#ichormotel

[whitesuited]

she can’t remember the last time she was so relieved to see the inside of a hotel room ------ her boots kicked off one by one near the door and quickly nudged aside to keep @ichormotel​ from tripping over the pair as he follows her inside. the next piece of her characterization to get abandoned now that they’re safely out of sight is the undoing of the knot on the top of her head and a decent shake out of her hair, the motion sending blonde waves in every direction possible as she makes her way further into the honeymoon suite and gives her aching scalp a good one over with the tips of her nails.

( an unexpected perk of showing up in vegas four days ago with their little newlywed cover story had been the sheer amount of upgrades the hotel had been more than happy to bestow upon the new mister and missus; the spaciousness of their new hotel room was at least double or even triple the size of the one they’d booked before they left montana, the string of complimentary drinks and desserts sent to the room had been accepted with a practiced and sincere smile each time one appeared from room service. and there was still the hope they’d have this case wrapped up in enough time for her to use the free full - body massage voucher for the in - house spa before they have to head back. )

it’s practically automatic that she reaches behind her back ( as best she can, at least ) for the tab of her zipper next, “babe?” pawing in vain at a little tab of metal she isn’t going to be able to reach on her own without resorting to some impressive acts of contortionism. “can you do me a huge favor?” forgetting for a moment that all of this is fictitious ( and while she and beau might be friendly with one another as can be, they’re still not on a level where she should be calling him pet names and getting undressed right in front of him ), she asks in the hope that he’ll come over and help her, already gathering up her hair to one side, giving him a better look at the back of the dress that’s been her cover for the night while they went from poker table to poker table looking for their guy. 

            “it doesn’t have to be all the way down, just until i can reach ---- ” the sudden effort to clarify means she’s gone and realized what she asked might come off as a little inappropriate, but she hasn’t let go of the blonde rope that now circles her hand either. she won’t look in his direction ------ her eyes stay fixed on the ceiling ------ listening for the sound of his boots coming closer until she feels the back of his fingers lightly brush against her skin before the familiar slow pull of metal teeth separating and the first deep lungful of air in hours.

and when she turns back around, he’s still there ---------- closer than she’d anticipated, and looking just as surprised by the fact that neither one of them has bothered to move now that her request’s been fulfilled as she is. “thanks,” it’s practically a whisper when she does manage to find the ability to express her gratitude; eyes quick to shift between the way he’s looking at her and his mouth ------------- the pull of the latter proving to be just a little too much as she pushes herself up on her tip - toes and kisses him; tentatively at first, but then a beat passes, then two; three ---- but three seems to be the limit as she realizes he’s pulling back and apologizing now, while she waits for her head to finish swimming. “beau — ” ( she can’t even blame it on the whisky she’d had downstairs; not that she would anyway. she’d barely had three sips of that drink before they’d come back up here … this was her acting on something she hadn’t even completely realized she wanted as much as she did had. but he’d pulled back and begun an apology, sharon quickly beginning to offer up one of her own while very much afraid she’s gone and completely wrecked both a professional and personal relationship in one quick brush of her lips. “no, no, it’s my fault, im —”

            “sorry, i shouldn’t have done that. .... definitely shouldn’t have done that,” she presses the pads of her fingertips to her temple while her other hand stays pressed flat against her back in an attempt to keep her dress in place as the reality of what she’s done sinks more and more in. “i should .… go shower, maybe.” she motions quickly to the bathroom; it’s not all that far away, but considering this might as well be a walk - of - shame for her, there’s no scenario where her aching feet will be able to carry her quick enough. all she can do is start stepping backwards, away from him and closer to the sanctuary of the bathroom.

once inside she closes the door quietly with a string of curse words, threatening to turn the white marble bathroom blue, a deep breath following as she once again runs her fingers and nails through her hair while she lets the last few minutes play over and over in her mind ( and lets her dress finally fall to the floor in a sad, sequined pile ). fuck, fuck, fuck. the only thing she can do now is prolong the time she spends in here ---------- how else is she supposed to make sure there’s space between the two of them while she essentially hides if not by taking as long and hot of a shower as her skin will allow?

as she opens the glass door to the stall and starts up the water, she’s counting on the volume of it will be at least enough to drown out the way she’s berating herself in her head ------- from asking for his help, to misreading the way his fingers lingered on her skin, to the kiss ..… if only shampoo washed away bad decisions too. she gives the water a minute or two to come to temperature before she climbs in and shuts the door behind her, content to simply stand there and let the hot water wash over her for now until she remembers how exactly to wash her hair.

she’s almost sure she hears the door open; realizing she hadn’t locked the door like she always does ( a force of habit from her youth; she even does it when she’s alone at her place ), but the sound is fleeting, and the water feels far too good beating down on the back of her neck for her to make the effort to turn around and look. it isn’t until she feels a sudden; brief chill ------------ the glass door to the shower stall opening and closing again, as she comes to find out when she does turn around this time; the curiosity on her face to see him standing in there with her obvious even through the steam that rises around them.

------------ “beau?”

[awkwardcourage]

ichormotel asked: ❛ well, i do feel better now that you're here. ❜ from annie !

Hughie's got that smile on his face, the one that he knows is stupid and dopey and lovesick. It's disgustingly saccharine and he doesn't have the slightest fuck to give. He's made her happy and that's all he wants, it's all he cares about.

"Good. I mean, it'd pretty fucking shit if you didn't, right?"

Oh, if only he could be smooth.

[nonsupe-a]

theres something about this simple life he doesn’t wish to leave.      he wants to stay here,      tucked in this ever present reminder that,      in spite of all that they have been through,     the unspeakable things that were done to them either by volition or unknowingly,     they’re both still human.      something about the blinking clock on the other side of the room that flashes the time:  1:30.    the way the house smells lightly of cinnamon and vanilla.      the way beaus laugh immediately fills and brightens a room.      something about the mountains in the distance and watching the sunrise with him,      beau.      about the way this calm montana life feels deep in his bones,     like he can breathe steadily again.     like he’s settled and he finds comfort in something vaguely familiar about it:   lush green grass and a breeze that gently sweeps by and tussles beaus floppy hair in the funniest ways.     he doesn’t want to leave it behind for anything,    especially not some wild goose chase where some if not any answers may never be found or given.     here he knows he’s safe.     he knows peace.     he found a presence that keeps him anchored,     who maybe even   ...   loves him.     crazy a concept that may be.

he doesn’t want to leave it behind but they can’t sit idly by and allow these things to go unchecked.      shiloh can’t.      he understands that his situation is different than beaus   -   he volunteered for the program,      for changes in him that were brought on by cv-a.      he knew exactly what he signed on for when he set ink to paper and put name to dotted line,      signing away his soul.      beau didn’t ask for this   ...   he never signed his life away like shiloh did.     there was no deal for him,     no waiver,     nothing that would help him understand the toll that it would take on him nor the price that was to be paid.      a life gone,      stuck in a battle for yourself.      a battle to survive,      a battle for control.      and someone has to pay   --   for bringing this curse upon him unknowingly,      for taking his life away from him.      if its happened to beau   ...   who else ?      and who’s to stop them from doing it again if they aren’t stopped ?      who else would bring the battle to them but shiloh warren himself ?

maybe he shouldn’t.      maybe they shouldn’t.      maybe they should rest here in the mountains instead and live out the rest of their lives here,      maybe it should be like this where they find a way to be content and isolated but free.     because at least they have that;   at least they’re free.     in a basic sense of the word.     it will always be far more complicated than that.    they’re always in someones line of sight,      thats just how it is after something like this,      how it was told to him when he’d received the injection on day one.    and he knows better than to think they were bluffing their asses off.    maybe they should take what they have and consider themselves lucky.

no,      a stronger part counters.      no,      they have to answer for this.     they have to pay for what they have done.      they have to burn for the wrongs they have caused,      the lives they have ruined.      for beaus life.      you owe him that much,      he thinks.      owe him   --   no,     promised that he would help him find the answers,      those responsible for inflicting this torture upon him.

but he can’t let those thoughts cloud.     especially not now   ..   not when he wants his focus to be on beau and beau alone.      the way his skin feels against his,      touch smoothing over the scarred pieces of him as if he were sculpted of marble:   admiring,   adorning him with kisses.      mouth fitting to parts of him he never thought would be kissed,      and shiloh returning each as he can.      the way his hands fall over the other man,      how hot to touch beaus skin was as he guides him ever closer,      skin flush with skin.      relishing the way beaus hands fell through his hair after he trailed kisses down his chest,     leaving marks in his wake;   fingers knotting,      tugging just enough to elicit a moan or a low growl in response.      each moan from the other man adored;   soft murmurs of his name earning him more kisses.      taking their time in this,      memorizing each other in touch,      mapping out each others body with kisses.      shiloh is sure that he could recognize him by touch alone.      hands fit perfectly in his,      perfectly to the curve of his hip and the soft curve of his back.

never wants this moment to end,      almost dares to wish again to stay upon the cusp of these last seconds.      one of beaus arms around his middle,      other to allow him to anchor him in a kiss.     their skin is flushed,      both hot to the touch now.     red hot and still it doesn’t stop them   ...   nothing could.     shilohs thrusts become slower but snapped,      can feel it when beau presses his body into him and the way back arches off the mattress for a finish.     his mouth falls open to a soundless orgasm,      holding shiloh still captive in that kiss.      chest heaves in hitched breaths,      some catching his throat as his own finish follows suit.      a moment that crashes over him in a sweet end to intimacy.      like beau,     mouth falls open but a groan escapes him.      beau seizes the moment once more and captures it all in one last kiss,      the noise swallowed by him as climax is ridden through.      neither of them closed their eyes.      

minutes pass and still they hold onto each other,      heaving chests coming to a slowed pace in recovery.      shiloh peppers kisses to beaus jaw,      over both of his cheeks and those soft freckles that dot his nose,     sweeping a hand through his hair as they lie there,      still.

this is the peace you want to trade ?      a voice asks him.      to which he answers without hesitation,      for @ichormotel ?      yes.

he doesn’t like to smoke in beaus house.      so he rises from the bed once he’s sure that beaus fallen asleep,      even just enough that the absence of him won’t be noticed,    and slides into loose fitting pajamas to quietly wander through the home and step out through the back door.      seats himself in one of the chairs opposite another,      propping his feet up on the stone firepit in the middle.      a half-smoked cigarette pulled from a pack,   lighter from his pocket,   met tobacco with flame and breathes in deep.      smoke dances into the night sky as shiloh looks up,      finding big dipper and scorpio in the constellations above him.

again   ...   are you sure this is the life that you want to trade ?      you have it good here.      its peaceful and you have everything you could ask for.      you even have him.

door behind him opens and catches his attention before he can allow his mind to drift too far.      beau.      supposes his absence was felt more than he thought.         “   i’m sorry.      i thought you were asleep.   ”         he takes another drag of the cigarette before he snuffs it out in the ash of the firepit.      no words come from the other man yet.      instead he stands there,      bordering the threshold of his home.     he looks stuck for a moment,     or maybe that was shiloh reading into it when he shifts in his seat,      bringing his feet to the ground again and allowing himself to shift more towards him.      and he’s sure concern stitches his brows together.

“   it wasn’t just about needing someone tonight.   it was you i needed.   ”

heart thuds in his chest,    almost like it stopped and started again.     it was you i needed.      you.

compelled up from his seat,      shiloh steps to him and gently cradles his face in both hands.      leans for a kiss to the corner of his mouth,      parting just enough from him to speak,          “   i needed you too.   ”        before guiding him closer to him,      chests together,      skin with skin,      as he kisses him deeply.      fire in him returns,      churning over again like an inferno anew.      and before he can get too lost in him,      he parts once more to correct himself:          “   need.      i need you too.   ”

[e1igius]

WHAT SOFT ROMANTIC CLICHE ARE YOU ?

love at first sight. let's be real , only children believe in "love at first sight." but you're a hopeless romantic probably sitting around in coffee shops waiting to meet "the one." and there is absolutely nothing wrong with that. infatuation at first sight is more accurate. you are the moment when two people lock eyes , and the whole world stills. nothing is there but you and them. and there is suddenly a strong sense of longing. you love love, don't deny it. flowers, chocolates, the whole nine yards. because of this you are loved by many. hopefully you know it too: you are loved.

tagged by @akfil / tagging @dehddie @l0vemade @medicbled @wheelrisms @fiddlcd @embeddedecho @ichormotel @prettybrawler

[queensupe]

“      is   it   TRUE   what   they   say?      ”      she   asks      @ichormotel​​      with   a   slyness   underpinning   it,   the   ghost   of   a   smirk   welling   up   beneath   the   curving   wave   of   the   question   mark.      ice   chatters   into   the   bottom   of   a   glass   she   hasn’t   filled   with   a   smarting   bite   of   liquor   in   months,   a   hand   clutched   around   the   neck   of   a   bottom   she   won’t   drink   from.      maeve   waves   it   like   it’s   an   olive   branch      (      &      maybe   it   is      ),      &      pairs   it   off   with   an   archness   that   weaves   its   way   all   the   way   into   her   brow.      “      is   PAYBACK   really   a   bitch?      ”   //         sc.      

[conziergearch]

my dashboard has been overrun by @ichormotel spamming soldier boy and i wish i could be mad but he’s shirtless

[whitesuited]

she’s lost count of how many times she’s shaken the little packet of sugar between her fingertips ( or for how long ), the contents of the little pouch shifted to the bottom a long time ago, but there’s no intention of actually ripping it open and shaking it into her coffee. it’s simply a way to kill time; to stall here and lean against the side of the countertop near the coffee maker, watching the rest of the department come and go at the beginning of what no doubt will be a busy day all around. she resists the urge to let her eyes light up when @ichormotel​ finally makes an appearance ------------- opting instead for finally putting down the sugar she’s been using as a stalling mechanism without budging from her prime location next to the only thing worth coming into the kitchen for this early in the morning. despite how friendly they’ve gotten outside of work, there’s a mutual understanding that while they’re here, it’s professionalism first and foremost. ( and maybe just a little bit of flirting when they think they can get away with it. )

he offers up a blanket ‘hello’ to the handful of deputies still milling around before making their way back to their desks before the morning briefing, and she takes it upon herself to make something innocent into one of those little bit of flirting situations if only because she’s sure she can. her lips hover over the edge of her mug, attempting to keep the grin that’s on her face hidden so the rest of the room can’t see the way she’s beaming behind a thin piece of porcelain.

           “ ’morning, sheriff. looking a little less haggard than usual, hm? good for you.” not what she’s actually thinking, of course; but again, they’re supposed to be co - workers and nothing more. ( but she’s sure the look she’s giving him now fully gives herself away ------- it’s probably for the best the kitchen’s cleared out for the most part now only leaving them alone with one other deputy who’s going to be a little harder to shoo away. ) “you too, carter,” he gives her a smile as he reaches for the handle to the coffee pot; the one that leads to all those little creases in the corner of his eye ----- the one she’s pretty keen on even while knowing that seeing it now means she’s in for it. “you don’t look totally ugly today.” he doesn’t even miss a beat, or spill a drop of the coffee he’s pouring, only glancing in her direction once it’s safely back on the burner.

she’s already halfway into her sip when he does it, and it’s a real testament to her ability to keep a straight face ( and her mouth shut for two seconds ) that what’s left of that sip isn’t sent flying halfway across the room courtesy of a spit take for that one. instead, she manages to swallow down the last mouthful of coffee that’s threatening to find a way out from between her lips if she doesn’t bring that mug back up in a hurry and pretend this conversation is as mundane as they come. even while knowing the simple fact that they both know better than to call anything about whatever it is they are mundane ---------- or that just an hour or so earlier that very morning, he’d been the one saying ‘good morning beautiful’ into the dip between her shoulder and her neck with that same troublemaker’s smile looking back at the both of them in the mirror while she brushed her teeth. something about that image still fresh in her mind makes his ‘compliment’ here and now even more delightful.

she clicks her tongue once her mouth is free and clear from that last sip; making it look like she’s really taking his observation to heart. she nods once, finally flashing him a smile of her own that suggests she’s going to take this little impromptu game that he’s volleyed back to her and run with it for as long as she thinks she’ll be able to get away with it. “thanks for noticing. i’ve been working on that, actually.” she angles her mug away, gaze shifting from him to her coffee cup while she pretends to be deeply interested in the way the brown colored liquid swirls around when she rolls her wrist in a circle.

          “must’ve been all that good beauty sleep i got last night,” which is more than just a little white lie considering it’s completely false from top to bottom; but since the only person who could call her bluff is also the reason why, she doubts there will be any kind of attempt to set that record straight. at least not while poppernak is taking his sweet time waiting for his breakfast to warm up in the microwave. 

she takes another sip from her cup, shoulders bobbing with a well - timed sigh, “dunno what it could’ve been, but i was just completely worn out. but if it’s working that well, maybe i should keep it up.”

[awkwardcourage]

for @ichormotel <3

Hughie never would have guessed when he started working for the Federal Bureau of Superhuman Affairs that he would actually start working cases protecting supes, not just prosecuting them. It wasn't just supes committing crimes against regular people that they had to worry about now. It was also supe on supe crime they had to contend with. They were also a brand new branch of the government and so could take up some of the backlog that other departments had been struggling with. Anything that could be related to supes was given to them. Concerns about a supe school that should have been dealt with by the education sector of the government was hence thrown to the FBSA and thus to Hughie.

Supe schools were actually pretty rare, but he had heard of Professor Xavier's before joining the FBSA. It was more than a little daunting to be leading the first investigation into it; and because it's a school, he isn't letting the boys go on the ground with this one. No matter his fondness for them, he just can't see Frenchie and Butcher in an environment with school children as being a good mix.

Because, again, it's a school, Hughie went into it under the assumption that it would be relatively safe. He hadn't considered that perhaps his presence may actually be the threatening one for once. Potentially, he could ruin livelihoods if he didn't like what he found. He came to this realisation the hard way.

Hughie wasn't entirely sure where he went wrong, but he felt the moment the conversation turned south. The air crackles, the lights overhead begin to dim and he can hear students and teachers alike scatter from what is possibly about to be the epicentre of violence.

"Look, n-nobody's even said anything about shutting down the school, okay?"

The humming is only increasing, he can see the electricity sparking and crackling in their hands and Hughie is making a valiant effort not to panic.

"I-I'm just here to-"

[whitesuited]

staying late after the rest of the department had gone home for the evening was pretty common for her ----------- apparently a habit she’d inherited from her father without even realizing it. ( though the number of nights she went to bed as a kid without seeing her father only to see him materialize the next morning at the breakfast table might have been a clue. ) but she liked the quiet being on an empty deputy’s floor brought, liked the ability to get caught up on all the paperwork she tended to willfully ignore during the hours that made up her regular shift. once and a while she’d see another desk light on out on the floor, or a lone office lit up from behind some drawn blinds for an hour or two past everyone leaving for the night, but more often than not she’d have the floor to herself for as long as she needed ( or until the cleaning crew came in and reminded her of just how late it had gotten ). 

she isn’t surprised to see @ichormotel​’s office lights on as she wanders down the hall in search of just one more lukewarm and burnt cup of coffee ------- he’s a lot like her when it comes to his approach to work; head down and all - in on seeing the case through until the end ( she sees that same stubbornness in him that she likes to deny about herself, too ), and keen on minimizing distractions. ( though it feels like that policy’s gotten a little more lax in certain circumstances ---- certainly nothing that would ever effect a case, but it’s been nice to have a reprieve once and awhile around here. ) and considering their current workload is less than light, those reprieves have been collateral damage when it comes to getting everything done.

so if she’s taking a few moments to take a break, there shouldn’t be any harm in offering him the same option, right? the fact she hadn’t even known he was here still means he’s well overdue anyway. she glances at her watch, making sure it’s as late as she thinks it is before she formally abandons her quest for tepid caffeine and opts instead for the open door of his office. she uses two knuckles worth of a light tap tap tap to announce herself, and the scene she finds on the other side of that doorway is pretty much what she’s expecting; he’s got a stack’s worth of paperwork spread out over his desk in the neatest form of chaos she’s ever seen, but the man that should be behind the desk is missing.

his jacket is still there, draped over the back of his chair -------- a hint that he’s still somewhere in the building, and not on his way home without her it; which is more than enough of an excuse for her to hang around and wait for him to reappear. ( so much for her little plan on compelling him to take a little break with her --------- it seems like they’ve had the same idea without even realizing it. )

she lingers in the doorway for a little while, leaning up against the doorframe and facing the longer end of the hall, waiting to hear what’s become the intimately familiar sound of his boots echoing off the tile floor. her eyes trail back to his desk again in the absence of any sounds that remind her of him, and after enough time hearing nothing but the air conditioning cycling on, she rolls her shoulder over the doorframe and opts instead to spend the rest of this surprise ( it’s still a surprise as far as she’s concerned; he doesn’t know she’s here, and now she gets to get in on the fun of not knowing when he’s going to walk through his own office door again ) waiting inside for him.

the chairs he has on the opposite side are passed up as options; and he looks better sitting in his seat anyway ------- which leads her to tidying up a small section of the front of his desk for her to perch on, collecting notes and evidence tickets and sliding them into one of the ( many ) manila folders he’s got open and setting it all to the side to make room for when she pushes herself up onto the edge and settles, legs crossed and swinging slowly back and forth; sharon leaning this way and that to make sure she’s just out of the eyeline of someone who’s about to walk through the door.

it’s still a few minutes more before she hears those footsteps coming closer, a shuffle and scuff of leather soles that remember where to turn even when it becomes clear he’s operating on auto - pilot ---- he may have been away from his desk, but it looks like he took a piece of it with him; another one of those folders resting on the crook of his arm while his brow keeps pinching over sentences he apparently isn’t all too happy to be reading. whatever it is on those pages, regardless of how they’re currently making his brow jump, they’ve got enough of his attention that he doesn’t see her sitting there waiting for him ---------- he even gets close enough for her to straighten out her leg and touch him with the toe of her boot. which she does, a little goose to his thigh accompanied by a cheshire - cat - worthy grin, “hey cowboy.”

as if she wasn’t already grinning from ear - to - ear, it’s only once he’s this close that she thinks she sees a paper cup cradled in his free hand ---- and if that’s the case, at least that last cup of coffee she’d been craving earlier went to a good home. “saw your light on. i didn’t realize you were still here too,” she hasn’t lowered her foot since that first little nudge to win back his attention, and she doubles down with a another roll of her ankle. “so i came in here with this whole speech planned about how you’ve been working all day, and trying to convince you that you deserved a break ---------- and i would’ve ended up delivering it to an empty room.”

still, it’s the thought that counts, right? the grin hasn’t budged from off her face, nor has the toe of her boot from his leg, “still wanna hear it?”

[whitesuited]

#icb sharon actually thought she was going to be able to function with him around

listen. if there was ever a reason to fail gloriously ....

[whitesuited]

the last time she’d been out on this lake with a fishing pole in hand it had been at the insistence of her father ----- the two of them sat on either end of his ancient rowboat long into the afternoon while he listened to the baseball game on his AM radio ( the rowboat she still, to this day, hasn’t been able to figure out how it managed to stay afloat purely on the amount of duct tape and good intentions that held it together ) while she tried to keep herself from leaning too far over the edge to see why her little orange bobber wasn’t bobbing; or trying not to fall asleep while he went on and on about how live bait was the way god had always intended them to fish from the beginning.

( nothing like spending your saturday mornings all summer long up before the sun digging around in an old beat up folgers coffee can full of nightcrawlers. )

so when @ichormotel​ had asked her if she wanted to come along with him this time, she’d surprised even herself with how quickly she’d said yes; even if the before - five - am - wake - up - call it required made her feel a little jittery ( and not just from the vast amount of caffeine she’d made a point of bringing along for the ride to go along with a cooler full of beers for later and a few sandwiches ). but the opportunity of some time alone without work so much as being mentioned wasn’t something she was about to pass up, even if it meant rolling out of bed almost as soon as she’d rolled into it the night before ---------- and acting like she was even good at this whole fishing thing to begin with. ( she knew she was in trouble once she’d commented on the mini pro - shop’s worth of rods he had leaning there against the wall in his office; but if she could feign being terrible at pool she could fake being good at drowning worms. )

it certainly helps that they seem to be the only ones out on the lake; at least for now ----- the sounds of water barely brushing up against the sides of the boat and the occasional birdsong are far cries from the memories of moments like these being accompanied by the sounds of radio static and beeps on the hour. he already seems more relaxed out here while she watches him setting everything up now that they’ve dropped anchor, which is an equally nice surprise; and she wonders if maybe it’ll take a bit of the weight of being down at the station all the time off her shoulders, too. ( and maybe that’s why she finds herself watching him just a little bit longer than she knows she should ---- that she knows is probably safe to ---- tying off lures, testing lines and the way his eyes crinkle at the edges when he concentrates on those little knots … but she catches herself before he can see that she’s staring; might just consider it her first catch of the day, too. )

which means she should probably follow his lead and get her own pole ready for the water; doing her best to pull from what muscle memories she still has of these trips with her father and stealing mirroring beau’s routine to help fill in the gaps. “so what are we thinking, ten fish each? maybe twenty?” the corner of her mouth curls on the side that’s closest to him as her fingernails attempt to separate and untangle her line, still going along with the plan to bluff about her fishing prowess for as long as she can get away with it. “figure we’re going to get pretty hungry.” she’s already promised to cook whatever they catch for dinner later ----------- the one part of this so far she actually feels confident about being able to do with ease.

           “or am i gonna to be carrying the both of us so we aren’t stopping at the diner for a consolation dinner on the way back?”

[awkwardcourage]

ONCE YOU'RE STRIPPED CLEAN, WHAT'S AT YOUR CORE?

RIPPLING SUNSET: you’re the nicest person i’ll ever meet, probably. with an undying passion to protect those who can’t protect themselves, you’re energetic and bubbly to a fault. it’s cute, watching you run around trying to tie up loose ends. i feel bad for you — out of everyone you know, you probably have some of the deepest trauma, more than anyone’s aware of. this isn’t something that you want attention for at all, and you’d really just rather forget it exists at all… even then, it seems like you can never escape it. i wish you a pleasant rest of your life, full of rippling sunsets and free of prying eyes.

TAGGED BY: @gingerspiice thank yoooooou! 💖

TAGGING: @ichormotel, @hom3land3r, @backonmybullshit91, @ashortdropandasuddenstop, @iwritemilfs, @heroexxs

[whitesuited]

lil’ bit of housekeeping with a tag drop for @ichormotel

[whitesuited]

i love miss shannon charter

shannon charter + liam marishall aka solid bouy 4ever. 😌

[whitesuited]

cause of death,,,,, dimples

........... BUT WHAT A WAY TO GO

[nonsupe-a]

the road to get to this point was a long one,      separate bends in their ways that was no doubt filled with various obstacles along this treacherous path.      it was no easy feat to find their way around them,     to dig themselves free from the dirt and ugly truths their government has tried to bury them under,      the lies fed to the media and the public,      the blood and god knows what unfathomable things that were “uncovered” with the so - called truth of their experiments,      of them.

shiloh,      for one,      was rather used to being lied to and about.      it came with the territory of his last occupation.     but he can’t imagine what it must be like on the outside,      can’t imagine what it is to be on the opposite side of this situation where these secrets are uncovered,      finding out almost everything you knew was a lie;   that your own people used you as a way in and took advantage of an opportunity,      of purposefully set blindness.     cv-a was not an isolated test and shiloh knew it from the start,      knew it even when he volunteered,      but the extend of its reach was beyond him.    he had no idea that there were others that were unknowingly receiving the same altering drug.      several steps above his paygrade,      far beyond his authority.

wood from the fire between them cracks and sends embers erupting into the sky before they cool and fall back to the earth.      night skies in montana are usually clear,      at least thats been his experience so far,      but this night there was a fair amount of cloud cover.      a storm is brewing over the mountains to the north of them,      often he can catch the bright flash of lightning and feel the rumble of thunder in his chest.     hours away from them and still he can feel the power and respect it demands from here.

“   when i was a kid,     my father said to me once ...    ”         he starts,     but first he takes a drag of the cigarette in hand,      exhaling the smoke in a long sigh before he continues his thought,          “   power isn’t control at all.      power is strength,      and giving that strength to others.   ”          another drag from the cigarette before he tosses what remains into the fire before them.      smoke falls as he speaks this time,          “   you have power.   ”      /      @ichormotel​,   for beau.