#trailingcreed

                 hero / villain starters - accepting

     he didn’t. when he’d left overwatch, forced to retire -- it had ended anything that he owed them. but gerard would not let his problem bother them. he’d gotten into talon’s dirty business, it had made amelie a target. she was his problem, not the people he called friends. the gentle slosh of whiskey in his glass, and gerard gave a shrug

          THOUGH  EYES  remained  unseeing  (  *  rotting  eyes  ;  milky  white  corneas  that  would  see  the  world  no  longer  )  his  mind  could  only  conjecture  the  state  of  his  once  -  protégé  from  the  sound  of  spurs  jangling.   ❛   you’ve  grown  even  more  ridiculous.   ❜

I'm working to have a rap off with Reaper; I gotta get good

nonsexual acts of intimacy | open

     A hand came to rest on the doppelganger’s shoulder, an alert of Jesse’s own presence as he joined the other by the campfire, sitting himself down cross legged. He felt his knee touch the other’s thigh, but did not move it. A comfort for them both.

      He set to work on the can he had brought with him, pulled a pocketknife out of his jeans, jabbed it into the lid, and started to work on getting the pesky container open. A bit of a hum reached Jesse’s lips, not of any song or defined tune, just something to do, something to combat the deathly quiet of the night, make the space their own instead of the world’s. He was quiet, made sure that nobody- no thing could hear him, be alerted of their presence. He felt his other’s eyes on him, and even though he didn’t look back up, preoccupied with his work, a bit of a smile reached his lips, even after he felt the other shift, turn to put another scrap of wood on the fire. The lid popped off.

     Jesse threw it to the floor of the old building, to the side and away, and offered the can- peach pie filling to be exact- to his double, “Dessert?”

     Golden eyes reached his own, like a mirror, before Jesse felt the can taken from his hand. Satisfied, Jesse turned his gaze back away, picking up a spoon and rubbing away anything on it on the fabric of his jeans. Good enough. The can was handed back to him, and Jesse took a few slices of his own, settling in fully for the night. It wasn’t much, but it was something, about all you could ask for when the world seemed to be hell itself. It reminded Jesse of home.

【 ✧ 】 Shootouts were inevitable. It was how they met, and it was just part and parcel of being in close quarters with outlaw Jesse McCree. They’d been so careful lately, with where they frequented (when they could afford to frequent anywhere) and how they presented themselves. Not all of Jax could be hidden in any way, nor could McCree always disguise appropriately, but they thought they managed adequately enough. 

             Evidently not. 

             Evidently they had done just enough to get noticed by someone trying to do the right thing, or someone working for Talon, or someone in desperate need of some cash. Evidently the desire to fulfill the promise - dead or alive - was to be taken literally by the agents who had swarmed that train station. Evidently, the odds were against the cowboy. Evidently, evidently, evidently. 

              Jax hadn’t been there at first. They’d been off in another part of the time stream, observing the first engineers of space travel, or watching paint dry, or engaging with wildlife before it went extinct. Their usual pastimes, when things got too boring or quiet in another time stream. 

              Until they’d felt his inevitable end - his being obvious, as there was only ever one him for them, only one that mattered or stood out or intrigued enough to keep them interested - unloading itself from the distant past, and flying much too close to what Jax knew he’d be experiencing as “now.” 

               Their approach was instantaneous, and they find civilians scattering and gunshots ringing out. It doesn’t take a genius to guess what’s happening here. Especially since these agents don’t seem to care about casualties - Jax didn’t either, but they knew this soft-hearted cowboy would. So he’d be the only one pulling punches, putting him at an inherent disadvantage. 

                From there, time is a blur. Time referring to their own physical body. Strategic interventions - opening more doors to redirect the flow of passersby, knocking out a handful of agents at a time, dissipating and reappearing all over this map of madness --;

                                                              there he is. 

               They’d appeared next to him, made some quip about coming just in time, and together they’d done it. Down to the last man; no more ammo, not even on the guns stolen off corpses, and physical exhaustion eating at them both. They’d leaned against each other as they’d limped out of there, fatigue and small injuries here and there slowing their pace.

                Jax remembers the danger of his immediate death not giving up. They remember it firmly lodged in the present, and they remembered an urgency to get him to somewhere that Talon couldn’t get to him - somewhere to rest, somewhere they knew would be safe. 

                 They’d scouted ahead in vision only, looking for what would give the safest option of transportation. A bus station relatively close by - it would offer transport to somewhere else, somewhere untouched by this pain. By this certainty of death. 

                  They hadn’t counted on the sniper. 

                  Looking back on it, they suppose maybe their larger frame had offered cover for him, a protection from the bullet that went clean through their chest, golden blood dripping down their back and soaking the front of their shirt from the exit wound. Their blood, the same shade as their markings, slides down their skin to the hot sidewalk below. 

                  With probably more force than they mean to, they shove him into the newly arrived bus, a combination of sheer determination and them attempting to offset their own death allowing them to do so.

                   No words could escape before the second bullet went through their temple, finishing the job. 

                After that, they’d retreated back to their own dimension, incorporeal once more, numb and mute and ignored. By the time they had the strength to make a corporeal form, find a the right time stream, and slip in as early as they dared, a month had passed. 

                They could only imagine what had happened to him emotionally - physically they had kept tabs on him, making sure his own life force didn’t suddenly flicker out, a result of rash decisions made in a moment of grief, but the emotions? 

I want the K | Open

13: Stomach Kiss

     It had been a lazy afternoon- evening, now, he supposed.

     When you meet a doppelganger- about everything you can do with them other than simply walk away is a bit unexpected. So staying with the other, even if it was for convenience, a way to stick together and sort things out, had been unexpected. Getting closer had been unexpected. Where he was right now, laying between the other man’s legs, shirtless, arms crossed and resting just below his duplicate’s chest, chin on top of them, was certainly unexpected. But he figured he didn’t really mind. 

     The other made a good pillow, and it was… nice seeing a body so similar to your own look so pretty. There were plenty of differences between them, habits, traits, even scars, but the similarity in looks always made Jesse double take. It was unnatural, but in a way Jesse just couldn’t seem to stop His double was strong, muscle was undeniable, but where muscles would jutted, defined and sharpened his shape, padding covered the gaps, made the man appear as solid as he did soft. It’d be a lie to say his double’s- both of their- stomachs were anything but a bit chubby. But Jesse figured he didn’t really mind- preferred it, actually.

    Jesse felt a hand in his hair, fingers running from his temple towards the back of his head, and he hummed in response. He lifted his chin off his arms, tilting it down to press a small kiss to the man’s stomach, and held the position for a second, two,  and pressed a second one further down, but didn’t continue the trend, simply settling back down with his chin on his forearms once more. 

    The other asked what he was thinking- he had been unusually settled and quiet.