#colecassiidy

You know, there came a point in a man’s life where he began wondering, Is it me? Am I the problem here? (But yeah, duh; a little voice in his head somehow felt like it was rolling its eyes at him despite being a voice: of course you’re an entire freakin’ problem.) Most importantly in this specific scenario, though, Timothy was left with the very real, very valid curiosity: Do I just attract people like this?

He meant the reckless sort. The devil-may-care sort. The impulsive. The guys who got an entire high off of the risks . . . and always found a way to drag Timmy into it— And yeah, y’know . . . ? Sometimes the totally verifiably nuts. (Do we need to name names here? Was that clear— Well, just in case: Jack. We’re talking about Handsome Jack.) Cole, okay, was nowhere near the “nuts” side of the spectrum, but he pretty much lined up with everything else.

And yet here Timothy was. He’d agreed to come with him. Cole had to be real cute about reminding him he’d still be here despite knowing all the details.

So: full circle, kiddos:

Am I the problem?

Jeez, how whipped did a guy have to be . . .

“Yeah, I mean— 50-50 sounds . . . great, but—” Speaking of whipped, it also wasn’t like Timothy didn’t compliantly take the fuse as it was handed to him: following instructions was (no surprise!) second-nature to him at this point. “Are you, like, intentionally trying to get every psycho and their equally psychotic mother to notice us? Is that part of the plan, or . . . ?” And as if the mere mention of attention would’ve already garnered it—knowing his luck—he glanced back down that alley leading out to one of Lectra City’s main roads. Deceptively quiet. Which also just made him squirm.

ACCIDENTS HAPPEN. THAT'S THE FIRST FEW words that fail to leave his lips, as he studies the boy on the ground. Where there had been so much life, hope, dreams, determination...

Rian feels the pull before the man next to him probably even notices the shift in himself, but he KNOWS. It makes his heart pump in his chest, tightening like a twisted cord around his hand attached to a bronco ready to go.

At some point something BREAKS. For once, he's sure it just might be him.

A sigh, let out long and slow along the mist of the morning air. The sun had broken out, somewhere, but it's yet to reach them over the loom of the dull buildings with their tags, dirt-coated paint, and boarded up windows. The sun won't reach them for another hour, and perhaps he can give this young kid that — his last SUNRISE.

❝ DON'T. ❞ THERE'S A RAW EMOTION that's hidden in the way rian speaks, hazel eyes a flash behind the mask that covered most of his face. perhaps they had spent too many nights together now, the sun lowering into the sky and the fire the only WARMTH. perhaps he's realizing how he needs to go back HOME. face the responsibilities set out for him by a larger hand from down below —

memes, accepting

august gets on his haunches and examines the animal tracks scored into snow-fluffed earth. a thick scarf sheathes him from winter’s bite. the quilted jacket, too.

this  lawman’s  really  getting  on  his  every  last  nerve  .      it’s  one  thing  when  a  group  of  them  chase  after  him  through  trees  and  hills  and  searching  for  him  between  buildings  and  behind  walls  like  cattledogs  herding  a  stray  from  their  flock  .      ironically  ,      those  he  can  handle  more  easily  than  being  chased  by  one  ,      on  account  of  their  boots  carrying  far  more  noise  than  his        he’s  more  capable  of  slipping  away  when  they  can’t  hear  him  flee  .      but  it’s  another  entirely  when  he’s  been  relentlessly  pursued  and  backed  into  a  corner  like  some  prey  animal  caught  and  cornered  for  slaughter  .

with  an  exasperated  hiss  between  his  teeth  ,      the  outlaw  finally  slows  his  pace  beneath  the  cliff  ,      resting  his  forearm  against  the  cool  stone  .      his  other  hand  holds  the  pistol  at  his  side  :      at  the  ready  ,      but  not  wholly  aggressive  .        ❝        you’re  chasin’  the  wrong  fella  ,        ❞        he  mutters  ,      bitter  and  out  of  breath  from  the  chase  .        ❝        what’re  you  anyway  ?      a  sheriff  ?      or  you  just  one’a  them  poor  fellas  ain’t  got  no  other  way  to  go  but  play  by  their  rules  ?      you’re  wastin’  your  time  on  me  ,      lawman  .      you  could’ve  had  the  real  suspects  by  now  .        ❞

@colecassiidy  .  ❝  one  more  time  .      try  telling  the  truth  .  ❞

❝        i  .      wasn’t  .      part  .      ‘a’no  .      god  .      damn  .      robbery  .      not            ❞        (  not  the  one  you’re  lookin’  into  !  )        he  decides  ,      in  his  better  judgement  ,      not  to  say  anything  .        ❝        you  always  go  after  the  first  man  who  seems  suspicious  to  you  ?      who  you  lookin’  for  ?      i  might  know  him  .        ❞        he  laughs  dryly  .      there’s  no  humour  in  it  ,      no  smile  at  his  lips  or  in  his  eyes  .

╰ ゜TLOZ : TP STARTERS.  /  𝚊𝚌𝚌𝚎𝚙𝚝𝚒𝚗𝚐.

he moves before he thinks, does lot of movement in that moment because before he even realizes it he's switched their positions and has cole pressed against the wall. it was instinct, pure and simple, something in the voice the other man had used, maybe the lilt of his voice had been too close to the way he heard the word boy as a teenager. the way it dropped out of his father's mouth when he was about to get a new bruise. tim knows, really, that cole isn't like that, but it doesn't change the way his stomach dropped.

or the way he practically snarled in response.

"shut the fuck up," he hates the way his voice sounds in that moment as he comes back to himself, back to the moment. tim's anger usually runs slow and cold, it's always there, always simmering, but he doesn't let it take him over. except, apparently, when he does.

" STOP OR I WILL SCRATCH. "

when cole walks into the kitchen the only one in there is a toddler that somehow woke up early from her nap and is now covered in—what could easily be assumed as—the remnants of a freshly baked pie. apple filling sticks sweetly up mary's cheeks and arms, chunks of soft fruit squished curiously between her fingers.