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Sheith Westworld AU
I was really, really inspired by @neyasochi’s fic, these violent delights, which is a totally enthralling Sheith Westworld AU. I actually never watched Westworld until her fic turned me onto it, then spent the last week plowing through season 1 as fast as I could.
So, I’m running with Sheith in Westworld for a minute because I got a very specific scene stuck in my head and needed to put it in the world so I can get back to my other projects. Here, host/outlaw Keith is already off his loop when he and newcomer Shiro first get acquainted.
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Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5 | Part 6
Shiro’s still not sure what to think of Westworld, but he feels this place getting under his skin more and more. Mostly this devastatingly beautiful outlaw he’s been riding with for at least a week—fleeing gunshots and arrows, fighting for their lives, bathing in rivers and sleeping out under the stars. It feels like freedom out this far. It also feels like a rope tightening round their necks.
Shiro can’t stop staring at Keith, his ruddy tan and the crows feet at the corner of his eyes when he smiles in spite of himself. He’s hard and rough and breathtaking. But Shiro doesn’t approach Keith, won’t even look too long or step too close. He won’t ask that of him, though he knows he’s practically expected to. That’s why he won’t. It feels like taking advantage, or worse: that maybe it doesn’t matter if he does or doesn’t, because it isn’t real at all. No matter how real it feels.
That’s not what they’re out here for, besides. Something has been calling Keith out this dusty road, beckoning with the promise of answers: about Keith’s past, about what his future can hold.
Maybe Shiro can help Keith find what he’s looking for. Maybe he can help him break free. Then maybe, maybe this can be real.
...
Read the rest on AO3, If I die before I wake <3
Part 1: Sheith Westworld AU
Psst I need help naming this one. Came up with the Art of Waking initially, but feels a bit dramatic for what I know will be the tiniest ficlet... like, I don’t feel like I can deliver on the promise of that name lol. If anyone’s got ideas for me as this unfolds, feel free to share!
Psst psst, I went with a new title, If I die before I wake. Two chapters up so far on AO3. ;)
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Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5 | Part 6
Sleeping on the hard earth for days and days is enough to make Shiro eager to rouse early and get back on the road. Then again, being jostled in the saddle from sunup to sundown makes him long for his dusty bedroll again.
He doesn’t fuss about it, figuring he’ll get no sympathy from his traveling companion. He figures Keith only tolerates him because he’s still a decent shot since his active duty days, can manage his own horse, and doesn’t upset the easy silence that settles over them for miles and miles.
Keith could figure no business reason, sordid or otherwise, as to why Shiro would go to the trouble to hitch himself to a wanted man. After that first day of trying, he seemed to decide this newcomer may be queer but wasn’t particularly a danger nor a liability, at least not in the near term. They’d made it through a few scrapes, Shiro proving himself useful, capable, and surprisingly quick to his aid. Loyal, even. After that, Keith’d shared a wild hare with him twice, and Shiro wondered if Keith was growing fond of the company.
He’d started letting Shiro close the once-quarter-mile gap between their mounts as they rode, keeping each other in sight. Sometimes Keith would remark on something or other in their path; a wild sign, a bit of legend about the land. More if he was in particularly high spirits. And when the sun was setting red between the distant mesas, Keith would ride closer than that and ask Shiro a question or two.
Where he’d been before this.
Where he’s intending to go, when this road ends.
Keith wrestles out from him that Shiro was an army man once, and his smile is incredulous and wry and a bit devastating.
“You a law man, then? Out ‘ere with me?”
Shiro shakes his head slowly. “Not a law man. Just a soldier in someone else’s war.”
Keith raises an eyebrow. “Someone else’s?”
“Well it sure wasn’t mine.”
Keith hums, scanning the horizon for a moment, and then smirks darkly as he catches Shiro’s eyes again. “Soldier, then,” he smiles, and rides ahead without another word.
...
Read the rest on AO3, If I die before I wake <3
Part 2: Sheith Westworld AU
Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5 | Part 6
Near a week on, Keith ambles over to their campfire out of the darkness to check on the grouse he’s roasting. Shiro doesn’t know how to cook, let alone knows the first thing about gutting his catch, but he tries not to let on. Keith doesn’t make a point of it, just quietly takes over when Shiro hesitates and doesn’t meet his eyes.
It almost seems like the man enjoys having someone to look after, at least in some small way.
“What’re you out here for, Soldier?”
The question takes him by surprise, but it’s spoken kindly, almost fondly. Shiro likes the was Keith has taken to calling him soldier, a bit mocking but an endearment at the same time.
“I told you, I’m just along for the ride.”
Keith pauses carving up their dinner and points his hunting knife at Shiro across the fire. “I wanna believe you, but there’s something missin’. I don’t like being toyed with.” He takes a few more swipes at the meat before looking back up at Shiro. “Out with it.”
Shiro licks his lips. “Think the reason you feel I’m not being entirely truthful,” he answers quietly, “is I don’t know what to say that you will believe. Because you certainly won’t believe the truth.”
Keith blinks at him, angling his chin as he eyes Shiro up and down. “And what’s that?”
“I think I’m learning about myself out here, and… I think you know what that feels like. Impossible as that seems. I think we’re alike, somehow, despite how we’re different.”
His eyes flex wide for a moment, and then Keith laughs. Softly at first, and then louder.
“What’s so funny?”
“You’s right, Shiro- I dunno how ya ‘spect me ta take you seriously,” he sighs through the last shaking laughs.
“I- I guess I just thought, for a moment, you’d understand,” he murmurs. “S- sorry.”
It comes out more sullen than he means it to, but he can’t help his disappointment. For a moment he really thought there could be an understanding between them, but he was warned of this, of course. The hosts aren’t supposed to process the things that would confuse them. Their programming treats it as nonsense, filling in the gaps.
Keith’s eyeing him a bit skeptically, his expression more guarded than before. He skewers one breast of their meal and makes to hand him the knife by leaning across the fire.
Shiro can’t help that his eyes are a bit wide, since he’s never seen that particular knife leave his person except to pierce a man at paces with impeccable aim. Otherwise it’s always secured at his back, ready. He carries it like a talisman, polishes it constantly. What it means to him, Shiro can’t guess. But he certainly never expected to be handed that knife like a piece of cutlery shared between friends.
Keith sees him hesitate and seems to rethink his impulse. In a blink, the knife is sunk an inch deep into the log where Shiro’s leaning, meat still on it. The blade nicked the muslin of his shirt where it grazed by his right arm.
Shiro just stays very still, eyes locked on Keith’s. It’s a challenge, a game Shiro’s not sure how to play. But he thinks that maybe he’s starting to know Keith, at least. It’s something.
After a few beats, Shiro reaches for the knife, pulls it clear of the stump and holds it up. He never drops Keith’s gaze.
“Always appreciate a home-cooked meal,” Shiro says kindly, with as much confidence as he can muster—or call it bravado, if you will. He takes a bite. It’s a little oily and a little dry, but it tastes good enough just for being hot and freshly killed. The adrenaline coursing through him probably doesn’t hurt, either.
“Compliments to the chef,” he adds with a deferential nod. He really can’t help how fond his smile gets as he watches Keith suppress an echoing smile.
“You really are something else, Shiro,” he breathes. “I- I’ve never met anyone like you.”
...
Read the rest on AO3, If I die before I wake <3
Part 3: Sheith Westworld AU
Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5 | Part 6
Keith rides ahead for the whole of the next day, and all of the day following. He's cagey and bristled-over and Shiro can't guess at what he's done to lose his footing.
He'll wait til he figures Shiro's not looking, then he watches him. Shiro feels it on his skin. It doesn't feel like danger, but it agitates.
Shiro turns from filling his waterskin and catches him in the act of one of those sharp looks. Keith does turn away, but only after a long moment of looking that lingers til Shiro's breath hitches. Keith's eyes are furious and raw, like a starving man. Shiro can't fathom what's going on in his mind.
"Keith?"
But he turns and sweeps himself up into the saddle, bolting on down the trail without looking back.
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Shiro finds himself trailing a mile after Keith into a lawless border town at sundown. Keith storms away from tying his horse without a single word, while Shiro gets them lodgings at the only place with any to offer: a well-used brothel in a farce of Spanish Colonial style.
As night falls, the narrow streets and dim overcrowded halls are filled with drinking and dancing and orgiastic sin.
Shiro never thought himself a prude, but he’s on edge in a way that he knows has more to do with the sound of people fucking with abandon than it has anything to do with the general lawless disorder of being this far from Sweetwater. Disorder's what’s greeted them in every town as they travel southwest, and he mostly prefers the dirt and the stars for that reason. But Pariah is different, darker. A touch more menacing and a lot more sad. Around every corner comes some unfortunate surprise and Shiro doesn’t know where to steer his eyes. He’d leave them on the floorboards if that wouldn’t risk brushing into or tripping over some indisposed reveler.
When he finds him, Keith is sloppy and reeks of whiskey, with a gnawing look in his rubbed-red eyes. His gaze is distant, unfocused. He misses Shiro standing right in front of him, turning a lazy circle and wandering off as though he doesn’t care which way he’s going unless it's straight to the bottom. They haven’t known each other long, but Shiro’s never seen him like this.
Keith stumbles as he turns abruptly, feeling Shiro’s grip on his collar.
“What are you doing?”
Keith wobbles but gets his feet back under him somehow, shoving Shiro away. “Same as everyone’s here to do. Forget.” He practically spits the word.
“By winding up in a ditch?”
“Can take care of myself,” Keith grumbles through a curtain of dark, wild hair. “What’s it to you if I do? Look at ‘hm,” he gestures vaguely at a rough-looking man who is humping the backside of a woman with a vacant expression, her raven hair not much longer than Keith’s. “Could be a good time—”
“—The hell?”
Keith aims to meet Shiro’s eyes, and sort of misses the mark. “Guarantee ‘e’ll give me a fuck first. He’s not picky.”
“Jesus,” Shiro curses. “That’s enough, you’re coming with me.”
Keith makes to resist but doesn’t have it in him. His breath huffs out loudly when he’s slung over Shiro’s shoulder. Shiro feels fists pummel his kidneys, just a few quick swipes, but not like he means it. It’d hurt more if he meant it, even incoherent as he is. Shiro carries him easily up the stairs.
Keith’s dismal laugh catches his ears as he kicks open the door to their cheap room on the second floor. The walls are thin. There won’t be a wink of sleep to be had in this place, that’s for sure.
“Is’is what it takes for you to take a shine to me, now?” Keith slurs.
Shiro throws him down on the bed, scowling. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
...
Read the rest on AO3, If I die before I wake <3
Part 4: Sheith Westworld AU
Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5 | Part 6
Shiro’s blood runs cold, his grip on Keith’s hand tense. “Why do you think you’re not real, Keith?”
Keith curls towards him, pulling Shiro in with a grip on his shirtsleeve until he can hear his heart beating and smell the whiskey on his breath.
“I’ve seen the other side,” Keith whispers conspiratorially at his ear. “I’ve met my maker.”
Keith turns his face to meet his eyes, and it’s all Shiro can do to stare back at him dumbly, holding very still.
“I’ve seen what’s inside this shell,” Keith thumps his chest angrily, his throat straining with tension even while he keeps his voice to a whisper, “and the strange tools they use to turn death into life. No tellin’ how many times, but I’ve died, Shiro. Ugly deaths. Shot for someone’s sport, filled with holes and caked with dust, then stitched back up so they can have another go tomorrow.”
Shiro can’t believe what he’s hearing. Hosts aren’t supposed to remember, lest they go mad from what they’ve seen. They aren’t supposed to know. But what if they could, what if they did? What if Keith is just the unlucky one that does?
“But you know what I think,” Keith pulls him even closer, wild eyes belying the careful hush in his voice. “Maybe the living’s the worse part.”
Keith lets up his grip on Shiro’s sleeve, and the loss of contact stings more than it should. His own hand is still covering one of Keith’s, and he twines their fingers just to try to keep him close.
Shiro can’t seem to catch his eyes now. Keith’s looking away, like he’s far, far away from here. He probably is.
“Why would you say that, Keith?”
He’s quiet a long time. At length he takes a shuddering breath to reply, and the sound it makes is like a whimper—barely heard, and yet so raw that Shiro’s sure the pain alone could kill. It sounds like surrender.
“Killin’ feels honest somehow, doesn’it? Even when the dyin’ is a lie.”
Shiro hates to think why he’s asking him this. Yes, Keith has seen him kill; Keith has killed, too, but it’s different somehow. Being the newcomer, like a wolf in sheep’s clothing. The one who holds all the cards.
Shiro thinks about all the death he’s brought in the past week or more. Guests kill hosts without consequence—without an equal, mortal risk. He thinks the killing is at least as much of a lie.
Keith pulls him out of his reverie. “Just seems tha’ living for someone’s sport is worse than dying that dusty death. Like... dyin’s more merciful than loving.”
...
Read the rest on AO3, If I die before I wake <3