mrsmeowsblog

[mrsmeowsblog]

George Ziel

[mrsmeowsblog]

Holy thus took so long to draw. GUESS THE MAN. It's colonel hsu one of the better ncr higher ups. Btw I'm a colonel moore hater and a general oliver hater!!! Someone tell me this looks like leyendeckers style before I go take a long walk off a short pier

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My protest sign is ready for Saturday!

[mrsmeowsblog]

Éowyn, disguised as Dernhelm, among the Riders of Rohan ⚔️

Based on Eugéne Grasset’s “Jeanne chevauchant au milieu des hommes d’armes” (1894)

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Jiang crouched through the dense underbrush as the silent forest pressed down on him like a weight. He kept his breathing steady, his steps short. The grip on his longbow tightened as his knuckles turned pale.

He reached a rise overlooking the trail.

Several crosses stood upright, and the high noon sun stretched out the shadows. A smoldering burn pile was nearby, gray smoke curling from the charred bodies. The world around him blurred as he stared at the crosses.

He found it hard to breathe as if his throat was being crushed in while everything was closing in around him. As he tried to steady himself, he rested a free hand against a pinyon pine.

The smell of decomposing corpses mingled into the vision of his brother’s limp, lifeless body, with his head lolling at an unnatural angle. The image crept in like a miner stumbling out of the deepest shaft.

His lungs ached, his breath coming in ragged pulls, and sweat ran down his brow. He couldn't let the past weigh him down. It wasn't safe here.

He closed his eyes, breathing in the scent of pine as the world coalesced into a vast forest and high afternoon shadows cast from mountain ridges as the wind sang against the rough rocks while ancient sequoia towered overhead.

His breathing became less labored, and his pulse steadied. His eyelids fluttered open as his vision came to, and the weight on his lungs faded; he pushed off the tree, the rough bark grazing his calloused palm.

Lenore broke through the brush further south as ravens and buzzards took to the skies. She waved her arms up and down like a bird flapping its wings. He let out a sigh, shaking his head. The woman knew how to grab his attention.

He weaved through the trees and underbrush, breaking through the thick foliage. The warm sun was bearing down on him, but he didn’t mind—he preferred the heat.

His spurless boots kicked up dirt as he trudged to the crucifixions and his traveling companion. A heavy weight slowed his even strides, clinging to him like damp wool.

If the Legion was “settling” here, this wasn’t a raiding party but a move. Or a warning to scare the locals into submission.

He approached her, eyes wide, as she pulled her blue bandanna over her nose and mouth.

“Requiem aeternam dona eis, Domine,” Lenore murmured, her voice wavering while her unsteady fingers pressed against her forehead, chest, left, and right shoulder, making a cross.

He didn’t comment. He disregarded her faith, granting her the moment.

His gaze fixated on the buffalo soldiers—their shattered knees buckled, their wrists and ankles bound to the crosses. Blood stained the dark blue uniforms, almost turning them black. Their warm skin was ashy. Buzzards and ravens pecked at their bodies while bloatflies buzzed around the corpses.

He pitied the men who suffered such a slow, agonizing death. None of them deserved to die like that. What sickened him most was how the Legion could justify such inhumanity. And yet, his people were the ones branded as barbarians. Heat spread up his neck as his nostrils flared. His upper lip curled into a snarl, and his ears were ringing.

“We should cut them down,” Lenore said, breaking the silence between them.

The ringing in his ears died down as the heat from his neck faded. His attention shifted back to her. Her green eyes were glistening. Her jaw was tight, the muscles in her neck standing out.

He could tell these sights and smells weighed heavy on her heart. But comforting would have to wait or come when she was ready.

He placed his left hand over his injury and looked back at the dead men. His injury was slowing them down. They needed to move faster.

It ate at him to walk away, but they couldn't afford to waste time. Legion bandits were hunting them. But he didn't want to see what the Legion would do to her—while they forced him to watch.

“I want you to cauterize it,” Jiang said, his fingers digging into his dark green shirt.

She pulled her bandanna down. “That’s not wise,” Lenore said, glaring at him. “The smoke will expose us.”

“I know,” Jiang snapped, his voice sharp. “I’m slowing us down.”

“What about them?” Lenore asked. Her posture was rigid; fists balled at her side. “We can't let 'em hang there.”

But he didn't want to see what the Legion would do to her—while they forced him to watch.

He sighed and placed a hand on her arm. “Leave them,” he whispered, his voice softening.

Her mouth gaped open, staring at him, and then her posture stiffened. “That's not right. They deserve to rest properly!” She said, her voice wavering as she stepped closer to him.

“There are worse things that could happen,” he snapped, standing at his full height, his chin pointing down.

“What would that be?” she said, glaring daggers.

“A man like I am… should never speak of such things to a woman,” he said, while his shoulders slackened.

“A woman like me doesn't need to be coddled!” she said.

He clicked his tongue against his front teeth, ready to respond when his gaze lay upon her. Her eyes were sharp and determined, and her shoulders squared, unflinching. She was right. She tortured Jessup and then saved his life.

He placed both hands on her arms and locked eyes with her. “They will take you,” he said, his voice soft while his grip firm. “Then they will sell you.”

Her brows lifted, and her mouth fell open. Then she shut it, her lips pressing together into a thin line.

“We better move fast,” she mumbled, pulling away from his grip.

[mrsmeowsblog]

Courier Six

[mrsmeowsblog]

Here is a small sneak peek to Chapter 6. It ain't done yet, but I am proud of this scene.

“My apologies that Heidi wasn't feeling well, Bill,” Edward said, holding his gaze longer than necessary, the unspoken judgment hanging thick between them. “But there are talks, cuz,” 

“What kind o’ talks?” Bill asked, shifting his weight.

Edward leaned forward, his lips upturning into a slight smile. “Secession was all the talk in the parish today. You missed it, cuz.” 

Bill's nostrils flared, fighting back the urge to ball his fist. “That so,” he said, leaning against the back of the couch. “What’s your stance on secession, cuz?”

Edward drummed his fingers against his legs. “States rights, the federal government has no right to abolish slavery in individual states,” Edward explained, his eyes never leaving his nails as he examined them. “Not only that, but it would harm the plantation I inherited after Ma passed. I make a profit from slave labor. It’s the way things are, Bill. You can’t change what’s in motion.” His voice hardened, as though this point alone should end the conversation.

Bill’s tongue clicked against his teeth in disapproval. What happened to Edward? He used to follow him wherever he went and even showed kindness towards Black folks. But now, Edward was cold and unloving towards those he sees as inferior.

“I disagree, Edward. The federal government is a tool to protect the helpless! Not the wealthy plantation owner or the rich factory man up north,” Bill explained, “A true follower o’ Christ’d see that plain as day.” 

The shadows danced around the two men as Edward stood, keeping his distance. “You’ve always been an idealist, Bill. The federal government won’t do anything against their self-interest. Look at the three-fifths compromise, the Fugitive Slave Act, the Missouri Compromise, the Compromise of 1850, the Kansas-Nebraska Act, and Dred Scott v. Sandford!”

Bill stood up and faced his cousin. A log collapsed, intensifying the gentle roar of the fire. The shadows stretched out, touching Edward as the light from the candles and fireplace cast a golden hue onto Bill’s pale skin.

“Three-fifths compromise is the problem! It ain't right that the government counts ‘em as part of a person like they’re less than whole. When they are ever’ a bit like you and me!” Bill yelled, squaring his shoulders and glaring daggers at Edward. “All’s because it’s law don’t mean it’s right!”

“Folks?” Edward asked, his face contorting in disgust. “Tools Bill! Ain’t no government… ain’t no high and mighty church gon’ change that!” 

Bill’s anger boiled over as he aggressively jabbed his finger at the door. “Out! GO ON, GET!” 

Edward's eyes widened, frozen in shock at Bill's outburst, but quickly recovered, adjusting his suit with stiff fingers. His hazel eyes were cold. 

“You're a naive fool, Bill,” Edward said as he stomped towards the rack to snatch his top hat and coat. 

Edward yanked open the door and slammed it shut, causing a sharp crack reverberating through the room on his way out. A framed painting rattled off the wall, crashing to the floor. Bill stood there, fists clenched, jaw locked so tight it ached. Edward had always known how to strike the rawest nerve. 

Bill's shoulders slumped as his anger faded. Deep down, Bill knew that war was on the horizon. Several states had already seceded from the union. It was only a matter of time before the powder keg exploded. 

He had already chosen a side, even if it meant causing an uproar in his family. He and Edward had been walking different paths for a long time. Bill wondered if they would ever cross again.

[mrsmeowsblog]

Wasteland's most suave detective

[mrsmeowsblog]

Finished just in time for the Spring Equinox! Inspired by a painting of Ferdinand Knab, a study on colors with a twist with the Naiads in the lake.

Happy Spring Equinox everyone! 🌸

Exercise inspired by @monstermonger, go check their art out!

[mrsmeowsblog]

Chapter 4 sneak peek

She finished laying out her clothes, standing straight, and smoothing her shirt like a dress. “What are you carving?” she asks, tilting her head to the side, her voice softening as she faces James.

He didn’t look up from his project as he continued carving. “A bear,” he responded nonchalantly.

“A bear,” she echoed, taking a step closer, her curiosity piqued. “Why a bear?”

“I like bears,” he said, continuing to carve.

“Oh, that so,” she replied, shifting her weight. She smirked slightly, deciding to poke the bear, so to speak. “Why do you like bears?”

“Bears symbolize strength, bravery, and ferocity,” he explained, as if reading from a textbook.

He stopped carving, sheathing his knife with a soft click. His broad shoulders seemed to take up the window when he stood, and his boots echoed in the still room. He closed the gap between them. The scent of sandalwood enveloped her; its sweet, earthy aroma was strangely comforting. The tension in her back eased. He held out the carving for Lenore to take.

Heat rose in her neck as her heart pounded against her chest while she looked at the cute, crude bear carving. Her calloused thumb brushed over its body, feeling the rough grooves of his knife strokes. Her throat tightened. A piece of wood shouldn’t move her.

His foot tapped as he waited for her to take the bear. “This bear is for your protection,” he said softly, still holding it out. “It’s a long road ahead, and I want you to be safe.”

‘How can a wooden bear protect me from men with guns?’ she wondered, gazing up at the enigmatic man she had chosen to travel with. An inner voice told her she was being rude by making him wait. Her mother would surely chastise her if she saw her now.

She reached up with her fingers, brushing against James’s calloused ones. Her throat felt dry as the thudding of her heart continued rhythmically. She grabbed the bear carving. It was still warm and rough against her calloused hands, making her stomach flutter unexpectedly. ‘I shouldn’t have thought of him as an asshole earlier,’ she thought, looking down at the bear carving. ‘He seems nice for a bounty hunter.’

“Thank you,” she whispered, looking down at the bear as it gazed up at her. A small smile spread across her face. She planned to keep this in her bag for safekeeping. “James,” she said hesitantly. “You didn’t have to.”

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Fan art by Ami Thompson

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A sneak peak of chapter 3

https://archiveofourown.org/works/63325138/chapters/164435902#workskin

While waiting for Jessup, her attention returned to the cowboy. He hadn’t moved. ‘Men who sat still like that were either killers or lawmen; both meant trouble,’ she thought, making a mental note to monitor the cowboy.

Before she could dwell on him, a flash of red silk caught her eye. An attractive older woman with fiery red hair, bright green eyes, and a long, flowing red satin dress from across the room grabbed her attention. The woman’s gaze lingered on her.

Why was the lady in red watching her?

The woman glided toward her gracefully, her eyes locked onto Lenore like a predator stalking its prey. Men stopped playing poker and drinking, watching her pass. She didn’t like this woman’s attention. Could she see through the disguise?

The beautiful woman stopped expectantly in front of Lenore. Her smile was too sharp, her eyes too calculating. Lenore hesitated, her mind racing. Drawing attention by refusing would be worse. She stood up, her movements deliberate, and pulled out the chair with a practiced ease she didn’t feel.

“Thank you,” she said, running a finger down Lenore’s arm in a flirtatious manner. “Well, aren’t you a gentleman?”

“Ma’am,” Lenore replied quietly, her voice steady despite the unease coiling in her gut. She pushed into the chair and sat back down, her arms resting on the table.

“Madam Lucy,” Lucy whispered, inclining towards Lenore. Lenore broke eye contact, catching the Chinese cowboy watching them. “I see you’re a courier… that’s quite dangerous,” Lucy commented, playing with her jewelry while watching Lenore.

Lenore tucked her short hair behind her ears, her jaw tightening. “It’s not that dangerous once you figure out the routes,” she mumbled, her eyes darting to the cowboy, who was now watching them intently.

Leaning into Lenore’s ear, Lucy gave her a knowing smile. Her breath was warm against Lenore’s skin. “You carry yourself differently than most men,” Lucy whispered, making a shiver run down Lenore’s spine.

Lenore’s hand tightened around her glass. She forced herself to lean back in her chair, feigning nonchalance. “You’ve got a sharp eye, ma’am. But I reckon you didn’t come over here just to chat.”

“Men love their illusions. It makes them think they’re in control,” Lucy said in a sultry tone. “But you’re not like them.”

Lenore tapped her booted heel against the hardwood floor. She didn’t like games, and this woman was pushing her buttons. It felt like a rattlesnake had cornered Lenore, waiting for the right strike. She shifted her weight, clasping her hands in her lap. “What do you want?”

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“The best revenge is to be unlike him who performed the injury”. — Marcus Aurelius

1877 Yreka, California

Midday sunlight streamed onto the hardwood floor as three children studied at the kitchen table. The breeze carried inside a gentle, sweet aroma of wildflowers, making the wind chimes sang softly. The gentle scratching of slat pencils against the stone slate with occasional murmurs and questions directed at the eldest sister. She leaned over, explaining the division equation to her younger brother. He started jotting an answer down on his stone slate and then gave her a big toothy grin.

Lenore, the oldest of fifteen years, stopped studying for a second, trying to balance the slat pencil on her nose. But the distant sound of their dog barking broke the calm, causing Lenore to drop her pencil. Her younger siblings giggled at her shenanigans.

Lenore chuckled as she picked up her pencil, pressing her tongue against the roof of her mouth in thought as she completed her final math equation. A satisfied smile spread across her face, and warmth blossomed in her chest as she was proud of her work. She set the slate pencil down and pushed her chair back.

She stood, smoothing her simple cotton dress as she picked up her slate. Her corset dug slightly into her ribs. She opened the screen door, which banged shut behind her, and walked outside to where her father sat on the porch, smoking a pipe and reviewing some notes.

“All done, Papa,” Lenore said, holding her stone out for her father to take. Her father’s dark eyes looked up at Lenore before setting down his paper.

He sat up straight, smoothing his tan cotton button-up. His large hands took the stone from her much smaller ones as his eyes darted, scanning the equations.

“You have done exceptionally well, Lenore. Not a single answer is incorrect,” he remarked, handing the stone back to Lenore. She smiled brightly at her father’s praise.

“Can I help at the clinic tomorrow, Papa?” Lenore asked, hoping her father would say yes. She loved assisting others and always felt proud when she could support a patient.

He adjusted his round glasses and thoughtfully cupped his chin. "You are welcome to help at the clinic. Your assistance would be greatly appreciated," he said, lowering his hand from his chin and resting it on his leg.

Her two younger siblings, Arthur and Margaret, rushed past her, eager for their turn. Arthur, eight, wore a simple blue button-up shirt and brown pants, while Margaret, six, wore a plain gray dress. They crowded around their father, holding up their slates.

He chuckled, setting his pipe on a small table beside him before taking their work in his hands. “Alright, alright, one at a time,” he said with a grin, his dark eyes flicking between their eager faces as he examined their answers.

https://archiveofourown.org/works/63325138/chapters/162226750

[mrsmeowsblog]

FNV Historical Fantasy AU

Shadows Over the West

"The life of the dead is placed on the memories of the living. The love you gave in life keeps people alive beyond their time. Anyone who was given love will always live on in another's heart."― Marcus Tullius CicerChapter Text1867,

somewhere in the Sierra Nevada mountainsA boy from southern China wove through groups of laborers. The clinking of hammers rang in his ears. Shouted orders filled the air as different tongues jumbled together. He baked under the scorching summer sun, sweat rolling down his neck as he moved through the bustling camp.

He was small, thin-limbed, with narrow shoulders and skinny arms and legs. Railroad labor was arduous, even for a ten-year-old child. He wore a straw hat with a wide brim and dark blue baggy clothes for easy maneuverability and protection. His skin darkened leathery from working under the sun.

He walked past several men with fiery hair and varying eye colors from gray to green. They were difficult to understand due to their thick Irish accents. One of the Irish laborers made eye contact with Jiang, sneering at him. “Fuckin Chinaman,” he snarled while the others glared at him.

His pace quickened as his heart pounded against his chest. The water sloshed over the sides, splattering the hot, dry earth, which eagerly absorbed every drop. He slowed his pace to conserve water for his people. The ladle slipped into the swollen wooden bucket, but he disregarded it.

He continued his trek to a nearby crew, who hammered tracks into place, kicking up dirt as they worked.He stopped next to a worker in a similar hat, a loose-fitting black long-sleeve shirt, baggy trousers, and cloth shoes, driving down a railroad spike. His older brother straightened up, wiped the sweat from his brow, and stared at the boy with a wry smile. "Ah, Jiang's here with water," Leisheng said, taking off his straw hat and revealing his queue hairstyle. His head was shaved in front, but he had left the back long and braided.

The icy water bit at Jiang's fingertips as he plunged his hand into the bucket, grabbing the ladle. Without hesitation, Leisheng accepted the offered water. His brother Adam's apple bobbed as he gulped down the cool liquid. A trickle ran down the corner of his mouth, carving clean streaks through the dust.Jiang's face brightened with a smile as the workers passed the ladle around. The satisfaction of helping his people eased his exhaustion and grumbling stomach.

His eyes wandered to another laborer, who was carving the symbol of wages in the dirt. Another laborer kicked dirt over the word, snapping at the confused laborer. He shifted his weight. "Have you seen Baba?" Jiang spoke up, grabbing Leisheng's attention.

His brother thoughtfully stroked his chin, and his phoenix-like eyes narrowed. "Not recently," Leisheng replied. "The last time I saw him, ba was talking with the headman. Says we are worth more than rice and silence." Just as Leisheng began to speak again, a loud firecracker-like pop interrupted him, echoing through the camp. It wasn't dynamite; no booming blast made your ears ring or caused the ground to shake beneath your feet. Instead, it sounded like a gunshot.

The air grew tense, and a sharp odor of gunpowder overwhelmed his senses. Jiang's smile faded as a heaviness settled in his stomach. Something wasn't right.

https://archiveofourown.org/works/63325138/chapters/162226750