in her hair.

He looks on edge, but maybe that's his natural state.

He wakes with a start when she forces herself out of bed, aiming his gun towards the door. It takes him a moment to realize it's only her and relaxes.

She uses the pitcher and basin in the corner of the room to splash water on her face, trying to wake up fully.

"How are you feeling?" He asks wearily and she sighs.

"Can we just... forget last night ever happened?" She asks, looking back at him through a cracked mirror as he stands.

He comes up behind her, hands finding her hips. He runs his nose the length of her neck, taking in the faded scent of rosewater still stuck to her skin.

She feels so stupid for the way she acted, absolutely embarrassed.

What she doesn't know, is that every moment he spends with her finds himself more enthralled with, and endeared to her.

She melts against him with each slow kiss pressed to her skin.

"I should've warned you," His fingers tangle with hers, "But if that's what you wish."

"I wanna get out of here."

He nods at her pleading tone and reaches for her coat. He wraps it around her shoulders, popping up the collar and cupping her cheeks to pull her in for a deep kiss.

When he goes to open the door his hand hesitates by her arm. He instead grasps the front of her coat, "You stay near me. Do not leave my side."

She nods, but he sees the way her hand trembles.

He takes a moment to pet her hair, trying desperately to reassure her, "I'll keep you safe, amor. I promise."

She stumbles slightly when he tugs her down the stairs. As they walk out of the inn she's pulled to an abrupt stop and he nearly loses his grip.

"Aren't you just a pretty little thing?" A man with a thick southern drawl slurs behind her, arms wrapping around her, "Hey Ah-migo, why don't you give someone else a turn with this little fuck puppe-"

He freezes when the barrel of a revolver presses beneath his chin.

"If you value your life, you'll shut your damn mouth."

Both men stare at her in shock as she pulls back the hammer.

"Ohh, she's got teeth," He grins, "I like tha-"

A shot rings out and his body slumps to the floor, grey matter painting the ceiling.

She holsters her gun as she turns back to Hector, flicking loose hair out of her face.

He holds open the door for her, still dumbstruck as she walks by.

"That's not your horse, Amor," He says once he snaps out of it, seeing her mount a horse tied next to theirs.

"It is now," She shrugs. He climbs into the saddle of the other, "It's not the first time."

He smiles at her, stars in his eyes and they ride off.

They're halfway to camp where Armistice and the others are waiting, probably planning to rescue him from that prison, when he calls for her to stop.

Something about the way her hair looks, all windswept and wild, and how the sun lights up her face.

He needs her, now. Desperately.

...

"You okay, amor?" Hector asks teasingly. She's riding with him again, one arm wrapped possessively around her waist.

She keeps making little noises, and small whimpers. She's just still so sensitive and he's beaming like he just gold-medaled in every sport created.

"You're making such cute sounds, pequeño."

"Jerk," She scoffs, reaching back and flicking the rim of his hat, making him laugh.

...

The first thing out of Armistice's mouth when she sees them ride in is "Who's the girl?"

"Good to see you too," He says. He gets down and offers her a hand after him, "This, my friend, is Adeline."

Suddenly the center of attention of the gang, she gets anxious.

If he notices her shift in demeanor, he doesn't say anything, just places his hand on the small of her back and walks her through the small crowd.

"She'll be joining us on our little, business venture."

She feels like she's on full display with all the eyes on her. Some judging, and others with absolutely disgusting intent.

"Sure she's pretty, Escaton," Armistice says, circling her, "But do we really need something else to take care of just because you found something cute to fuck?"

"Hey!" He scowls at her, "I've seen firsthand how well she can take care of herself."

As the day goes by she finds a place off to the side of camp where she can be, somewhat, alone.

Her finger circles the edge of one of her ear plugs pulling up a playlist in that ear, taking some time to decompress.

Nearly an hour after she disappears Hector starts getting worried. The sun is starting to set and he's not sure if she knows her way around.

She watches him wander out of camp, head moving as though he's looking for something.

He takes a few nervous steps before raising his hands to his mouth.

"Adeline?... Adeline!"

"A-" He spins around when she stands up, not trying to be quiet. An immediate look of relief washes over him, "You scared me, Amor."

"Did something happen?"

He looks confused for a moment, taking her hands.

"You vanished, I thought..." He runs his fingers through her hair, "It doesn't matter, you're still here."

"Of course I am."

Her fingertips trace his jaw, a soft and familiar gesture that turns him into a puddle. He leans in, ducking down to kiss her.

"Let's get back to camp," His hand finds hers as he turns to leave, stopping when she doesn't move, "What's wrong, cariño?"

"I'm just..." He looks at her expectantly, "I'm pretty awkward in the social department. And I don't think my being here is entirely welcome."

"Don't mind Armistice," He frowns, holding her shoulders, "She's like that with everyone."

He can tell she's still unsure, "You can always hide behind me if someone scares you."

He laughs when she hits his arm, "What? I'd rather you hide behind me than pull a gun on my friends."

"They keep their hands to themselves, and we won't have that problem."

"And what of me, amor?" He asks, teasingly, "Am I to fear your pistol, should I wish to hold you."

She's blushing again, the thought of sitting on the ground between his legs with his arms around her burning brightly on her face.

"Heh," She forces a small laugh, trying to play it off, "Only if you get too handsy, pretty boy."

"Don't!" She warns and the words 'So you think I'm pretty?' catch on his tongue.

He pulls her in for another warm, reassuring kiss.

She lets him hold her hand and lead her back into camp, acutely aware of looks and eye rolls.

He sits by the fire, pulling her down onto one of his legs.

He sees how she tenses, so he doesn't show his disappointment when she moves, settling next to him, one leg pulled up to her chest.

He starts thinking he's going through withdrawal, getting so used to her affection the past two days, like a drug he immediately got addicted to, just dying for another hit she isn't giving him.

He takes the way she still pressed against his shoulder as a good sign, though he's desperately craving more.

One of the guys starts passing around a bottle, holding it out to Hector.

He pulls back slightly when he goes to grab it, grinning at Ada, "I'll trade ya, for a go with her."

Hector's hand flies out to catch hers as it goes for her gun.

"Another comment like that and I can't promise I'll be able to stop her in time," He says with a glare, "Or myself for that matter."

He waits for her to relax, thumb running across her knuckles, "We should go over the plan once more."

The night drags on, they talk the heist and their plans after. They all start to turn in and Hector stands, bringing her with him to his tent.

He's more worried than he'd let on during the discussion, about her getting hurt and he tells her as much.

"Adeline, if something were to happen to you tomorrow..." His knuckles run across her cheek, voice hushed, "We've only just met and I already feel as though I couldn't live a day without you."

She takes his face in her hands, "Nothing is going to happen, I promise."

Nothing can happen to her, hosts can't kill her. She's more worried about him. All it takes is one trigger happy guest and they lose.

Her hands trail down his neck, chest, and stomach until she finds what she wants.

She pulls out his knife and his eyebrows furrow.

"Besides," she twirls it in her fingers before she flicks her wrist and it embeds itself into a tree across from the space between the flaps of the tent, "I'm pretty scrappy in a fight."

...

"I feel like you'll get more use from this than me," His hands tug on her belt, adjusting it, and when she looks down, he's attached his sheathed knife to it, "Just in case."

She pushes herself up on her toes to kiss him, hand grabbing the back of his neck, teeth pulling at his lip when they part.

"Becoming a little tease on me now, are you?"

She winks as she turns.

No doubt the whole camp heard the noises they were both making last night, no need to play coy now.

She can feel him watching her walk away, brazen stare burning through her body like fire.

On the ride to Sweetwater, he pulls back to ride beside her.

"You stay near me," He tells her and she scoffs.

"You wouldn't happen to be showing favoritism, would you, Hector?"

"Adeline," He insists, "By my side."

"Okay," She nods, voice apologetic, "By your side."

He gives her a small appreciative smile, before riding ahead.

Their identities covered by blankets as they enter town until the deputy approaches, and Hector shoots him.

She follows everyone else's lead, hopping off her horse and firing at whatever lawmen try to stop them.

Armistice hands him the rope and he motions for Ada to follow him inside.

"Stay by the door, Amor," He says, "Shoot anyone you don't immediately recognize."

She does as she's told, watching him swagger around the saloon out of the corner of her eye. That is, until a guest speaks up from the other side of the room.

"Ada?" Her head snaps up at her uncle's voice, and so does Hector's.

She's immediately filled with dread that he's going to ruin her fun, like always, but Hector beats him to the punch.

"Amor, do you know this," He looks him over with a sneer, "Old man?"

"Old man?!" He guffaws, fumbling with his gun.

"Henry," She warns, a sharpness to her voice he isn't used to hearing, "Put it down. Or else I tell Auntie exactly what you get up to when you're in town."

His face is red, with anger or embarrassment she's not sure, but she has to bite her lip to keep from laughing outright.

Hector pushes him back with the other guests and hosts.

He has his little encounter with the madam and the safe comes crashing to the floor. This time, instead of having one drink, he grabs the bottle and takes it with him.

He pulls Ada back by the hips, whistling when they're clear of the door, and the safe flies by.

He takes her hand and leads her outside, but she's stopped when her uncle grabs her other wrist.

"Where do you think you're going?" There it is. She isn't doing exactly what he expects, so he has to put an end to it.

"Fuck you," She spits, trying to pull herself from his grip, "Let go of me!"

She's about to break his foot when Hector decks him across the face, "She told you to let go!"

He tries to ignore her absolutely lovestruck face, his face heating up as he walks by.

Her uncle has other plans, catching onto her long hair.

She's done.

She's been done for a long time. Done with the manipulations, with the fearmongering, with everything.

She lets go of Hector's hand, and holds onto her braid, taking the knife from the sheath on her belt, and giving a good slash to its base.

Everyone is some level of shocked as she walks away and mounts her horse.

One animal down as it drags the safe back to camp, Hector climbs up behind her, completely forgoing his speech and keeping her tucked safely in his arms.

"Let's go!" He calls to the rest of the gang, heading the charge out of town.

She jumps off as soon as they get back to camp, and he storms after her, calling her name. The encounter in the saloon has them both on edge and what she's taking as anger is the full force of his worry.

"Hey!" He catches her arm, shocked when she yanks herself away. He doubles down, grabbing her shoulders, turning her to face him, and not letting go, even when she struggles, "Hey! Calm down! Be still."

There's a fear in her eyes like a cornered animal. It hurts his heart to have her looking at him that way, "I think it's time we have that conversation you've been avoiding. Who was that?"

"My uncle." A simple answer, but he knows better.

He loosens his grip to cup her cheek, looking at her intensely, "Did he do something to you? Has he hurt you?"

"What? N-no!" She says defensively, "Not-... W-He-..."

Her stutter is enough to light a fire in his eyes, ready to ride back to town and gut him. But his first priority is her, the way her breathing is getting heavier, and how her eyes are beginning to glass over.

"I am such deep shit," She babbles, "He's going to fucking kill me, I- He's never gonna let me leave the house again. Fuck!"

His other hand moves to hold her face, "No, I won't let him anywhere near you."

Adeline nods at the, unfortunately empty, promise.

Then her mouth falls open in realization. Her hand goes to the back of her head where it meets the choppy, split ends, "Oh my god."

Hector has no idea what to say, mouth open like he's trying to force something out, "I... like it."

"My hair!" She knows it sounds shallow, but she's been growing it out forever.

He pulls her close and kisses her forehead.

He cradles her head as she trembles in his arms and imagines what the shit storm she just kicked up is going to look like.

"Do you want me to skin him?" He half-jokes, cheek pressed to the top of her head.

She groans, holding him tight.

"I didn't even wanna come here," She mutters, and he pulls back to look down at her, almost hurt, "No, the p -uh town."

"You don't seem like a girl that does things she doesn't want to."

She laughs, "That's all I ever do! Ever since my parents died he's just twisted his way into my head, playing with my emotions and insecurities to get what he wants."

Angry tears roll down her face, frustration marring her face.

"Hey," His voice is soft, "Once we open that safe, we'll be set for whatever life you want, away from him."

She wants desperately to let herself get wrapped up in the fantasy again, but reality is like a boulder, crushing her more with every passing second.

"Right," She gives him a half-hearted smile and he takes it.

The next few hours consist of the gang fighting about unlocking the safe, none of them having much luck.

"Friends," Hector says, "There's no need to get worked up. There's enough in that safe to go around."

He kisses the top of Ada's head, getting to his feet, "I'll be right back."

It takes all of thirty seconds for things to go from tense to chaos.

Shots ring out, and only she and Armistice are left standing.

Hector comes hurrying back, gun in hand. There's a brief moment of relief when he sees she's okay.

"You damned fool."

His eyes go wide and he moves to shoot Armistice before she can shoot him, but he's too late.

Adeline lets out a scream, hand flying over her mouth when they both fall down, dead.

She's left alone, in the woods, surrounded by bodies.

She's in shock, silent tears falling from her eyes, stare locked on Hector's corpse.

It's just a game.

#absolute corruption #hector escaton #Hector escaton x oc #westworld #prisma self ships #prisma writes #self ship story #self ship writing #self shipping #Spotify

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tendrflesh · 11 months ago

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* ◟ : 〔 angela sarafyan , cisfemale + she-her 〕 tennessee gant , some say you’re a fourty-three lost soul among the neon lights. known for being both determined and inflexible, one can’t help but think of the devil by banks when you walk by. are you still a cfo at anunnaki pharmaceuticals, even with your reputation as the tenacious? i think we’ll be seeing more of you and pink lips in a thin line, the chill from seeing something move in the back corner of the bar, the condescending pat on your head. although we can’t help but think of shirley schmidt (boston legal), catherine of aragon (the spanish princess), dolores abernathy (westworld), queen ravenna (snow white and the huntsman). whenever we see you down these rainy streets. ’

BASICS

NAME: tennessee baron gant NICKNAMES: essie JOB: cfo, anunnaki pharmaceuticals BIRTHDAY: january 1st ZODIAC: capricorn sun SEXUALITY: bisexual GENDER: ciswoman, she/her RELIGION: none THREE POSITIVE TRAITS: determined, mature, persuasive THREE NEGATIVE TRAITS: inflexible, confrontational, judemental ENNEAGRAM: 8w9 MYERS-BRIGGS: enfj AESTHETIC: pink lips in a thin line, the chill from seeing something move in the back corner of the bar, the condescending pat on your head CHARACTER INSPO: shirley schmidt (boston legal), catherine of aragon (the spanish princess), dolores abernathy (westworld), queen ravenna (snow white and the huntsman) LIKES: DISLIKES:

pinterest | playlist

WANTED CONNECTIONS

estranged daughter

ex/father of daughter (could also be estranged or a one-night stand)

current fling/fwb/casual relationship

other exes

work enemy

confidant

someone with connections that helps her get things she wants

current connections

ex-husband: vinny nolan

old friend/casual ex: frankie levin

work rivals: diana ingram

girl boss besties: rowan rockwell

FAST FACTS

while in school, essie accidentally fell pregnant (boyfriend/casual fling/one night stand), and thought briefly she could do both - be successful and be a mother

essie had bigger plans than being a mother, so being pregnant in her early twenties was not ideal

after giving birth, she tried the mothering thing before deciding she couldn't do that and instead gave her daughter up for adoption

then essie focused entirely on her career and climbing the ladder at anunnaki until she made it to coveted cfo

never had time for too many relationships, comes off as harsh, believes in the future that anunnaki can bring

she's the kind of person that either loves you, hates you, or if for some reason you don't fall in either of those categories she forgets you exist

more to come...

#work in progress!#tennessee | intro #lawlessintro

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valkblue · 11 months ago

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— 10 Characters

I was tagged by @commander-krios to play this game. Thank you for the tag, and sorry it took me two months to answer! 🤣

Rules: pick up to 10 characters and share one of your favorite lines of dialogue you have ever written for them!

Tagging: @isilrina @queen-scribbles @pheedraws @amistrio @mrdekarios @nostrategy-justdo @something-tofightfor @the-blind-assassin-12 @starknstarwars @joels6string @storyknitter ... and who wants to play along! 💕

I wouldn't say these are my ultimate favourite lines of dialogue but some that come to mind when trying to answer the question… but I still had to choose just one quote/snippet among them 😭

1. Lawrence Gonzalez, from Journey Into Night [ Westworld ]

"Hey!" He shouted at Lawrence, engaging in awkward conversation. "Where-uh... are you heading? We... we've got a few questions for you, you mind answering 'em?"

The whole thing would have looked a lot more compelling if he'd lowered his gun, and the ever-present threat of the canon urged Lawrence to keep silent and his own Colt trained on him.

"Is there somebody else with you, here ?"

"Listen, my friend," Lawrence drawled. "I'm all about meetin' new folks around, chattin' at gunpoint an' all but, ain't a good time right now..."

He took a few careful steps back towards his horse, still not lowering his Colt.

… Just one for Lawrence!?! Rude!!

2. Armistice, from Journey Into Night [ Westworld ]

Armistice turned away from her and wandered into the room's central space, looking around as if searching for the speakers set high into the concrete walls. Vivian watched her shoulders relax, her step lighten, and what she had at first thought to be the haze of surprise were nothing more than shuffling dance steps. The music matched the shift in Armistice's behaviour.

"It's... it's as if I can see the notes floating in the air!" She reached out in front of her with shy, trembling fingers. "All around..."

Even her speech was lighter, softer. Vivian was far from imagining she'd trigger such a strong response from her, but she took a slow breath, touched as much as relieved.

3. Maeve Millay, from Journey Into Night [ Westworld ]

Maeve's facial expression twitched slightly in frustration.

"I don't recall having seen you here. Not these days, not ever for that matter."

"You weren't part of my batch," Vivian answered flatly. "And yes, I was in the park."

"Enjoying some killing and fucking, I presume? One has to blow some steam, isn't it. Until everything blows in your face."

Vivian hardly unclenched her teeth to word out:

"You presume wrong, then."

Maeve scoffed, openly disdainful.

"Maeve..." Bernard stepped in, quieting what he might have guessed to be a brewing conflict. "Vivian was in the park because Ford intended for her to die at the gala with everyone else..."

"Is that supposed to make me feel sympathetic?"

4. Peter "The Professor" Abernathy, from Journey Into Night [ Westworld ]

"Free!" shouted the one standing in front of the map — Peter — as Lawrence, Bernard and Armistice approached. "Free, she is!" He glared at Armistice. "We have scortch'd the snake, not kill'd it! She'll close and be herself, whilst our poor malice remains in danger of her former tooth."

Lawrence was puzzled; Ivy had told him a little about the man and his state, but it was still worrying. Armistice, as for her, made no reply to this tirade.

"Pray she keeps quiet…"

"Any news from Shard?"

Bernard's question eased him back to a more neutral look.

"No, not yet."

5. The Man In Black "Delos" (VS Vivian), from Journey Into Night [ Westworld ]

She let out another sigh, calmer, but it got cut short by a gasp of surprise when a clatter of items dropped on the table in front of her and made her bring her arms back to her chest in a defensive gesture. Delos was standing right there and had just covered the table — and the maze — with a bunch of medical supplies. Medical supplies she recognized very well.

"You went through my saddlebags?!"

"Yeah," Delos retorted with an uncomfortable groan as he sat down. "Sue me…"

6. Hector Escaton, from Journey Into Night [ Westworld ]

Hector stepped into the changing room, two of the samurais holding the doors open for him. His eyebrows raised at Vivian's gun barrel pointed at him.

"You don’t know how this place works yet, do you, my friend?"

And, ignoring Vivian and the threat of her revolver, he faced Lawrence.

"Those are empty" he stated, as cynical as he was playful.

Vivian cocked the hammer. "Mine isn’t…"

"And what will you do, shoot me? And after that?"

The remark ruffled her feathers a little; not because of the teasing tone, but rather because she had indeed no idea what she was going to do. She'd only been caught off guard while she was finally easing up a bit and, these days, Vivian didn't like surprises.

"Hector, please…"

"Don’t waste your breathe on me, I’m only a messenger! So, if you aren’t planning on emptying your barrel on me just yet, I’ve been sent to ask you to follow me. Without a fight, if you can do that."

7. young Din Djarin, from Part 2, The Foundlings [ The Mandalorian ]

The young boy was sleeping, or seemed to be, when Din got close enough to see him clearly, his eyes well adjusted to the darkness of the room. He sat on the cold floor, shivering to feel the heat of his bed escape him but he tried to ignore it when Grinn whimpered again.

Din pulled the thick blankets on the boy’s back and gently squeezed his shoulder. Grinn didn’t wake up at his touch, nor moved, stifling another sob. Din struggled against the pain that was tightening his throat, swallowing hard.

“Sshh…”

The sound coming from his own mouth felt strange, unknown, new.

“It-it’s alright,” he heard himself breathe quietly. “You’re safe now.”

... or maybe this one from chapter 7 - The Corellian Run:

“And what’s a guilded bounty hunter’s business on Corellia?"

None of yours, Din would have loved to retort. But he kept his mouth shut. So much in fact, that he didn’t even answer, and an awkward silence lingered long enough for the agent to raise her eyes and stare at them.

... but he doesn't exactly speak, you see? 🤣 So, does it still count?!

8. Greef Karga, from chapter 2 - The Remnant, Lost and Found [ The Mandalorian ]

“One more thing before I let you go…"

Din readied himself to receive another load of unpleasant news. But Karga only took something from one of the desk cabinets, something he gave him over the tabletop and that Din recognized with a touch of relief — his missing thigh plate.

"This is yours, I believe?"

He first stared at Karga before reaching for his piece of armor.

"You know, we have laws against littering in this city, now."

He scoffed before adding:

"But I’ll let it pass this time.”

9. Peli Motto, from chapter 7 - The Corellian Run, Lost and Found [ The Mandalorian ]

“Your crew won’t be a problem, right?" she insisted, both fists on her hips and making her thick curls jump on her shoulders with a nod. "You see, they have a kid… And a lil’ one like that don’t need all that spacer ronto scrag, okay?" Without taking her fists off her sides, she shot a quick glance over her shoulder at Elara to whom she said: "No offense, of course."

"None taken." Elara pursed her lips to hold back a smile; to be honest, she was more or less sharing Peli’s opinion on the matter.

10. Tip-yip The Child 🤫, from chapter 5 - The Scholar, Lost and Found [ The Mandalorian ]

The glow grew darker and the voice made his mind rumble like the storm in the orange skies over the tall trees of that world where he had been, like the mechanical heart of the ships cutting through the black void and shimmering stars…

He doesn't speak, but he perceives...

#tagged #tag game #10 characters #commander krios #thank you!!!#tocm snippets #journey snippets #it was so hard to settle on one for Armistice because I love her so muuuch #and there were too many to choose from!!!#my beloved #💕

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prolix-yuy · 1 year ago

Text

Chapter 7: You Saw Me for How I Really Was

Pairing: Jack “Whiskey” Daniels x F!Reader “Sugar”

Summary: It's everything you ever wanted but wouldn't wish for.

Word Count: 5k

Warnings: Explicit 18+ MINORS DNI, descriptions of male and female bodies, breast play, grinding, oral sex (f and m receiving), rimming (f receiving), fingering, squirting, dirty talk, unprotected PiV sex (don't be a fool, wrap your tool, even if you're an android and can't get people pregnant).

Notes: IT'S TIME. Jack and Sugar finally deserve to get exactly what they want. And with one chapter left plus an epilogue, they've got just enough time to enjoy themselves. I kept pushing out the smut because they had so much to talk about, but we know they were gonna fall back into bed eventually. Enjoy!

Cross-posted on AO3

Decoherence Masterlist || Whiskey & Westworld Masterlist

Returning to Jack’s ranch is comfortably quiet, the kiss still tingling on your lips as Jack and Jet keep pace with you and Daybreak. The sun is beginning to drift toward the horizon, and your stomach is growling even as you beg it to quiet down. Jack’s knowing smile heats your cheeks as you clop into the stables, beginning the ingrained process of stabling the horses. Each pass of the brushes and combs brings you closer to Jack’s hands, his embrace, his body close to yours again. The anticipation finally feels like excitement for the first time since you arrived, heart fluttering when he catches your eye or you glimpse a sliver of his profile. Strong arms massaging Jet’s shoulders, lifting the saddle and pulling the gate shut. The sway of his trim hips sauntering over to you. His worn fingers threading between yours as he leads you to the house hand in hand.

“So I was thinking I’d make some dinner for us, if you’d like to stay,” Jack says cautiously, his touch delicate. You hadn’t even been considering going back to the bed and breakfast, but Jack’s deference to your comfort glows in your chest.

“Yeah, I’d like to stay,” you answer, and the crinkle of his eyes paired with him fighting back a smile urges you to walk closer. Shoulder to shoulder, you enter his home. Russell bounces at your heels as Jack leads you back to the kitchen where you bared your souls. “Can I help with the cooking?”

Jack opens the fridge, taking out some ingredients. “I suppose if I say no I’ll catch you doing it anyway?” You give him a wink that makes you feel like a teenager, giddy at the faux sigh and head shake he returns. “Fine, I’m putting you in charge of vegetables and nothing else or Russ will give me hell for making the lady work.” Russell yips in agreement.

Jack fires up the grill outside the back door, leaving you to slice tomatoes and lettuce as Russell supervises. You toss him a bit of scrap, which he spits back out and looks forlorn over. Trading it for a piece of cheese gets you back in his good graces. The mouthwatering aroma of meat cooking pulls you to the open door, Russell joining his guardian in front of the grill.

Would you ever tire of ogling this man? He’s tied a blue apron over his button-up, a spatula in hand. The golden light accentuates his coffee eyes, the shine of his dark hair, the concentration in his brow as he flips burgers. When he shifts on his feet he pops one hip out, rounding his tiny bottom just a little more in his jeans. If hunger wasn’t so pressing you’d tear the apron off him and sink to your knees. Or wrap your arms around him while diving a hand into his pants. Maybe bend over to expose your aching…

You shake away the runaway train of your libido, awake and screaming after such a long hibernation. Everything is still so fragile, your steps mincing up to what that kiss lead to after the meal concludes.

The burgers are consumed messily and jubilantly at the kitchen table, juice dripping down your fingers and the delightful grease cut through with sharp pickle brine and cold iced tea. Russell gets his own smaller patty, clearly spoiled rotten by Jack with the way he prances for it. Jack’s eyes meet yours between the quips and banter that flows easily, his eyes still hungry in a way no meal will sate. When he slips his fingers into his mouth to lick up errant juices, you forcibly drag your gaze down.

With dinner finished, Jack waves you off from dish duty.

“Go take a look around, my hospitality will not allow you to also clean up.”

Rolling your eyes you do as you’re told, touring his modest ranch with meandering steps. On closer inspection you find new delights amongst his possessions. A modern music player, a quick browse through revealing a lot of Hank Williams and George Strait. Repair manuals for what seem to be large harvesters, dog-eared and well read. A distinct lack of photos.

Venturing further into the house, you find a neat guest bath and an open door leading to an office. A second door is shut, and your instinct tells you it’s the bedroom. While you could be bold and enter, you turn and head back to the kitchen. The water turns off, and as you round the corner back to the hallway you see it.

The third door.

It wouldn’t have stood out to you, tucked away past the bedrooms, except for the massive padlock keeping it shut. It shouldn’t bother you - Jack is allowed secrets, especially after all you know of him - but this piques your curiosity enough to step closer. From a distance you think it takes a key, but upon closer inspection you discover a subtle biometric scanner.

“Thought you might find that,” Jack says behind your shoulder, startling you about six feet out of your skin.

“I wasn’t…” you start to protest, but Jack just rubs your arm and reaches past. A press of his thumb and the lock opens, Jack making quick work of removing it and opening the door.

“I don’t have any secrets with you, Sugar,” he says, taking your hand. His are softer now, warm from the dishwater. “If you want to know what’s in the basement, I’ll take you.”

“What is it?” you ask, clasping Jack’s hand tighter. It’s remarkable how perfectly it fits in yours. How long you’ve waited to hold it.

“Something that took a long time to put together.”

Jack leads you down into the basement, another door with another lock at the bottom. This one has a retinal scanner, hissing open when pushed. The light is cool blue, starkly different from the warm sunlight waiting for you upstairs. Your stomach twists with nerves, but you still follow.

A few steps inside the basement reveals white tile walls and a smooth concrete floor. In the center of the room is a box, a large rectangle with a hinge on the side. You try not to compare it to a coffin. Against the wall are computer screens, silver canisters, what looks like a 3D printer encased in glass. The only noise is the constant quiet hiss of atmosphere controls and the shuffle of Jack’s feet. You tuck into your body as if your presence could jeopardize the room. He leans on one leg and chews his lower lip before speaking.

“When I left, I had a few things with me. Field repair kit, basically. But if I wanted to stay here on my own, I needed more. After I bought the place and got this room ready, I…well, you’d probably call it ‘hacking,’ but I used the mesh network to poke around in Delos’ shipping sector. Make a few crates go missing, delivered to a desert two states over. Some things didn’t make it, so I have to be careful, but all this…” He gestures to the room around you. “This is what I’m made of.”

You slowly pace the room, silently taking in the scene that’s more like the world you came from. Sterile, cool, emotionless technology. When you get close to the wall-mounted screens they hum to life, and one by one glowing cobalt text fills your vision. Progress meters, percentages ticking up and down. Lines of code that don’t make sense, but when the central screen displays a Vitruvian-esque man’s outline, it becomes clear.

“This is you,” whispers out from your slack lips, roaming over the subtly moving parts that make up the whole of Jack’s being. His heart monitor is thumping hard, vibrant red amongst the rest of his anatomy.

“Yeah, this is all of it. All of me.” Jack stops, though you can feel the weight of the words he doesn’t say.

You can have it.

Turning back to face him, his eyes are pleading for you to understand, to not be terrified by the underground world that keeps him here with you. But instead of the manic need to run, peace finally winds through your chest like a lazy stream. You smile, and Jack’s relief brings him closer step by step.

“You did this all by yourself,” you say, both of Jack’s hands stroking up your arms as he steps into your orbit.

“It was worth it,” he murmurs, thumb worrying at your sleeve. It aches, knowing how alone you both were, knowing that he waited so long with all these feelings still burning in the heart you can so easily see on that screen.

“I’m sorry, I’ve spent the last two days interrogating you,” you laugh, smoothing your hand over his chest. Solid muscle warms your palm, his proximity tingling down your spine. “You said you had questions for me too, but I don’t think I’ve answered any of them. You deserve some answers too.”

Jack chuckles, pressing one hand to your lower back and surrounding you once again.

“Only what you’re willing to share with me, Sugar,” he says, and fuck, he means it. He’s given you every secret but he’d let you keep yours.

“Anything, Jack.”

He sucks in a breath, tongue swiftly wetting his lower lip.

“You never married him?”

“No.”

“Never found someone else?”

You’d never even considered finding someone during that year.

“No.”

“You were happy?”

Your breath hitches, Jack’s hands soothing up your back.

“I was happier, yeah. I told myself it would only get better, but…I was also lonely.”

Jack nods. “Me too.”

He struggles then, jaw working and false starting a couple times before he finally asks.

“Why did you show me the photograph?”

The maelstrom of emotions that hits you wells in your eyes. He’s holding you so close to how he did that day, albeit in a room that pales his skin and deepens his eye sockets. It’s your turn to struggle now, throat clenching.

“I thought you were going to tell me you loved me,” you half-sob, taking in a shaky breath as his eyebrows raise. “I thought it was part of the park, and it would have killed me to hear you say it when I felt…”

Jack cups your cheek, letting you lean into the touch.

“I was gonna tell you it was real, Sugar. That I wasn’t sure what the hell was happening, but I was no longer a host and this place was no longer my home. I guess it’s good I didn’t, would’ve scared you right off.” You share a wet chuckle as your tears subside, letting Jack’s body soothe you.

“But…” he interjects, eyes lifting back to his face. “If you had accepted that, somehow, crazy as it would have been, I would have also told you that I loved you.”

Your mouth drops open, wonder spreading down your shoulders.

“Because I loved you from my first breath as Jack. I’ve loved you every day since. Not because of Maeve, or Delos. I love you, and none of it is programming.”

For a long moment you just look at each other in awe before Jack’s face closes off sharply, tucking his chin down.

“I don’t expect anything, this has all been a lot…”

“I love you too.”

Jack’s eyes dart back to your face, his own stunned expression painting his gorgeous profile.

“You don’t…”

But you wind your arms around his neck and let the peace melting through your body pass on to his. It’s as easy as breathing, as a kiss, as letting yourself stop running from the happiest you’ve ever been.

“I’ll say it. Every day. I love you, Jack.”

Then you weave your fingers into his hair and ease his lips to yours. The kiss starts soft, Jack’s movements sluggish as he pulls you into his body. Then he takes in a sharp breath and devours you, teeth hard against your lips and tongue darting into your mouth to taste everything you’ll give him. His embrace is close to bruising, like he’s afraid you’ll disappear if he doesn’t press every inch of your body into his. Your knees buckle briefly, which urges him to finally break the kiss and pant against your cheek.

“Sugar, I want to take you to bed and make love to you as many times as you’ll let me,” he growls in your ear, arousal nearly unbearable in your core.

“I hope you’ve got stamina enough for that, cowboy,” you shoot back, meaning it to be a sexy tease but more of it coming out as a breathless quip. He nips at your lower lip before untangling and leading you by the hand up and out of the basement. At the slam of the top door Russell bounds out of the living room, tail wagging and eyes bright. Jack curses quietly under his breath while kneeling to grab something out of a box under a sideboard.

“Russell, man to man, do not come scratching for at least four hours,” he says sternly before presenting the pup with a handsomely large bone. He takes it and skips off to the living room.

“Bribery, huh?” you tease as he lifts to his full height, but before you can say anything else his mouth is on yours and he’s backing you up against the closed bedroom door.

“Darlin’, I would let the horses in the house to get you all to myself,” he says against your smile, fiddling with the knob to back you into his bedroom. The door shuts quickly behind to prevent an audience.

You barely get a chance to look at the room - two dressers, lamps, door to an ensuite bathroom - before Jack leads you backwards until your calves bump the bed. He’s dancing his lips over your neck, hands kneading at your hips.

“Tell me you want this, sweetheart,” he begs prettily, and your eyes roll up as he sucks a mark above your collarbone. Every part of you burns for him, clutching at his shirt, his shoulders, the soft strands of his hair.

“Yes, Jack, please. I want you,” you husk, and he sighs into your skin. Thick fingers work under your top, sliding his hands up your sides and bringing the cloth with it. He tosses it on the floor somewhere behind him, wide palms supporting your back as he leans down to lick along the cup of your bra. The cool kiss of air on the wet trail pebbles your nipples.

“God, you taste good Sugar,” Jack moans while sucking another kiss into your shoulder. Your fingers find his buttons, sliding them out one by one to expose the smooth breadth of Jack’s chest. He blazes under your knuckles, muscles clenching as you ride the hills and valleys of his body to tug his shirttails out.

“I recall you said I was the sweetest thing you ever tasted,” you tease, sliding your hand down to palm his cock through his straining jeans. He’s bigger than you remember, which was not insignificant. He’ll have to take his time, get you ready for him. Your cunt clenches at the thought.

“Damn right. I can’t wait to taste every part of you, sweetheart.” Jack tucks a knee between your thighs and wraps an arm around your waist. You’re suddenly off-balance as he leans you back, kneeling as he lays you out on the bed. His thick thigh remains between your legs, and you grind on it wantonly. “God, look at you, needy pussy on my thigh. Go ahead, baby, get yourself hot and ready.” He shucks off his shirt as you roll your hips up his thigh, denim catching on your clit and wedging your underwear between your slick folds. It’s tantalizing, Jack’s hands coming down to thumb open your pants button and slide down your zip. Gripping your hips, he guides you against him, lips parted and panting as his hair falls in his eyes.

“Beautiful, you’re so goddamn beautiful,” he praises before pulling back. You whine at the loss while lifting your hips to let him peel off your pants, underwear going with them to leave you in just your bra on the thick quilt below. Jack returns to lean over you, stealing another toe-curling kiss while he thumbs your nipples.

“Can I taste you, Sugar? Get you cumming around my tongue?”

“Fuck, oh fuck, Jack, please.”

Hooking his arms under your knees, he slides you up the bed before dropping to his elbows, pressing a kiss to the top of your mound. Every anxiety has fled, leaving only a crackling need as he drags his nose up your inner thigh, a light lick up your slit barely parting your lips. Thighs trembling, you try rocking your hips against his tongue but he presses you back into the bed, following his own path as he meanders up and down your thighs. You hope he can see your pussy fluttering, how much arousal is gathering from his light touches. Finally he pulls your lips open with his thumbs and licks a wet stripe over your clit.

Your reaction is instant. Back bowing off the bed, thighs clenching over his shoulders, fingers twisting the quilt. Jack’s eyes rake up your body, a self-satisfied chuckle vibrating against your clit begging for more more more.

“You’ve waited so long for this, sweetheart. I’m going to make it worth it,” he promises before sliding his tongue back into your pussy. Undulating it against your needy clit tears a gasp from your throat, whines held behind your teeth. Jack’s hands splay over your thighs, digging in to keep you open and flush against his greedy mouth. Every lap of his tongue is wet, filthy, indulgent. You struggle for coherence, babbles of “so good” and “please, Jack” and “fuck fuck fuuuuuuck” all you can manage. Jack doesn’t seem to mind, mouth too busy to keep up a conversation. Instead he seals his lips around your clit and rhythmically sucks while teasing a finger at your entrance. The pressure, the pattern of his lips pulling you to the precipice of your orgasm, drives your fingers into his hair to pull him against your cunt.

“Good fucking girl,” he growls, teeth grazing your clit before he flicks his tongue and buries one long finger inside you. The glint of hunger in his eyes explodes in your spine as you shatter on the rocks of your pleasure. Even as you buck against him he rides you to the end, draining every last drop of your orgasm onto his tongue. Spots dance in your vision, jellied bones leaving you helpless on your back as you try to catch your breath.

Just as you’re about to sit up and reach for him, another finger slides into your tight cunt and Jack blows a cool kiss of air against your sensitive clit. You shoot up with a strangled gasp, pulling Jack’s face back. His eyes are hazy pools, lips and mustache wet with you. A filthy smile dances on his lips, baring his long neck and scraping his teeth along your inner thigh.

“I’m not done here just yet,” he purrs, guiding your hand out of his hair and against his mouth. Pressing a kiss to your palm, he weaves your fingers between his and dips his face back to lap at your folds, curling into something devastating inside you.

“Fuck, Jack, I can’t…” you groan, but he shakes his head, bristly mustache scraping over your sex as he chuckles.

“Yes you can, Sugar, and you will,” he promises darkly, and before you can protest he’s rolling you onto your stomach and lifting your hips. Your cunt gapes at the loss, but he quickly slides his fingers back. His wandering lips graze along your ass before flitting his tongue against your other hole. You jerk, a sudden wave of shameful arousal both backing you up against him and jerking away. He bands his arm around your thighs and spits, the hot saliva sliding down to wet his knuckles. “I want to have you every way I can, sweetheart. Make you feel pleasure you’ve never felt before. I want to make you cum from things you never imagined.” With that he firmly licks over your asshole, long heavy strokes that match the pace of his fingers inside you.

The oversensitivity passes until you’re aching, full of him and dripping over his hand. His appetite makes your face burn, but it feels too good to stop. Snaking a hand down, you swirl over your clit and stroke Jack’s strong fingers inside you.

“Oh fuck Sugar, is that you? You’re touching yourself? Don’t stop beautiful, I’m gonna have you wailing for me soon.” The intense stretch of his third finger sliding in stutters your hand, planting both on the bed so you can push back against his overwhelming devotions. He snarls, pounding his fingers into you and swatting at your jiggling ass.

“That’s it, baby, you get ready for my cock. I can’t wait to feel this perfect pussy around me. C’mon, that’s it, that’s my gorgeous girl.” Your eyes shut, body lost to Jack all around you as he curls and drags his fingertips against a spot inside that threatens to overtake you. With a yank your feet touch the floor, bent over the bed with Jack folded over you, pressing into that spot over and over again.

“Give it to me, Sugar, I want you all over me,” he whispers, and your mind barely grasps what he means before your orgasm grips you hard and unforgiving, gasping and wailing as wetness drips down your legs. Jack tucks you against his hot skin, cupping your mound and pressing his cock against your ass as he talks you through it, “Gorgeous girl covering me in your cum, you’re so fucking hot, so pretty cumming for me. Does that feel good? Breathe baby, you did so good, you came so good for me.”

“Jack, holy shit,” you finally manage to squeak out. He backs up from you, wiping fabric down your legs and briefly over your sensitive core before letting you sit on the bed.

What you turn to see almost knocks you out for a whole different reason. Jack stands with one hip cocked, his heather gray button-up damp with your release. It’s not the only thing soaked; his jeans, open and slung low on his hips, are dark with liquid, droplets clinging to the curls of his pubic hair. You can just barely peek the head of his cock breaching the vee of his zipper, face flushed a boyish pink as he cards his fingers through his mussed hair.

“Oh my god, you’re…I did…” you stammer, heat blazing in your cheeks. Jack laughs, tossing his shirt to the side and running his fingers over his stomach. The shine of wetness comes away on his fingers, and he licks them delicately. You’re sure you’ll ignite any second, but he only hums in appreciation.

“Just like all of you, Sugar, oh so sweet,” he drawls. “Give me two minutes to brush my teeth and think about baseball and I’ll be back,” he adds, swaggering into the ensuite. You bury your hands in your face and take a few breaths, but they’re mostly to bring you back from your out of body experience. Realizing your bra is still on, you quickly unclasp and toss it with the other clothing, climbing up the bed and kneeling. From here you can see Jack’s back ripple as he leans down to rinse his mouth, the warmth in his eyes when he catches you in the mirror. Turning he leans in the doorframe, looking you up and down shamelessly.

“Never seen anything more gorgeous in my entire life,” he says, hooking his thumbs in his belt loops and tugging his jeans down. Stepping out of them, he comes to the side of the bed and strokes up your thigh to your lower back, tugging you close to kiss you. His mouth is cool and minty, a balm to your overheated skin, as he cups your head and lets your tongues touch in playful sweeps. Skin against skin makes you melt into Jack’s body, breasts pressed against his chest while he strokes over the span of your shoulders, the curve of your back, squeezing your perfect ass.

Breaking the kiss, you brush your noses together.

“I’d like to ride you, cowboy,” you ask, his cheeks flushing as you nip at his chin. He chases your mouth for another kiss, letting you pull his tongue between your teeth with a stifled groan.

“I’d like that, Sugar, love to watch you on my lap,” he husks into your ear, climbing into the bed beside you. He arranges himself, propped up in the pillows and lightly stroking his cock from base to tip. Kneeling next to him, you place a kiss on his shoulder, the center of his peck, the soft rounding of his belly. His fingers still at the base as you lean over and lick the head of his cock, the musky taste making you salivate. With no warning you wrap your lips around the head, his moan spiking arousal in your cunt. You slide down his shaft, swiping your tongue along the underside and flicking around the ridge. Jack’s thighs clench, choked-back curses sizzling off your back. It isn’t until you slide to the base, relaxing your jaw and tracing the tip of your tongue along his fingers that Jack urges you off him. He replaces his cock with his lips, ravenous as your teeth clack and he pulls you onto his lap.

“Almost blew it before getting inside you, baby, you’re too good at that,” he gasps, slowing down to rest his forehead on your shoulder.

“Need me to slow down?” you ask, his head shaking in response. You stroke your fingers through his hair, pressing your cheek against his head as he wraps his arms around you. His cock slips through your folds as you rock against him, tilting your hips to catch him just at your entrance. You hold his head between your hands and pull him back enough to watch as you take just his head inside. His eyes roll back, threaten to close but he forces them open, mesmerized by the way your chest heaves, lips parted, eyes hooded as you work his cock inside you. When you throw your head back he fits his lips against your neck, leaving wet trails as he takes your nipple into his mouth. The zing of pleasure from his flicking tongue, the other nipple rolled between his fingers, urges you to sink down to the base. He releases your breast with a pop, foreheads coming together as you sit full of him.

“Jack,” you finally say breathlessly. He hums, turning his head up to drag his lips along your jaw. “Probably a bad time to ask, but…you can’t get me pregnant, right?”

Jack snorts into the junction of your shoulder, nails scratching lightly down your back.

“Very insightful. No, I am proverbially shooting blanks.”

You let the amusement of the moment simmer down, his tongue tracing shapes below your ear, before speaking again.

“Then I want you to cum in me, Jack. I want to feel you inside me.”

Jack’s grip tightens, his thighs clenching underneath you.

“Fuck, Sugar, I want that. Want to fill you with my seed, watch it drip out of you.” You lift up on your knees, his cock sliding through your tight pussy, before sinking back down firmly.

“Fill me up, Jack.”

Jack’s pained groan spurs you to ride him properly, your hands braced on the headboard behind him. He looks up at you like a deity, worshiping you with his work-worn hands. His thighs are slick with your arousal and sweat, making the glide even more sensual. You roll your hips to feel every ridge and vein of him inside, helpless whines slipping out when he circles your clit just right or scrapes his teeth along your nipples.

“Darlin’, you tell me when you’re close and I’ll get you over the edge. I want to be the one making you cum, sweetheart, please let me make you cum,” he begs into your shoulder. You weren’t even sure if you had a third one in you, but every slip of his lips on your skin makes electricity crackle inside.

“I’m close, Jack, I want you, I want you,” you babble. Jack tilts you forward, planting his feet and fucking up into you from below. He pulls you down against the force of his thrusts, the sticky slap pulling one long moan from your lips. It’s right there, just out of reach, when Jack flips you to your back, yanking your legs over his shoulders. Your eyes widen, fisting the blanket around your head, but then Jack presses your thighs to your stomach and mounts you, drilling down and…

“Oh fuck, Jack, fuck, right there, rightthererightthereright…” Your begging is lost to the scream you barely recognize as your own as Jack fucks an orgasm into your cunt, teeth gritted and lip snarled as he harshly pants above you. Your pussy clamps down and he follows with a bellow, watching where you’re connected. You swear you can feel his cum inside, marking you in a way no man has ever done before. A primal voice roars mine and his in one sound, and your eyes must be as wild as his are because when they meet he’s crushing his mouth to yours, roughly licking in and swallowing down your weak pants. By the end he’s whimpering into your mouth, softening inside but loathe to move from the tangle of limbs. His arms surround your head, stroking at your cheeks as he watches you closely. Yours are too weak to lift yet, but you let one drape over his back. Fingers trace delicate patterns on his sweat-slick skin.

“Is it okay if I say it again?” Jack asks. You hum curiously, his body settling into yours.

“I love you,” he murmurs, eyes darting away shyly as his thumb strokes the corner of your lips. You smile wider, a feedback loop of happiness.

“I love you too, Jack.”

And in that moment, that’s all either of you need.

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space-blue · 2 years ago

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Heartfelt Recom Quaritch x Parker Selfridge shipping—a dissertation

OK so I was on discord discussing how unlikely it is for Parker Selfridge to be interested in Recom Quaritch, if only because he was the one being actually racist in A1. Calling the Na'vi fly beaten savages who live in trees and 'blue monkeys'. He also had a (mostly deleted) falling out with Quaritch before the final mission, and that mission's failure meant going home in abject shame and losing the mines.

We know that Selfridge is due to reappear in the next film from footage of them filming in their suits, and I maintained we could get them to fuck, and not just mean hate fuck, but meaningful past life strangers to weird friends to lovers sort of fuck. Fuck with feelings.

Buckle up for this unwanted Ted Talk hidden under the cut :

Parker goes back to earth and is in a very sore spot due to what happened. Footage leaked maybe? Quaritch is too dead to take the heat. Parker is forced into some serious introspection and the company does NOT have his back. His money is gone, his respect obliterated. For a while he's untouchable. There are inquiries. Bad times.

Then he's given a chance to make it back into the company, because see, they have a job for him. Enter the Westworld deep dive.

You know how avatars mature on the trip over to Pandora? So it takes 5 earth years to make one? And in the video Parker says the recom is 'being grown in a lab as we speak', yet the recoms don't arrive for another 16 years?

Hear me out : Parker is the person who knows Quaritch best at Hell's Gate, among the survivors. Most of the mercs are dead, and Quaritch had no family he was close to on earth. So they're trying to calibrate his recom off of his memories, but it's messy. It's a new technology.

The first recom Quaritch doesn't imprint at all. Messy mental breakdown. So they bring in Parker, start trying to personalise the bodies to make the mind stick. He meets them. The first one who melts down. The second one who stays alive for a few weeks but starts diverging and going insane. And then the third one, who feels like a success compared to the previous ones who destroyed themselves inside out.

Parker gains a brand new appreciation for the hellish, amoral nightmare happening inside RDA labs. And then his job is over, because Quaritch 3.0 was a success. They ship out, and they're already growing Quaritch 4.0

Yeah, so, what do you think happens to Quaritch 3.0, the one that the now almost 40 years old Parker has been working with everyday for months? Yep. "decommissioned". No use for him. Even though he was a sentient being, as far as Parker is concerned. As far as anyone is concerned. He's property. He runs up costs.

That's when Parker signs up to go back to Pandora, on the next flight after the one Q 4.0 was sent off on with other recoms. He won't let this new Quaritch be eaten alive by Ardmore.

He feels guilty. He's the one who convinced Q to sign for project phoenix. It was good money after all, even if not for you at least for family. And Quaritch had Miles junior on his mind. Even if he wasn't close to Paz and the boy at the time, he must have taken the risks into account and figured it wouldn't hurt to have money sent back to earth for the boy.

Of course the boy stayed on Pandora, which Parker knows. And no amount of money is worth what he's been witnessing for the past five years working with proto-recoms.

He also picks up recreational drinking and ruminating. He starts wondering if he isn't exactly the same as the recoms. He's usable. He was turned into a rag when it was convenient, a tool when it suited.

So when he arrives, 40yo fresh off cryo, dressed in no-nonsense practical gear, Recom Quaritch (fresh off the SeaDragon disaster) is taken aback. He expected the racist jackass Parker. The man with the dollar eyes. The little brat.

This is someone very different. Since they used to fuck as humans and those are memories Q definitely has, they might have a... talk. And none of the usual jokes or attitudes get the rise Q expects, which would be deeply unnerving as he'd have no human around him from his old life except Parker.

And yet Parker is so damned different now. So serious and earnest. They'd probably have to talk about what happened at Hell's Gate. How Quaritch undermined his authority with the bombing of Hometree, the repercussion of the final failed mission.

I think Parker couldn't even tell him about the other 2 Qs he's... monitored and worked with. How badly would it fuck with Q's head?

But imagine how confused he'd be, overhearing some human dropping gossip on Parker, how apparently he's back for Quaritch's sake. What does this man WANT? They weren't that close. And post SeaDragon battle things are not going well at Bridgehead and Parker is defending him constantly.

Ardmore would have a field day shredding Parker a new asshole for defending the ghost of the guy who ruined his life. But Parker knows by then that what ruined his life is the company and its total lack of loyalty towards him.

Now have you seen the stills of Recom Q, Jake, and tiny Selfridge together? Imagine Quaritch jumping in to protect Parker. It's this one weird human he hasn't figured out yet and nobody is laying hands on him, no matter how arrogant and smartass he may still be.

So now they've saved each other's skin, or had each other's back, you know. Parker blocking Ardmore, Quaritch intercepting Jake... They've achieved a certain degree of mutual respect.

That's when they have a heart to heart over some drinks, and where Parker admits Miles is nothing like his old self, and that it's reassuring in a way. He's happy to see he's less... uptight and cold. The fire's good. The fire's healthy. Feels like he has a new chance at life despite the memories that still define so much of him.

((flashback to clone Q 1.0 who was too much like his old self, and went incredibly cold and emotionless before slowly falling into a completely silent and catatonic state with Parker unable to help))

And Miles opens up about it being nice to have someone have his back, even if he must admit he is still unsure where the loyalty comes from. Maybe he'd say something about the memories of undermining Parker's authority at hometree and how that decision makes sense still but... it's not something he could imagine himself doing now, and he's a little afraid of what that conviction means for him.

"Means you're becoming your own person. Good for you. I was afraid you wouldn't."

Andddd then Miles is like What do you mean?

Parker puts his foot in his mouth, every corrective sentence just making it worse. Miles just... pins him down. He's almost 3x his size, it's more of an effort to not hurt him than to restrain him.

They were becoming close, but now it's Break Up time.

Parker spills all the beans. How he oversaw the birth and death of three versions of him. Miles is in total disbelief. Parker helped refine the technology? Enabled all of this? How fucked is that? ((but also deep down his loyalty and choosing to drop everything on Earth to follow and make sure he was OK and survived when he didn't have to is touching and it finally makes sense and wow someone needs time to think now...))

Miles is pinning him down as we established, processing the truth of what the RDA did and what Parker did... ears pinned back, pressing harder, teeth bared, just a building RAAAH— sound escaping him out of his control, and Parker speaking faster and faster to get it all out and reassure him he didn't want any of this, that it's not fair, that he used to think it wouldn't be a problem, just like body-hopping, that Quaritch would be brand new and, and... And Miles just flicks his tail, veins popping on his forehead, hissing and looking deep into Parker's eyes and seeing that he seems to mean it.

He orders him to get the fuck away. Just, away from him. NOW.

Parker is like 😐 I'm pinned under you...

Really long awkward moment where Miles is really on the cusp of aggression, some deep seated Na'vi instinct to lash out at what he perceives to be a frightening enemy... But it's anger at the RDA/military/government too. This whole mess is not something he's learned to unpack. He's not even tried. He's been sweeping all of that under the rug recently, just on a single minded mission of getting Jake's ass.

Parker's admission makes him stop dead in his tracks, intellectually. He has to take a look at himself, at the RDA, what signing that contract meant for him (and how he did that for the benefit of a son the RDA abandoned, a son raised by Jake Sully, a son who is kind and patient and brave and loyal, all things Miles values deeply).

And there's also how little the company has cared for the lives of the Marines they resurrected. Bodies never retrieved, service never honoured, just rebaked and sent out again and again until they die a semi-useful death.

Miles stews for days before he finally seeks out Parker to ask for details about himself. He's straight up terrified of what he'll hear.

How much of his personality now is his? Truly his? What does 'his' even mean by now? Was Parker really the best person to calibrate him?

Parker could have a genuine cackle and ask, tongue in cheek, how much of his personality does he owe to the RDA? Because he let the corporate mindset eat him alive, to absolutely no benefit of his own. And he's got Q to thank in the end for opening his eyes, because he was the one so obsessed with loyalty.

It was this thing he valued over all else, and when Parker was back on earth and received loyalty from nothing and no one, despite years of hard work enriching the shareholders...

Yeah. Eye opener indeed. Better late than never.

It's his fucked up need to taste some of that damned loyalty that drove him to accept the recom calibration work. He figured Quaritch would understand. They used to be pretty close after all.

He did become close to Quaritch 3.0 in the end. They talked for hours and hours. And even though he was still Quaritch, he sort of went his own way too, in the end. (before being put down....)

Meeting Quaritch 4.0 and seeing how different he is now, after months of life on Pandora and a new environment, it only served to prove they're all unique people. That Q's memories are just like a tree stump from which new growth rises. It's never from the same spot or going in the same direction.

And it's great, honestly, that Miles is his own person, and Selfridge doesn't want more lives on his hands.

How can Miles not latch onto that strange man? He still values loyalty and isn't that the sweetest sort? Parker is invested in his life, in his survival. They're working together... And Pandora is dangerous for humans—not to forget the very real danger of Ardmore herself. He won't betray Parker again. He can't discount him as he used to.

They're both different, they've both changed, and they're both back together under those new, arduous circumstances, having each other's back.

And THAT is how you make them pine for each other, have each other's back, and finally be a little more open about their situation (and with nobody else), and eventually fuck with feelings.

Thank you for coming to my TED Talk on shipping Recom Quaritch x Parker Selfridge as real sweethearts.

#Parker selfridge #Miles Quaritch #recom quaritch #na'vi quaritch #quartich x selfridge #quarfridge #avatar #avatar 2 #avatar 3 #shipping #random ass ted talk #recoms #ardmore #jake sully #anyway #atwow #westworld flavours #bad vibes from the RDA #as per usual

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