#He's got no family or other friends in Wyoming. Just this one girl. And I know his broke ass won't pay for a hotel room

[2024skin]

me, logging onto the man hating website to hate on my man: girls you will never fucking BELIEVE what he just did

[thetriumphantpanda]

baby, it's cold outside | joel miller

Summary | Patrolling with Joel is always easy, he's your friend after all, but when a snow storm forces you to stop halfway, you're both faced with feelings that you'd both rather ignore, but with nothing but time, talking about them is your only option.

Word Count | 4.2k

Pairing | Joel Miller x F!Reader

Warnings | Explicit 18+. A snow storm and a cabin with a nice, warm fireplace. Unspecified age gap. Explicit smut - unprotected PiV (don't do this, pls be smart), oral sex (F), size kink if you squint, dirty talk, two idiots who love each other, some negative feelings towards the holidays but nothing else I can think of!

Authors Note | A huge thank you to the wonderful @hellishjoel for setting the 12 days of Pedro up and asking me to take part - this was so much fun to put together and I hope you all love it as much as I do!

12 Days of Pedro Masterlist | Main Masterlist

Thank you to the wonderful @saradika for the divider!

Despite having lived in Wyoming for years now, the winters were still a surprise to you. Icy cold winds, frosted windows every morning, thick downfalls of snow almost daily and a struggle to get warm no matter how many layers you wore. Some would call it picturesque, and you suppose you could see it, everywhere you turned in Jackson at this time of year, even though it was against the backdrop of the end of the world, it looked like it could adorn the cover of any Christmas card or be the setting for any Christmas movie. It didn’t matter, because you hated it either way.

When the tree went up in the centre of town, and the lights got switched on, it only served to remind you how solitary you were. How you existed mainly entirely on your own. No family, barely any friends, always the talk of the gaggle of girls who would whisper to each other whenever you passed and start laughing to each other, or the boys who always wondered why instead of hanging around with people your own age, you opted to spend it alone, or with someone who was pushing sixty.

Because if there was a single person in this Godforsaken town that you could class as a friend, it was Joel Miller. Quiet, closed off, unapproachable until you chipped away at his hard exterior, just like you in so many ways, it was actually sickening really. You liked Joel, ever since Tommy had put you two together for patrols when Maria had given birth, it was like you’d found someone who finally understood your need to be alone.

Patrolling outside the walls gave you peace, let you leave your loneliness behind for a while, just you and the ground beneath your boots, the feeling that you were doing something wrong, were less of a person because of your lack of friends and relationships left behind at the gate. You’d proven yourself capable more than enough times for Tommy to realise you were an asset. You’d saved more than enough people with your good aim and quick trigger finger, been ruthless in getting rid of raiders who strayed too close to your safe haven, and he knew your need for solitude, which is why he trusted you on these longer routes, on the more complicated patrol rotations, the ones that would get you out of Jackson for a week.

You surmise that’s probably why he chose to pair you up with Joel. In the two years you’d patrolled together, you’d come to realise that he needed that solitude just as much as you did. A way to leave behind being a father at the gate and remind himself of exactly who he was before. Out here, walking side-by-side next to you, he wasn’t Ellie’s dad, he wasn’t the man who still woke up in cold sweats remembering the heavy weight of his dead daughter in his arms, or that man who had lost almost everyone he’d ever cared for along the way, he was just Joel. Joel, who was more comfortable cradling a rifle in his arms than he was his infant nephew. Joel, who preferred comfortable silence instead of filling the quiet with talk. Joel, who, even when you suspected he hated you at the start, would have protected you to the death no matter what.

You were similar, far more than you’d like to admit, and as the weeks and months had drawn on, and you’d moved into being more comfortable with each other, he really was one of those things you’d wanted for so long. A friend. Someone to rely on, someone to drink with at the end of a hard patrol route, someone who made sure you ate when it was the last thing on your mind, someone who fixed the hole in your roof and put new planks of wood on your porch when you almost fell through it one day, someone who confided in you about how hard he found being a parent again, someone who opened up to you when things started to sour with Ellie. A friend.

He was also someone, in the last six months, that you suspected wanted to be more than your friend. It had started small, with things any good friend would do. He would offer you his arm when you walked during the winter so you wouldn’t slip, started packing double lunch so he knew you’d eat when you’d go out together, but then it was the hand on the small of your back through town, or the way he’d sit close to you in the bar, knees knocking against yours just so he could put a hand on your knee to apologise for getting too close.

And it’s not like you didn’t see that in him either. For a man who was almost sixty, he was incredibly handsome, able to do unspeakable things on patrol that neither of you would talk about to anyone else, strong in a way you didn’t think you’d ever seen before. Sure, his hearing was shot in one ear, his middle soft with age, and his hair and beard peppered with grey hair, but Joel Miller was a sight.

But, what if you’d read his signals wrong? What if his kindness and that warm hand on your knee was just him being a Southern gentleman? You throw yourself at him and he doesn’t feel the same, what happens then? You lose one of the very few friends you’ve ever had, and that’s somehow worse than knowing you’ll never know what the feel of his skin is like under your touch or what it sounds like when he moans your name for you.

The patrol route is brutal this day, wind and snow making it hard to see anything in front of you. You and Joel had to shout loudly to each other in order to hear anything, so when you stumble across the cabin, halfway through the route, you both decide that it’s best to head inside, get warm and wait out the worst of the storm before carrying on. Safer that way, is what Joel said, but you think it’s got more to do with the cold on his joints than the safety. Even at your younger age, your bones were certainly aching.

The wind whips a flurry of snow into the abandoned cabin when Joel pushes the door open, ushering you inside quickly, shutting the door quickly behind the two of you before more snow can follow you in. He sets his rifle down near the door and his backpack on the worn, moth-eaten couch, kneeling in front of the fireplace.

This particular cabin is a regular stop on this patrol route, an agreement between the residents of Jackson who frequent it to keep it stocked with firewood during the cold season. You silently note to thank whoever had patrolled before you for stacking the fireplace so all Joel really needs to do is set fire to the scrunched paper dotted through the wood to get the warmth of the fire flooding the small front room.

“Reckon we’re here for the long run,” Joel grumbles, holding flat palms up to the flames to warm his hands, “Ain’t no way we’re walking anywhere in that.”

And he’s right, the light of the day is fading fast and even in daylight, the blizzard had been a nightmare to traverse. It’s not like you’re wanting to rush back though, you sometimes wish you could pack everything up and come out here for good, live in your solitude until the end of your days, but for now, just a few more nights away from the place that reminds you just how alone you are will do.

You settle down on the couch, trying to burrow further into the coat around your body, not bothering to take your gloves or your hat off until the flames of the fire are stronger.

“Come sit closer,” Joel murmurs, motioning with his hand for you to sit on the floor next to him, “Warm up a little.”

You slip down from the couch and scoot along the floor until you’re sat next to him. Joel reaches over and takes hold of your wrist, gently pulling off your glove, “They’re damp,” He states, reaching for your other hand to do the same, “Take your coat off too, you’ll get a chill otherwise.”

Working to unzip the front to pull it off, whilst Joel throws an extra few pieces of wood on the fire, you settle a little bit closer to the flames, feeling the warmth start to seep through your other layers. He stands, taking your coat and his, hanging them on either end of the fireplace to dry out a little, then he sits back down next to you, although a little closer than he had been before, so close that you can feel the heat of his body next to you.

You take a moment to steal a look up at him, his body larger than yours, towering a little next to you, but in the glow of the flames he’s fucking breathtaking. You get lost in tracing his jaw and the hook of his nose with your eyes that he’s turning his head to face you before you can turn away from him. He catches you with that small smile that is saved only for his family normally, Ellie, Tommy, sometimes Maria, and now, more often, you. So you smile back at him, let the warmth lick through your body, and before you realise it, he’s leaning his, broad shoulders bumping yours as his face gets closer, and God, it would be so easy to let him do it, move your face towards him, press your lips to his and burn it all to hell, but as he inches closer, that pit is opening in your stomach, bubbling anxiety and dread, so as he inches closer, you have to stop him.

You bring one of your fingers up to press against his lips gently, watching as he purses them against your touch a little, but then his eyes open when you speak, so softly, so quietly that he almost missed your plea, “Please don’t.”

It’s like you’ve burnt him with the way he not only drags his face from you, but his whole body, putting so much distance between the two of you that you almost cry. He clears his throat, running his hand over his face, “Right,” He mumbles, “Sorry.”

“Don’t apologise,” You insist, not meeting his eyes though, “You don’t need to be sorry.”

“Stupid of me,” He shakes his head, “Just thought-” He sucks in a breath and pushes it out on a sigh, “Thought maybe you’d feel the same, but it was stupid.”

“It wasn’t stupid, Joel,” You sigh, finally turning to him, “It’s okay.”

“Makes sense,” He shrugs, eyes boring holes into the flames in front of you, “I’m old, too old for you to want me.”

“It has nothing to do with you being too old for me Joel, I couldn’t give less of a fuck about that.”

You expect him to drop it, like he often does with these kinds of conversation, the ones that involve feelings, but he doesn’t.

“Then what is it?”

“Well, it has nothing to do with your grey hairs or your creaky fucking knees, that’s for sure.”

He’s looking at you with a look that says to get fucked, hurry up, tell him the real reason for all this.

“I could be shit in bed for all you know.”

“Well that’s easy to rectify, just need a little practice.”

It makes you snort, “Can we be fucking serious for a minute, Miller?”

“You’re the one who said it first.”

“What happens when it goes tits up?” You ask, “When you get bored of me, or realise I’m not what you thought I was, what happens then?” He opens his mouth to respond to you, but you beat him to it, “I lose my best friend, that’s what happens, the only person in this Godforsaken world that I have, and I don’t want that, I don’t want a world where I’m without you.”

“Who says it’s going to go tits up?” He counters, “Baby, I’m old, I ain’t gonna go running off, I just want somethin’ good, somethin’ happy, and I want that with you,” Just like you had done before, he starts talking again before you can add something, “Put your faith in somethin’, darlin’,” He’s moving back towards you now, shifting closer, “Put your faith in, me.”

It sounds so easy when he says it like that, because you had once before, without even realising. Let him in, let him get close, to know everything you’d been through, share everything he’d been through. You let him sit with you late at night in the summer, strumming his guitar on your porch, he lets you share his whiskey when you need it.

“I’m still gonna be your best friend,” He urges, that warm palm resting on your knee, “That ain’t gonna change, we’re just gonna add to it.”

And for some reason, it snaps, all of your good judgement and everything that was holding you back. His face is cradled in your palms before you know it, your body straddling his lap as your mouth slants over his, a surprised gasp swallowed by your mouth as his lips open against yours, his hands coming to rest on the globes of your ass through your jeans, pulling you closer, chest flush to chest as you soak this in.

Hands dropping to the collar of his shirt, you start to slowly unbutton it, mouth still against his, tongue tasting him as your fingers push button after button through their holes until you can push it from his shoulders, drag his arms from it, drag his undershirt from it’s place tucked into his jeans.

Joel gasps when your hands make contact with the skin under it, fingers still slightly icy from the cold, but that too is swallowed by your mouth, as is the moan that drags from your throat when he bucks his hips into yours.

He pulls away from your lips, forehead pressed to yours as you both breathe deeply, “Don’t seem shit in bed so far.” He chuckles.

“I was fucking with you Joel,” You smile, punctuating it with a roll of your hips into his, “I’m a delight in bed.”

“Prove it.”

“Can’t.”

“Why not?”

“This is the floor Joel,” Which earns you a squeeze to your ass, “I’ve never fucked someone on the floor before.”

Before you know what’s happening, he’s flipped you over, your back pressed to the dusty wooden floor, his body looming over yours, fingers picking the button of your jeans apart, pulling the zipper down, fingers hooking into the waistband of your jeans, pulling them down your legs, underwear along with them too, before they’re thrown behind him somewhere, forgotten as he parts your knees, legs spread, exposed to him, and you think you might die from the way he looks at you. You bury your head into your shoulder, trying to escape his gaze as he drags his thumb along your folds, growling when he feels how wet you are just from his mouth on yours.

You’re vaguely aware of the sounds of his feet hitting one of the armchairs behind him as he lowers his chest to the floor, hands pulling at your hips, your back dragging across the wooden floor as his mouth presses a single, feather-light kiss to your clit. The smallest of touches to your body has your back arching into him.

How long has it been? Not since you fucked someone, because in the grand scheme of things that hasn’t been too long. No, how long has it been since someone actually made you feel good? Years, you think. Too long. Too long since sex was anything more than just stress relief, pressed against the brick wall by the Tipsy Bison, letting someone fuck you so you could feel something, giving them the bragging rights of fucking the town outcast in return.

This is different. So different. Joel is slow with it, parting you in front of his face with his thumbs, tongue swirling through the slick you’re not even embarrassed about now, tasting you, drinking you in, before he drags his perfect mouth up, lapping gently at your clit with the tip of his tongue.

“Taste so fuckin’ good for me, baby.” He coos against your skin, his praise making you preen, hips chasing the feeling of his mouth on you, he chuckles at your desperation, “How long’s it been since someone made you feel good, huh?”

Your fingers tangle in the curls on his head, dragging him back down to your cunt to silence him, “Too long.” Is all you offer as he feasts on you.

Tongue swirling, lips suckling, fingers digging into the skin of your hips, dragging you slowly but surely to the edge, the fire in your blood no match for the fire against your skin. He’s fucking good at this, knows exactly how to listen to your moans, the way you pull at his hair when he does something you like, collecting the little gasps and hip movements until he’s working a pattern on your pussy that makes you feeling like you’re going to explode, combust, maybe even die a little.

“Don’t stop,” You urge, breathless, sheen of sweat settling across what skin of yours is exposed to the flames near to you, “Gonna - fuck Joel - gonna cum.”

That’s when he pushes two of his fingers into you. Hooking them up inside of your cunt, your legs dropping open further than you thought possible as he works you and works you. You’ve gone quiet, letting out only short breathes when holding them in makes your head light, fingers so tight in his hair that you think it’s probably hurting.

Then, you think you find God, right there on the dirty, dusty floor, when the coil snaps inside of you. Your back arches off the floor, thighs clenched around Joel’s head as his tongue continues the flicks against your clit, ignoring the high-pitches whines of too much, Joel listening instead to the movement of your legs, the way your entire body convulses until you truly are spent for him.

Joel pushes himself up onto his knees, dragging his undershirt over his head, pulling his belt through its loops as you’re sitting up, dragging the upper portion of your clothes off, naked on the floor for him, the flames from the fire keeping you warm, even if your nipples do pebble and peak against the cold.

“Fuckin’ hell,” Joel breathes out as your hand settles on your pussy, fingers dragging through the slick to lazily move over your clit, “I wish you could see yourself right now, baby,” He crones, pushing down his jeans, cock springing free, immediately clasped in his fist, movements slow as he watches you touch yourself, “Pretty as a fuckin’ picture.”

His body falls forward, coverings yours, but this isn’t what you want. Hand on his chest, you’re pushing him back, “Wanna ride you, Joel.” You whine.

Like a kid on Christmas, he’s on his back in seconds, jeans and underwear pooled around his ankles because if you’re not sinking down on him in the next few seconds, he’s going to scream. You settle your thighs on either side of his hips, his cock, heavy and throbbing against his stomach. He’s watching you, as you take the base of him in your hand, line him up with that aching core of yours, head notching into you, where you just keep him for a moment, let him stretch you as you ground yourself with palms on his chest, sinking down, inch by inch until he’s fully buried inside you, warmth wrapping around him, just like the warmth from the fire against his skin.

You start moving your hips, his cock so deep in you he swears if he put a palm on your lower belly, he’d feel himself through your skin with the way you’re grinding against him, head thrown back, mouth dropped open. He wishes he could take a photo of this. He doesn’t think he’s seen a nicer sight in his life.

“It’s a lot, ain’t it baby?” He coos, hands on your hips, guiding your movements, he knows he’s big, been told enough times through his life, but the way you’re slow, getting used to him inside him, has him on the verge of spilling inside you already.

“So big, Joel.” You whine, leaning back now, hands on his knees which have moved up, his feet planted on the floor now, and God alive, if he thought you were a sight before, you’re a fucking masterpiece now as you start bouncing on his cock.

He can’t help himself, he is only a man after all, his hands trailing up the curves of your side, taking hold of your tits, rolling your nipples between his fingers, listening to the way you sing for him. Somehow, he finds core strength from somewhere, pushes himself up, one hand behind him to prop him where he is, as his mouth sucks a nipple into his mouth, rolling that pebbled peak with his tongue, your arm wrapping around his shoulders to steady yourself against him, hips still working against his, finger tangling in the curls near his neck, keeping his mouth anchored right where it is.

Joel pulls off you, a wet smack from his lips as he looks up at you with those beautiful brown orbs, “Feel so fuckin’ good, baby,” He praises, “So tight around me, like you were made for me.”

“Wanna feel you,” You moan, head dropping against his shoulder, “Wanna feel you come for me.”

He’s wrapping his arms around your back, dragging you down with him as he rests himself back on the floor, your chest pressed to his as he finally takes control. Feet planted on the floor with your teeth digging into his shoulders, he fucks up into you, the cabin filled with nothing but breathy moans and a lewd smack of skin as he pounds himself into you. In an ideal world he’d focus on making you come again, feeling you clench around his cock as you fall apart would be incredible, but he thinks there will be time for that later.

He’s so fucking close, you can feel it, the way his fingers are gripping t every inch of skin they can reach, the way his hips are faltering and how your name is more of a feature on his lips. You let out a surprise squeal as he flips you both, your back now to the ground as his cock slips out of you, his fist replacing the wet heat of your cunt as the warmth of his cum splashes across your lower belly, a howl, not unlike an animal, falling from his mouth as he paints you, claims you as his own with those ropes of cum across your skin.

When all is said and done, and he’s taken in the sight of your skin splashed with his spend, the two of you lying in front of the fire, one blanket dragged from the bed on the floor to soften the harsh wood, another pooled around both your hips, this feels like home. Both you and Joel, led on your side, watching each other, and the flickering light of the fire bathes you both in orange, in warmth.

His hand traces your face, thumb dragging across your bottom lip as he leans in to kiss you. Hours later, with harsh wind and snow still swirling outside, he brushes a thumb across your nipple, your hand reaching down between you to find him hard again. He puts you on your back this time, creaky knees be damned, slides his cock into your aching cunt once more, fucks you slowly, the entirety of his weight pressed against you. That orange glow almost convincing you that this was before, when things were normal, romantic even, as his lips leaves tiny bruises across your skin.

When he’s marked you once more as his, cum splashed from your pussy to your tits, he lies back down, the broad expanse of his back to the dying embers of the fire, your back pressed to his front, his arm snaked under your neck, urging you to sleep, and as you drift off, Joel’s hot breath against the skin of your ear, his other arm draped loosely over your waist, you pray that the snow is just as bad in the morning, because if it were possible, you want to return even less now, want to remain huddled next to Joel, on the floor, for the rest of your life.

[oonajaeadira]

Leave Off Your Wandering pt. 1: Spring

Fandom: The Last of Us (TV)/ Joel Miller

Pairing: eventually Joel Miller x f!reader

Reader: Adult female. Old enough to have been an adult on Outbreak Day. Wyoming born and bred. Sheep farmer, easy-going but confident and self-sufficient. Likes to sing, not a great cook. Childhood friend of Maria. No other physical descriptors; no use of y/n.

Rating: T for now

Warnings: Mostly just Ellie being a swear mouth. There’s a lamb birthing. Fluff…this fic is sloooooow.

Summary: Joel and Ellie return to Jackson and you introduce them to the sheep.

A/N: Set after season 1 and then diverges. Does not acknowledge the existence of further plot/seasons, although I claim the right to steal ideas and bits of cannon from the second game if I want to for plot reasons later.

Here it is, y’all. Not much happens. It’s just life in Jackson. There’s more Ellie here than Joel, but that’s because I figure Joel wouldn’t even turn his head toward someone if Ellie didn’t love her first. I’m just setting the stage for healing, for giving Ellie and Joel a nice home and good things. Nothing happens. Life is slower and softer here. Welcome to the Roost.

You were there when Tommy Miller was ushered–bloodied and busted–by the patrol through the gates of Jackson. The hard steel of Maria’s eyes through the slit between her hat and kerchief found you in the crowd and told you with a glance, I know what I’m doing. Meet me at home.

“Yeah, he’s one of them,” you’d confirmed to her later that afternoon as one of the Roostlings tended to his split lip and eyebrow in her living room. “I say we leave him to the coyotes.”

You’d trusted them once upon a time, the Fireflies. But your experiences with them were a deep education in morals and humanity. What you’ve come to believe is that everyone has an equal right to life and compassion and protection. And you might not have found that in yourself if the Fireflies hadn’t come through your papa’s ranch touting that sentiment but living up to a totally different set of rules, one where everyone had an equal expendability for the greater good of the survival of the species.

Fuck the species. If humans were meant to die out, then they would. Nothing is permanent. Not civilization or any one species, not even the mountains that surround your town–even the wind and rain would take them someday. All you can do is be good to those here and now, nurture what you have, and mourn what you lose with a little humility and gratefulness that you got to enjoy it in the first place. There’s already enough suffering. Why add to it? Or prolong it? Just let us all wane with kindness and compassion. Spend our days eating good food and caring for sheep, wildflowers swaying in the sunshiney breeze and stars twinkling at night–

“You go somewhere, Meadowlark?” Tommy teases as he passes you a plate of honey-glazed carrots, bean salad, and egg souffle, breaking you out of your reverie. You’ve come to prefer his tamales, but Maria wanted to use up some of last year’s supplies, so this Sunday’s family meal is harvest plate.

“I was just thinking about the day you came to Jackson.”

Leaning back in the wooden dining room chair, dark eyes glinting in the candlelight, his smug little smile is insufferable. “You wanted my hide on a fence.”

“Stretched and tanned. Could have been useful for patching boots at least.”

“What was it changed your mind again? Oh yeah. Weatherproofing the storehouse, building out your Roost, constructing a working loom–”

“It was the cornbread. And maybe the tamales.” Keeping a deadpan glare between you while stabbing a carrot and taking a bite, you point your fork at your best friend. “And you’re good to my girl here.”

Maria chuckles through a mouthful, shaking her head down at her plate like a mother trying not to let two warring siblings know how amusing they are. “I regret everything. And nothing.” The same dark eyes that glinted with reservation on Tommy’s first day hold back none of her big, tough heart as they seek him out now. “But speaking of mending shoes…you reminded me. Tommy’s brother came by while you were at the Roost.”

Your fork, halfway to your mouth, drifts back down to the plate. “Joel? Here? How’d he find you?”

Tommy answers carefully, chewing slowly, thoughtfully. “He didn’t, really. Patrol found him. Him and a teenager. They were looking for the Fireflies because…the girl belongs to them or something. Used my last known location and headed out west.”

“From Boston? On foot? And he survived?”

“All the stories I’ve told you about him and that’s what surprises you?”

Tommy’d been an open book from day one, answering Maria’s questions about his background, the QZs he’d lived in, why he felt the need to leave the Fireflies. As they’d grown closer and he joined in your family dinners, there were stories traded from the beforetimes, about his construction business with his brother, how his niece’s death changed them both, the things they’d done to good people just to survive. He held nothing back and owned up to his mistakes. Although he often blamed Joel for actions he willingly took part in. Still, admitted that he used his army training to teach Joel to shoot and unwittingly turned him into a killing machine.

But even so, he missed him. You could see that. Tommy missed his big brother. Wished it could be different, that he could have changed him, brought Joel back from his numbness before it was too late. Best he could do was run away from his regret, swing the other way and try to even out all his wrongs…but then found out that the Fireflies weren’t the answer to any of it. And despite all Tommy had admitted to doing, it was this ability to forgive, to take some fraction of responsibility, and to shelter his light through the darkness that Maria took a shine to.

You involuntarily glance toward the living room, toward the mantle where there’s a polaroid of a ruggedly handsome thirty-five year old man and a girl in fluffy brown pigtails. “Shit, Tommy. You think he’ll head back here?”

“Said he was counting on it.”

There’s a somber silence at the table as everything comes to a halt. Maria’s not exactly chilly, just… reserved. Ah. They’ve already been talking about it.

“Should I be congratulating you on a family reunion or….?”

The sudden winter of their discontent warms to a spring as your old friend goes back to her plate. “Well, it’s yet to be determined. Of course he’s welcome here, but not if he brings trouble.”

“He’s not going to bring trouble, sweetheart. You should have seen him that night we talked. He’s got demons chasing him, but he’s tired of running. He needs good people. We’re good people.”

“Unless he finds those Fireflies and they take him in first,” you interject. “Seems to me they’re just like everyone else, and a man who’s that good at mindless, morally-gray protection is a valuable asset.”

That sets him laughing, breaking the tension, throwing you unexpectedly off-guard after you’d just darkly insulted his kin. “Joel? Join the Fireflies? Not a chance in heaven, hell, or all the shit between! He’ll be back. He’s an asshole, but he’s my brother and I know him. He’ll be back. You’ll see.”

________

The day after coming back from your next shift at the Roost, you find yourself ass to the mud on the street outside the Jackson stables. Two bodies–yours, and that of a larger child–rounding a corner in colliding trajectories. You’d been fiddling with the buttons on your walkie, not watching where you were going, your boots taking you home the way they’ve done for years.

But she’d been moving fast–not running, but walking with that speed that teenagers are only capable of when they’re stomping off in a probable fit of angry hormones.

“Oh, shit, I’m sorry,” she curses, diving for your wayward walkie and the batteries that spit out all over the ground as you get yourself up and your ass dusted off. “Here,” she says, clumsily dumping a cluster of plastic and tech into your hands. “I hope I didn’t break it. Are you like one of the marshals here or something?”

A quick rummage through the jumble in your hands shows no damage and you start pumping the batteries back in, casting a glance around for the compartment cover. “Not quite.” Seeing what you need a few feet away on the ground, you nod at it. “Would you mind getting that cover, miss…er… You know, I don’t think I’ve seen you around here.”

“Ellie.” She watches with interest as you clip the walkie back together and push the activation switch. “I’ve never seen one that small.”

“It’s actually an old kid’s toy. Meadowlark to Whippoorwill,” you mumble into the walkie, your lips nearly touching the plastic speaker, “just had a butterfingers. Testing the walkie.”

“What’s a butterfingers? Are those like code names?” Ellie asks.

Her eyes–black and sparkling–hold your own, a tense moment for both of you as you both hope for different reasons that the machine still works. “Something like that.”

“Whippoorwill here,” comes the voice through the can. “I hear you. Actually need a favor. Send a change of clothes through patrol tomorrow. The big one finally popped and she was a gusher.”

“Damn! I missed it by one damn day? Shit. One or two?”

“Three!”

“Uuuugh. Well that’s just fuckin’ fantastic. Glad you were there to catch ‘em, Whip. This is gonna be a good year. I think Hank’s on the round over there tomorrow. I’ll go pawing through your closet and send some things along.” Starting off in the direction of your friend’s house, you wave back at your new acquaintance. “See ya, Ellie. Nice to meet you. Take it slow around those corners, ‘hear?”

_____

The run-in wouldn’t have been memorable but for the next night when you show up at Maria and Tommy’s place for family dinner, carrying a warm basket of muffins, happy and singing to yourself as you dance in through the door…and come to a stop when four pairs of dark eyes turn to you from the dining room.

Guests? At family dinner? A man and–“Hey there…Ellie, right? Fancy meeting you here…”

The girl smiles from her seat at the table, waving with a hand covered by the sleeve of her raglan top. “Hi.”

“Oh. You know each other,” Maria says, lifting the basket out of your hands. “Then you must have met–”

No. You haven’t met him. But he stands up from the table, wiping a hand on his jeans and extending it to receive yours. Manners. Polite. That’s unexpected knowing the little that you know. His hair is gray now and he’s a bit softer around the middle, more gravity in the cheeks. His ample shoulders have taken weight over the years–literal and emotional.

No, you haven’t met him. But you know him. You’d know those eyes anywhere; studied them in an old polaroid on the mantle just over there. Soft but strong. A good person from another lifetime who was scarred deeply by this one. Someone who cut his soul right down to the quick in order to keep others alive. Those eyes may be a bit more haunted now, but they’re still just as keen.

You never stopped to think that you might someday meet them in person.

“Hi. You must be Joel.” _____

It’s the girls at the table that notice your interest. If left unchecked, your eyes wander across and start to examine the gorilla grip on the fork, the protective hunch over the plate, the beard that’s been newly trimmed and hair recently shaped up (by Maria, no doubt), the scars across the knuckles…temple…nose…

The man’s been through hell and back since the polaroid.

Ellie though…is unscathed, unmarred.

Protected.

And observant. She finally smirks the third time she catches you staring.

Maria’s knee bumps yours to reign you in. He’s not a threat, her eyes say.

This isn’t the time to correct her assumptions, so you put all your focus on your plate or whomever is speaking, whatever isn’t Joel Miller.

“Tomorrow’s work is barrier wall on zone two,” Tommy chews both his words and his venison at the same time. “Once we’ve got that fortified, internal barrier can come down and we can incorporate it as a new section, start safely upgrading the housing there. It’s got a school facility. Be nice to restore that for its intended use instead of using the old record store.”

“Sounds good, count me in,” Joel grunts once he’s politely swallowed his mouthful. “Just put a hammer in my hand and point me at a wall.”

“Just like the good days, eh, brother?”

“Sure.”

“I could swing a hammer” Ellie pipes up.

“You can go to school.”

She scowls darkly at Joel. “Your face can go to school.”

“Ellie–”

“Whippoorwill to Meadowlark.” The walkie on your hip crackles to life and you swallow quickly as all forks stop and all eyes swing to you.

“Meadowlark here. I hear you.”

“Wanted to let you know that all three lambs are hale and made it through the night. Mom’s a little restless, but they’re all safe in the enclosure and I’m doing a sit-in.”

“Thanks for the update. Good to know. You’re in the lead.”

“I know, but Chickadee comes in next week and I bet she takes it. Anyway. Thanks for the clothes and the book, I knew I forgot something. I’ll leave you be unless there’s any change.”

“I’m giving the walkie to Chickadee tomorrow, so you’ll have to egg her on.”

“You know I will. Whippoorwill out.”

Once the radio goes silent, there’s a mix of reactions around the table; pleasant surprise from Maria and Tommy, Joel on guard, his eyes flicking between you and the others waiting to know what it all means, and Ellie’s head twisting around, trying to catch up.

“Three?” Maria trills. “You didn’t tell me there were three new lambs!”

“Yeah. Just missed them. Whip got to do the honors–”

“The big one popped! She was a gusher!” Ellie smiles as the table turns to her. “You were talking about sheep pooping out babies?”

“Ellie, manners. People are eating.” Her guardian glares at her before checking in sheepishly with Maria.

“It’s fine,” you make her excuse. “Ellie head us over the walkies yesterday and–”

“So what’s with the code names?”

The girl is practically vibrating out of her chair with curiosity.

This time it’s your turn to be scrutinized by the newcomers; two pairs of brown eyes hungry for answers.

So you explain while you pick at your dinner.

“There’s a wide acreage outside the settlement walls, on the west patrol loop. We have a good herd of sheep out there. Can’t raise ‘em all in town, there’s not enough room or grazing, although if the winter’s bad, we’ll bring ‘em in to some barns over at the old ranch house.

“But there’s four of us shepherds, each one taking a week at a time out there. Doesn’t require much. Sheep do the hard work of eating and sleeping and rearing their lambs. We do the shearing and milking, send back daily gallons with the patrols–that’ll be the cheese on your salad there. But mostly just make sure they’re healthy and taken care of. Scare off wolves and coyotes if they come sniffing.”

“You go out there alone?” She asks, wide-eyed.

“Sure. It’s pretty secure and the patrols check the fences every day. The Roost is added security for us, since it’s elevated.”

“What’s the Roost?”

“Ah, it’s kind of a fancy treehouse?”

“Thanks to me, I’ll add,” Tommy pipes up. “When I got here, it was nothing more than a shack on a platform. This one here had a target on my back until the day she had four stout walls and a pretty little porch. Won her over pretty quick.”

“Stick built?” Joel asks, shoving a fingerling potato in his mouth.

“Yeah. Reinforced. A-frame. Even pulled windows out of a lodge.”

“Smart.”

Ellie obviously has no time for Construction Corner with the Millers. “You don’t get scared?”

There’s something about her eager wonder that grabs your attention, pulls you in tight, makes you want to answer whatever question she’s got. “There’s nothing to be scared of. I mean, not for us anyway. All of us Roostlings grew up around here. We know the sounds of the animals at night, know they’re more scared of us than we are of them. We’ve seen infected out in the wilds, sure, know what to listen for, but we also know how to defend ourselves if the barriers don’t hold…and they always hold.

“But mostly, it’s relaxing. Quiet. Slow. Time to think. There’s nothing better than a night suspended in the treetops, with the sheep below and the moon and the stars above….”

Joel has stopped chewing, a wistfulness showing from underneath his gruff mask. There’s something thrilling about catching his attention.

A goofy smile cracks Ellie’s face and she giggles, reaches out to punch him on the arm. “Did you hear that? Sheep and stars. It’s everything you dreamed of, buddy!”

“I didn’t mean…” he winces at her brute force and shoots a guarded look at you. “I think I’ll leave the sheep to the shepherds. You said you grew up here?”

It’s the first thing he’s really said to you unprompted and now that you have an excuse to look him in the eye, it’s actually hard to do. “Ah, yeah. Family sheep ranch down in…well, down-river. Not far. Maria too.”

“Spent a lot of time at that ranch growing up,” she smiles. “You and your sister were bad influences.”

“Is that why you up and left us for the big city?”

Maria laughs. “Had to get out before I spent my whole life here. Whoops.”

Joel reins the conversation back. “So you haven’t spent any time in the QZs?”

“No. Holed up at the ranch with…with some folks,” you say as Maria looks away. “Then Jackson was starting up and it was safer here, so I brought in my flock.”

“Hmm,” he grunts, reading your expression, catching the slight omission in your speech. Recognizing survivor’s talk.

You hold his gaze for a few seconds, wondering what your answer is worth to him. You’ve heard of the quarantine zones, knew how rough and miserable they could be. Tommy and Maria both had their stories and you count yourself lucky for never having been unfortunate enough to have to scrabble for existence in one of them. Would have languished and suffocated. Wouldn’t have been able to breathe without the big sky, or sleep without the mountains keeping watch…

Does he think you naive? Or that–wrongly–you’ve had it easy? Does your answer tip the scales in his opinion for the worse?

And what about him? Has the QZ made him dangerous? Hard? Dishonest? Tommy always said he was an asshole…

“Can I see it?” Ellie interjects. “The Roost. Can I go out there with you?”

The question is surprising in more ways than one; most noticeably in its boldness and by your shock in a kid getting so excited about sheep. “Uh, yeah, sure. I mean, that’s why there’s a bunk bed. We bring folks out there all the time. But you have to be willing to work while you’re out there.”

“I don’t think that’s a good idea,” Joel grumbles with a tight jaw, stabbing a potato with his fork.

Maria had explained to you the circumstances of Joel carting the girl across the country. To get her that far unscathed? To get her to the Fireflies… He must not have found them or he would have come back alone. Maybe they were dead.

Not that that would be a bad thing.

The girl is smart. Better off here.

But it seems no amount of time can take the father out of the man and he’s fallen into the role for her pretty hard, his jaw twitching as he balances between politeness and worry.

“It’s completely safe, brother. Walled in. Patrolled. In communication, as you’ve witnessed. And the Roostlings are all pretty skilled with a shotgun. She’ll be fine. Might do her some good.”

“Come on, Joooooooel. It’s sheeeeeeeep. In a treehouuuuuu-suh.”

He takes his time chewing. Keeps his eyes on his plate.

“We’ll see.”

“Well,” you smile, winking at the girl across from you, “I just got off my shift, so you’ve got three weeks to warm up to the idea before I go back.”

“Do I get a codename?” She wiggles in her seat, grinning hard at Joel, goading him.

“Sure. I don’t know. You’re pretty spikey. How about Thistle?”

“What?” This dismays her and gets a choke–and then a chuckle–out of Joel. “Why can’t I have a bird name?”

“Because you’re not a Roostling. You have to earn your wings.”

This sets her jaw in a challenge. “Oh. I’ll earn it. I’ll earn it so hard you don’t even know. Bring it on. Take me to the fluffy bastards.”

“Ellie, dammit!”

_____

“So, he’s, uh….” you hand a dish to Maria so she can dry.

“Less than personable?” She finishes, keeping her voice down so as not to be heard by the brothers chatting on the back porch.

“Got some adjusting to do if he’s gonna fit in here, I was going to say.”

“He makes you nervous though. I can tell.”

“No. Not…like that…I just…” It’s best to avoid her keen eye, but catch her surprise out of the corner of yours. “It’s just–”

“My oldest friend in this god-forsaken world,” she declares, throwing the dishtowel on the counter and settling hands on hips. “You are telling me that? That is the man that is turning your head?”

“No. That’s not…He’s…” a growl of frustration follows, trying to scare your thoughts into cohesive order as you scrub glaze out of a pan. “It doesn’t happen that often, you know? Someone from the past showing up and there’s all this…change. I mean, he’s not really from our history, but you’ve had that picture of him and his daughter sitting out and there’s this face from the past just…looming. Like, there was this man who lived and worked construction and then the worst day happened and his child was killed and the person he was just got…replaced with that guy. It’s…I’m just morbidly fascinated by what twenty years in a post-hell society can do to someone. I mean…that smile in the polaroid…he was so warm and healthy…”

It isn’t until this moment that you realize what Maria begins to surmise. The pan and washcloth are abandoned.

“So you’ve had a crush on a man from the past all this time, making your castles in the sand. And you’re disappointed that he showed up and was that.”

She generously and lovingly gives you the time to think.

“Maybe. I don’t know. He’s still good looking, so you have to give me a little slack there. But I don’t know him. Didn’t know him. It’s just an interesting thing, you know? A little fantasy of the beforetimes? One that didn’t really line up way I imagined it?”

Maria begins to laugh kindly and quietly. Then a little less kindly and a lot less quietly. “Oh shit, that man came here for sanctuary and didn’t know he walked into a full-on trap.”

“Hey!”

“No. No. That’s not fair and I’m sorry,” she concedes, taming her laughter somewhat unsuccessfully. “Just go easy on him, okay? He’s Tommy’s brother.”

“Well, then that’s as good a reason as any for me to stay on my side of the creek bed. And, to be fair, those other guys? They came after me first. I have no interest in men that have no interest in me. So it looks like he’s safe.”

“For now,” she smirks. “But. If Tommy keeps me up at night complaining that you’ve busted a bottle over his brother’s head–”

“That was one time! And that guy was a fucking jerk!”--now you’re both laughing–”Which, I guess, yeah, if Joel’s as much an asshole as Tommy says, then maybe I should play it safe and apologize to y’all in advance!”

Thank goodness you have each other to lean on, or you’d both be rolling on the floor in a cackling mess. _____

It only takes a fistful of days and as many shy nods in passing around town for a knock to come at your door one evening.

“Well…hey there….Mr. Miller. What can I do for you this evening?”

The generated streetlights don’t come all the way down your block, and he blinks in the candlelight coming from your open door, his jaw gaping slightly before sealing shut, blocking any words that want to come.

Stepping back, you let the door open wider for him. “I was just putting a snack together. You wanna come in?”

“No, I..don’t…”

You’ve seen this look before from folks new to Jackson. From folks who’ve had to keep what they have to survive. Folks who lived among others who would never offer up anything for free without the expectation of payback and therefore have forgotten–or perhaps never experienced–the simple joy of receiving hospitality.

“You don’t want to come in? Or you don’t want to eat my cooking? Because I’d be offended by either.”

Walking away from the open door has the desired effect and he finds his way to the front room sofa in view of the kitchen on his own.

It allows you to watch him check off the boxes as you put together a tray. Telltale sign of the long-hauler as he scans the rooms for exits and places where a threat could be hiding. Check. Then the sign of the QZoner as he studies his surroundings, taking in a home that’s lived in but not damaged by twenty years of decay or depression. Check.

That finally leaves him open to be vulnerable, and you watch to see if he’ll allow himself to be at ease.

The way his fingers curl and uncurl on his knees, how he looks away when you catch his eye.

You wonder if he’ll ever really sink in. Having family here will help.

“You drink, Joel Miller?”

“Depends,” he answers vaguely, but nods with certainty.

Your offering is simple, rye crackers on a plate, a disk of sheep’s milk cheese with a knife in it, two tumblers, and a bottle of sunshine.

“You all are sure generous with your whiskey around here,” he comments as you pour him a full glass.

“Not whiskey. Cider.”

He frowns. “Cider? You make this?”

“I’m not that talented,” you wave your hand over the cheese and crackers. “As you can see, this is what I consider cooking. Like most things here, I traded for it. There’s an orchard a ride out. Gone wild. It gets harvested once a year and there’s a cider press in town. Couple of ladies spend a good month canning and bottling.”

“Seems like the women run the show around here,” he says, impressed, taking a sip and then staring hard at the glass. “Holy shit.” You’re not sure at first if that’s a good or bad expression until he goes in for another drink.

“That make you nervous? Ladies brewing up the good stuff?” You only laugh at his impression of a deer in the headlights. “I suppose if you’ve spent enough time around Maria, it’s easy to think that. It’s just a very empowered place for everyone. Everyone’s got something to contribute that gives them some pride and gets them some respect. And I guess, in that way, you don’t have to worry about Ellie here. I can tell she’s gonna find her place and do just fine.”

“That’s actually what I came by for,” he says, distracted by the cider. “You know how long it’s been since I’ve had a drink of something that doesn’t burn?”

“It’s sweet, yeah?”

“Yeah. It’s been a minute since I had anything sweet.”

You let that hang, watch him examine the amber liquid…or, rather, a memory swirling in its depths.

Twenty years of a broken heart can’t be good for a person.

“You came to talk about Ellie?”

It takes him a second to realize you’re addressing him, but he only nods, and finishes the glass. When you pick up the bottle to pour him another, he quietly stops you with a gesture and the tiniest shake of the head. No. “You ever have raiders come by your Roost?”

“We’ve seen raiders in the area. They’ve attacked the town border before. Always small groups. Hungry. They don’t have the numbers or the ammo round these parts.”

“But what about out there in the open?”

Crossing your arms and leaning back in your seat, you let him know he’s being assessed, let it sink in that he might be over-protective and has the right to be scared but doesn’t need to be. Realize he may never grow out of his defensive conditioning.

“I’m not going to lie to you, Joel Miller. There’s always a chance. But I don’t know if there are any words I can say that would magically put you at ease. There’s one thing I can see though, you care a lot about that girl. I reckon you’re here tonight because she’s bugged you about going out there. And you hate disappointing her, so here you are. But you’re also afraid of letting her out of your sight.”

He doesn’t look at you. Just rolls his glass between his wide palms.

Ducking forward, you do your best to get your smile in his eyeline. “Since I can’t convince you with words, I’ll do it with evidence. Ride out there with me tomorrow and see for yourself.”

“I don’t…that’s not what…”

“Hey. Good parents want their kids to be safe. I know the type.” It was meant to put him at ease, but you realize a bit too late that your words were poorly chosen. It’s difficult to read his emotion; there may be a few going on at once. 

Most of them break your heart. 

An apology would only make it worse. “Tomorrow morning. Stables. Dawn.”

________

He doesn’t like to talk much, Joel Miller. Knows his way around a horse like a true Texan should, completely at ease with a shotgun strapped to his back, but doesn’t seem to want to spoil the silence. Or perhaps he’s just always on guard. That’s okay. You like the sounds of the morning. The crunch of the woodland floor, the sweep of the wind in the leaves. The birds have been up for hours already, their voices warmed up and singing clear. It’s still chilly at daybreak this time of year and steam rises from the horses’ noses, mixing with the fog of the dew evaporating in the rising sun.

After a good half-hour ride through dappled forest light at a leisurely pace, you take up the walkie that you’ve borrowed from Chickadee.

“Meadowlark to Whippoorwill.”

Seconds and trees roll by as you wait for your answer. No hurry.

“Whippoorwill here. You taking another shift? You’re a day early.”

“Nope. Just giving a new resident a tour and letting you know we’re coming in at the north passage. Put some clothes on and don’t shoot us.”

“I make no promises.”

“Don’t ever change, Whip.”

As you come to a ravine and dismount, Joel finally pipes up. “Put some clothes on?”

“Yeah,” you explain, leading the horse down the steep incline, “Whip’s a nudist. Don’t ever show up at her house unannounced if you aren’t ready for a lot of skin.” When he doesn’t know what to say, you smile over your shoulder. “Just fucking with you. Although, there is a stream to the south we all like to skinny dip in come summer.” Another baffled look from him, and another sly smile from you.

He’s distracted by this to the point that he actually flinches when the barrier appears before him. “The hell?” he exclaims, examining a hedge of vines growing up over a twelve-foot tall wall of stone. “You don’t even notice this from the top.”

“Nope. That’s the point. Doesn’t look like a wall from up there, just looks like a hedge from down here. Most people don’t want to make the effort to climb down but if they do, they just assume they have to find another way.”

“This is the meadow perimeter?”

“Well, this gate anyway. A lot of it is woven steel gage and cliffs that only goats can manage. Most of it is natural barrier or camouflage like this so you wouldn’t even know there’s anything being protected.”

“Huh. Clever.”

“Welcome to Jackson Meadow, home of the Roost.”

After displacing and replacing some facing shrubs, you’re able to coax the horses through a narrow tunnel and up a gentle rise that eventually opens out into a sweeping field in a valley under the face of the butte.

It’s still early enough that the wildflowers are just slivers of purples and yellows behind their bud casings, but they spread far and wide across the green expanse, broken only by the random white-gray lumps of grazing sheep. The sun is just beginning to break over the surrounding mountains to the east, but once it spills over, it will only make the spring colors of the valley more vivid than any surviving photograph, more picturesque than any oil on canvas…probably. It’s been decades since you’ve seen a landscape painting, so what the hell do you know.

Able to ride side by side now, you make another study of your companion. And there’s a war going on inside him. You can tell he’s taken by the raw beauty of the meadow, but twenty years of looking over his shoulder makes him nervous in wide open spaces and his eyes won’t stop moving between the grasses and the treeline, constantly appreciating, constantly scanning.

“Relax, Mr. Miller. Enjoy the view. You’re in good hands. See that patch of trees up there?” You nod to a wooded area near the center of the expanse. “Roost is in there. I guarantee you Whip has eyes on us and everything in this valley right now.” Raising a hand over your head with three fingers raised, you use the other hand to point to them.

The walkie smacks on and Whippoorwill’s steady drawl comes out. “Three.”

You wave. Smile at Joel. “See?”

He relaxes in the saddle and a quiet, ponderous minute goes by before he works up the bother to ask whatever’s tumbling around in that head of his. “Why do you keep calling me that?”

“What.”

“Mr. Miller. I’m no mister. It’s just Joel.”

Things are slow in Jackson, people take their time. As you do with your answer. “Maybe it’s my way of keeping a distance, Joel Miller. You seem like the kind of man that likes people to keep their distance so he can get a good read and make sure it’s safe to approach.”

Twisting with a frown, he scans you as if he’s never really looked before, maybe a little annoyed that you have his number.

You dismount your chestnut mare some distance before reaching the trees, leave the reins to the saddle and let her be, walking over to the nearest duo of sheep–a mother and baby. The ewe bleats at you out of habit, but knows you’re no real harm. She watches her lamb though, chewing when she remembers to.

This lamb is still very young and you’re not sure if it will remember. There’s a bounce to the left, and then two to the right, and then each leg steps carefully as he haltingly makes his way forward. You’re able to scoop him up and turn him over in your arms like a baby, instantly quelling him, and his legs hilariously splay.

“What’d you do to it?” Joel, having followed suit and let his horse graze, walks up and there’s the tiniest smile as he gazes down at the creature in your arms.

“Nothing, that’s just what they do when you turn ‘em over. Here.” You don’t even tell him to put his arms out or ask if he wants to hold the lamb, you simply get close enough and the man’s instincts kick in. All you have to do is hand him off.

Joel’s surprised at first, flinches a bit when the lamb wiggles in his arms–the tiniest protest to being transferred to an unfamiliar nanny. But then both of them calm and you have to stifle a laugh as the two of them just…stare at each other. The lamb in his lamby wonder, and Joel like a new, star-struck dad.

Going about your business, you begin checking the creature’s general health, pushing at the belly, checking the mouth. “This one was born on my last watch, so he’s only about ten days old.”

“Really,” Joel sighs, totally enchanted, not even realizing that he’s instinctually bouncing the lamb a bit. The father in him showing its face again.

“Yep. And,” you indicate the mother, now watching a bit more closely since there’s an unfamiliar human involved, “I birthed that one too. And probably most of her whole line for the last twenty years or more. All of them were as little as this one, and all of them survived. And if the Roost can raise flocks and flocks of dumb little sheep, we can certainly take care of one smart little girl.”

When he scans you this time, it’s clear you’ve given him reasoning that resonates.

He allows you to lift the lamb from his arms, watching thoughtfully as the little thing springs away past its mother and tumbles into some lupines head first. After it recovers and bounces a little more, you bring Joel’s attention to the trees a few hundred meters to the south.

“You can just catch the Roost there, see? The A-frame sticks up above the treetops. And that’ll be Willa at the porch railing.”

He squints. “How do you get up?”

“Retractable ladder. Tommy rigged it for us. You gotta be in it to win it. You’re either up it or fuck it. Ergo, if the ladder’s up, you don’t get in.”

“Huh. How do you get supplies up? Pulley?”

“Yup.”

“Huh.”

It’s a quiet ride back to Jackson, and you do your best not to look over your shoulder to gauge his reaction, like Orpheus leading Euridice out of Hades trying not to lose a tenuous chance for Ellie to spread her wings. It’s not every day a young person wants to learn the shepherding gig. Most of them want to stay in town near their friends, or are too afraid of the world to venture out. Ellie though, she’s been in the world. Observant. Eager to learn. Fearless.

The sheep could use someone like her.

You could too.

It’s when he’s busy unsaddling his horse in the stables that he clears his throat, and you let the curry brush lighter over your horse’s coat so you can hear him think out loud.

“Yeah that works,” he mumbles. “Think it might be good for her.”

Poking your face over your mare’s shoulder and waiting to catch his eye, you release the hounds of smiletown. “You’re right. And probably good for you too, Joel Miller.”

____

“Whoa, coooooool!!!” Ellie says for the fourth time on the ride from Jackson as she spies the Roost through the trees.

Over the past few family dinners, Ellie asked a million questions about this week–how to stay warm, where to bathe, if the sheep bite–anything and everything, even if it was common sense.

And with every answer she’d listen, enrapt, her eyes flicking to Joel now and then. It became obvious to you–although maybe not to the others–that she was asking not so much for her own good, but to calm Joel, signal that she was thinking ahead and covering all the bases, that even if she already knew the answers it might calm him to hear them too.

A little overkill. But the concern they showed for each other while trying not to be sappy about it was endearing you to both of them.

And perhaps Joel was calmed; maybe not so much by the answers you gave, but the way you gave them--calmly, indulgently, and with just a little bit of sass to show you could keep up with Ellie’s tongue and put her in a figurative headlock when she got too cocky. You caught Joel smiling down into his plate a few times. And at you a few more.

He’s got a good smile. It comes out more often now.

A duffel bag lands on the ground at the base of the Roost’s tree and your horses jump a little. Then there’s a cheerful trill from above, “I’ll be right down! Just packing up the wool!”

“No rush, Goldie! We’ll go water the horses while we wait.”

Ellie follows your lead you as you dismount to pull the packs off the horses–bulky with a week’s weight of food, water, and clothes–before climbing back into the saddle and heading off to the south.

“There’s a creek up here flows right down from the Tetons. Purest, cleanest water you’ll ever see.”

“Can you drink it?”

“Absolutely. You, me, the sheep, it’s for all of us. We humans boil it first, of course.”

Ellie’s nose wrinkles. “Seems a waste. I mean, if it’s coming down from the mountains it’s really cold right? We hardly ever had cold water in the QZ. It’s so good when it’s cold.”

“You’ll be singing a different tune when you have to bathe in it.” Her face falls and you can’t help but laugh, hauling yourself out of the saddle and guiding the beast through the pebbled creekbed. “Believe me, come summer, you’ll be plenty happy with how cold it is.”

Once the horses are watered it’s a leisurely stroll back to the Roost, handing the reins over to a tall, veritable Viking of a woman, stong-boned and willowy all at the same time, the long golden braid spilling down her back and curls springing out from the sides of her face giving her the appearance that she’s wearing a lazy albino scorpion on her head. Her blue flannel matches her eyes and clashes with her sunburned cheeks.

“Ellie, this is Goldfinch, our junior Roostling.”

The woman takes Ellie’s small hand in her long, sturdy fingers. “Maybe not so junior if you pull yourself up on board.”

“Goldie started with us about ten years back when she was around your age.”

“Ten years ago?” Ellie asks. “There hasn’t been any new shepherds since then?”

The Rootling shares a concerned look with you before you answer, “Well, there have been, but not all of them stuck.” And you put the question to rest by helping Goldie pack up your horse. “Shit, this is a lot of wool. How many did you do?”

“About twelve?” She answers. “I’m only taking ten worth. Left the rest for you.”

“Damn, you must have been bored. Ellie, can you hand me that duffel? Thanks.”

As Ellie brings the bag to you, she’s also scanning the thatch of forest where the Roost stands. “So she’s taking the horses? She doesn’t have her own?”

“Horses are a sign of civilization,” Goldie offers. “Especially if they’re on a picket line. And we like to keep it not so obvious that we’re out here. We’d have to keep them on picket or they’d just wander off back toward the gate an s hang out there wanting to go home and give away that location.”

“Besides,” you explain, “won’t need ‘em until we go back to Jackson. Safest place to be in the whole pasture is the Roost with the ladder up and a loaded shotgun nearby, not trying to saddle up to ride off. If there’s trouble, we can hold out the time it takes for a posse to come down from town.”

“Is there ever trouble?” Ellie wonders, just slightly concerned.

“Never yet,” you wink.

Finally there’s the ceremonial clink of the walkies, acknowledging that the leaving Roostling is taking hers home and the new occupant has one with a completely restored battery. “Patrol, this is Meadowlark taking over for Goldfinch.”

A few quiet seconds. A pinecone drops nearby.

Then a man’s voice from the speaker. “Meadowlark, this is patrol, we read you. We’ll be hitting east gate around noon today. Anything you need?”

“Nope, we just landed. By ‘we’ I mean me and a learner. New girl, Ellie Williams. Callsign Thistle.”

“Copy. Welcome to the Roost, Thistle.”

Ellie beams, then blinks as you hold the walkie to her face, and you nod her a nod of encouragement.

“Thanks…patrol. Uh…Thistle over and out.”

“Good job, kid,” Goldie says, hoisting a leg over the horse and taking the reins of Ellie’s mare from you. “Have a good week, you two. May your days be filled with storms.”

Once she’s out of earshot, Ellie turns to you. “Storms?”

You strap a pack over each shoulder and start climbing the ladder. “We’re in friendly competition with each other to have the most lambs born on our watch and shear the most sheep. If it rains it can be miserable work at best and impossible at worst and we’re less likely to make good numbers. So it’s an affectionate curse.”

“Oh. Seems cruel to the sheep.”

“What do you mean?”

Shouldering a smaller pack, Ellie starts climbing behind you. “Wishing for storms when they have to be out in it.”

“Eh, they’re happy as clams when it rains. They’ve got wool sweaters already.”

“I’ve never worn a wool sweater.”

Reaching the top, you wait for her to crest so you can see the look on her face when she does. “Then you’re in for a treat. It takes a lot to waterlog wool. Rolls right off. You’ll see. You’ll love it. And that’s not even mentioning the socks!”

“What does happy as a clam mean–” she begins, but stops abruptly as her face comes to the top of the ladder, her mouth opening in awe, rounding in concert with her eyes. “Whoa! Holy shit!!!”

The Roost as a whole isn’t all that large and can be crossed in half a dozen steps. Roughly a seven meter square platform, it holds a one-room cabin with a balcony running along the north and east sides. The windowed, A-frame peak looks out to the north pasture and the roof slopes just out and above the east balcony to shade it in a cascade of knotty pine. Windows wrap all but the west side, the interior wall of which has a simple built-in double cabinet bed with a single bunk running across its head above.

It’s this cabinet bed that draws Ellie inside, and you watch her slowly take in the rest of the cabin, with its rustic table and chairs–Goldie left a couple Indian Painbrush in a mug of water in the sun–the windowed corner with the soft, plush, patchwork pillow chair and a basket full of wool roving, the opposite corner with its woodstove upon a harlequin tilework patch of floor and the spare array of cooking tools on spiraled iron hooks in the knotted wood walls.

The honey dark timber stretches overhead to a peak, from which hangs dried strands of vegetables and herbs, higher up a set of snowshoes, a number of straps and ropes–a butcher’s hook among them, the one arguably ominous tool, meant to make dragging a bloated carcass easier…although it is rarely needed anymore.

Even though the Roost has become your home away from home, the fresh smell off the boards and the dust motes dancing in the sun make you pause and smile every time.

It’s just comfortable enough for two people, a generous hideaway for one, and your favorite place in the whole world. There’d been more than one occasion where you thought about asking Tommy to build you its replica in Jackson, but it would be a shame to ruin its uniqueness…and, of course, there were higher priorities in town.

“Is that where you sleep?” Ellie points at the cabinet bed.

“Yep. Or you, if you want. There’s a bunk. I’ll take whichever you don’t want.”

Bouncing over to the side of the cabinet with the recessed ladder, she climbs, pats the mattress, and frowns. “Why’s it all lumpy?”

“It’s filled with fleece. Same down here. It doesn’t feel lumpy when you sleep on it. Feels like a cloud hugging you. How’s the view up there?”

Ellie pets the bunk mattress another second or two, considering it, before turning out with a smile, “It’s–” but the smile fades when she sees beyond the four meter peak of the cabin and out through the windows for the first time.

Turning to face outward--to see though her eyes–-the sun is breaking fully over the butte, filling the valley like a warm, golden bath, serving up a green to the eye that exists nowhere else in the world. It never gets old and is beautiful from every angle, especially this view from the treetops, birds-eye.

Wordlessly she descends the bunk ladder behind you and wanders out to the balcony, resting her forearms against it, staring out at the vista, and you let her have it while you unpack the bags, situate the supplies, assess the woodpile, toss a set of fresh sheets on each bed.

Once finished with the settle in, you join Ellie where she’s drifted to the other side of the balcony, looking out at the north pasture where the sheep like it best.

After a moment she asks quietly, “What was this place before?”

“This land?” you specify, and she nods. “It was just this. A valley meadow. Native land.”

“It’s hardly touched out here. No broken buildings. No bomb craters.”

“Nope. This place was never really that urban. Even with all those people, some wild places remained. Some were actually sanctioned by the government as untouchable natural places, just to let the animals live and the trees grow. It was for everyone to enjoy.”

“National parks.”

“Yeah, that’s right. This was part of a park like that. But Jackson wasn’t densely populated. Didn’t spread as fast out here. We were low priority. No bombs. So many of us lived on our own land that when the governments came to round any of us up, we’d take up arms and hold our ground. It’s what my sister and I did when they came at our ranch. I think after a while military just left the area thinking if we all got infected it could only spread so far before it just finished off the population and had nowhere left to go.”

“Did it?”

“Oh it came, but it didn’t take everyone. It wandered in later, like everything does out here. Cordyceps are like a fashion. It spread in the urban areas first and made its way out here eons later. But there were fewer people in a lot larger space…and a lot more guns. It was easy to stamp out.”

Ellie’s not like most of the other kids in town who nod at your ancient stories of the olden times. To them, this is the world as it is and how it will be and stories of how it used to be are less than monumental, just a passing curiosity for aimless evenings around a fire. But Ellie’s attention reaches beyond the meadow, beyond the mountains, beyond what she can see. It stretches out in time and tries to divine the past and what might have been; she tries to calculate what exactly was lost and in what ways it’s actually better. A life she could have had versus the one that’s brought her here to this balcony in the morning sun.

A far off bleat becomes a signal for the reverie to break, and you bump your shoulder against hers.

“C’mon. I’ll show you how we do the rounds.”

_____

After a few days, Ellie is doing the morning rounds on her own, reporting in when she notices an ewe in a lay, keeping an eye out for cast sheep–“You see a sheep on its back, do whatever you can to right it, you’ve got about twenty-four hours until they die there of bloat and stupidity,”--and generally letting them all get to know her.

“You’ll need to take your time. Let the lambs come to you or the mammas get emotional about it. Treat ‘em light and gentle for a while. If the ewe sees no need to watch you anymore that means she trusts you and you can pet and pick up the little ones if they let you. But they start cryin’, best to put ‘em down and let ‘em run. Never chase them. You chase them and never let them come to you, they’ll run when you need to get to them most. Take ‘em some apple or carrot and they’ll be your friend forever. Squash and pumpkin are good too. Sometimes I’ll bring out a pocketful of oats. Don’t tell the stablemasters in town; they’d have my ass.”

By mid-week if you couldn’t find Ellie, all you’d need to do was climb up to the Roost and survey the green meadow for the contrast of her red tshirt and you’d spy her sprawled out in the grasses surrounded by a clutch of lambs and ewes. The girl was a sucker for animals.

Shearing went by faster with someone there to hold hooves and legs or just keep the lambs within sight so any ewe under the shear wasn’t kicking to check on her baby. It might have been Ellie’s least favorite part except for the evening time task of carding wool (“Boring”) and drop spinning (“Impossible”).

“Motherfucker,” she whispers, singing a song of hatred at the breaking threads on her spindle, throwing her hands out and taking a dramatic fall backward onto the wool rug she’s sitting on.

“Patience, young grasshopper. It’s not a fast skill; it can take years to learn to spin consistently,” you laugh in the warm glow of the lantern, your spindle wizzing as your yarn pulls at an even gauge, “and all you have out here is time. You’ll get it.”

“Grasshopper? Have I graduated from Thistle?”

“Nope, sorry. Old joke, before your time.”

Abandoning her work and rolling over to her belly, Ellie kicks her stockinged feet lazily in the air and pulls at the fibers in the rug. “There’s only one more day left and there haven’t been any new lambs.”

“Season’s slowing down some. They’ll be fewer and further between.”

“Don’t you wanna win?”

“Win at numbers? Not if it means the health of the sheep. They’ll birth when they birth. Besides, nobody’s beating Willa this year. Those triplets made that a certainty.”

“Whippoorwill’s name is Willa. Chickadee’s name is Addie.”

“Yup.”

“So everyone turned their name into the closest sounding bird except you.”

“Nah. We’re just not real clever with the names is all. Goldie’s name is Pam. We just call her Goldfinch because she’s a blond. Probably wouldn’t even have callsigns but that it makes it easier to hear over the walkie.”

“So what about yours then? Why Meadowlark?”

You smile. “Larks are songbirds. I like to sing when I’m out here. I’ve been caught at it so many times, I don’t even hide it anymore.” You belt a made-up melody loudly out through the open window into the night, “Isn’t tha-a-at ri-ight you wooly ba-a-a-asta-a-a-ards!”

A sleepy sheep calls back in irritation.

“You’re a weird lady.”

“You’re a weird lady.”

Ellie laughs begrudgingly, sits up with a grunt and starts picking at her thread again, squinching her mouth at the lumps. “So if I become a Roostling, I don’t get to pick my own bird?”

“I’m sure we could make an exception. Why? You got one in mind? Because left to us you’d probably be a red-bELLIEd something-or-other.”

“Ha ha. Fine. I don’t know much about birds. Mostly just pigeons in Boston.”

“Well fuck if I’m gonna call you Pigeon.”

The night’s starting to chill down a little and she hugs her knees into her chest, setting her chin on them in thought. It’s about time to close up the window and put a few logs in the stove, but Ellie’s attention wanders up and out among the stars.

You have so many questions. Were all the kids in Boston as stubborn and wild and foul-mouthed as her? Where were her parents? Dead, most likely, but how did she survive them? How did she meet Joel? Did she smuggle run with him? She’s a fair shot with a shotgun, but not practiced. Did he get her here all by himself? That takes a lot of luck and skill. He must care about her a lot to bring her with him all this way, to keep her safe….

“So it was just you and Joel out there for a long time, huh.”

“Yeah.”

“I bet you’re happy to finally have somewhere warm to sleep. Traveling during the winter would have been rough. Good thing it was a milder one this time around.”

She gives a pathetic shrug. “I dunno. I liked it. Just us under the stars. We looked out for each other.”

“Well, you have a lot of folks who will look out for the both of you now. And if you need someone to look after, well, these sheep could really use you.”

Unexpectedly, she laughs, something you’ve said keeps her in the giggles for a while. “One night we were camping and I asked Joel where he wanted to go most in the world and he said he wanted to settle down and farm sheep. This is kind of his dream. But then he said that he wanted to be a musician. Maybe he should be the one out here with you to watch sheep and sing.”

“Maybe. Does he have a tolerable voice? The sheep are picky, as you’ve heard.”

“I don’t know, he wouldn’t sing for me,” she squishes her cheek into her knee, giving you a shit-eating grin and a teasing sing song. “But I bet he’d sing for you if you asked him.”

“Oh, I’m sure,” you smile and wink, trying to hide your chagrin under a swirling cape of nonchalance. “I can be very persuasive. But...I don’t think Tess would like that so much.”

“How do you know about Tess?”

“Tommy has his tales. They were quite a little family unit for a while. I’m actually surprised she didn’t show up here with you two.”

This sobers her, turns her attention back out to the stars, halting her response. “She would have…. but she didn’t make it.”

A chilly breeze sweeps through the window, and you’re not quite sure if it’s the drop in the air or your heart that makes you shiver.

Tess didn’t make it. In the world as it is, that means one thing. You wonder what happened. How. If it was horrific–of course it was, you can see it in Ellie’s hardened eyes that it was–and how much it affects her or doesn’t. It’s so difficult to tell with kids these days. In the end though, it hardly matters how. In all the myriad of ways it could have happened, it would have ended the same.

You wonder if Tommy knows.

You suddenly feel ashamed of that selfish little spark of hope it sparks in you.

But while what you know about Joel Miller could fill a book, what you don’t know about him could fill a library.

And you’ve had enough time pass through you to know that a lot of patience and a little observation can go a long way towards preventing disaster.

Thoughts for another time.

“What about you, kid, hmm? What was your answer? In all the world, where would you go?”

But you’d already guessed, seen the longing in her face every night this week and see it now as she looks out the window at the silent silver satellite in the sky.

_____

“Ow, dammit! Just keep a good hold on her back legs so she stops kicking me!”

The lamb is breach and you’re halfway up to your elbow in sheep, trying to push at the little one’s one back haunch to clear the way for the other leg. Ellie, wide-eyed and trembling with excitement keeps letting the ewe’s leg slip and you’d be laughing if the hooves didn’t pack such a punch.

You must have seen a thousand sheep born and assisted in a high percentage of those in your lifetime, but this one manages to give you a new rush. It’s the morning you’ll be heading back to Jackson and you were afraid you’d go all week without Ellie getting to experience a birth. Here it is, and she’s just as thrilled as you’d hoped and all you have to do is make sure both the lamb and the ewe make it through.

It doesn’t take much–a little push, a little twist, a little pull, a little gasp from Ellie–you’re able to get both back hooves in your hand and the little one comes sliding out in a gloopy mess onto the grass. Your favorite flannel is caked with blood and you’ll have to go straight to the launders with it on arrival back in town…

…but it’s all worth it when the baby bleats the tiniest baa and Ellie giggles and clutches her cheeks.

“Holy shit! That was awesome! It’s so tiny! Can I name it? Like Snowball or something?”

The footfalls making their way through the meadow proceed Willa’s answer, “You don’t have to do that. The earth and the sky and the wind will name her themselves.”

Leaning back to acknowledge not only your friend and her arrival, but also a broad form following her clad in denim and gristle.

“Brought you a friend,” Willa smirks for the girl’s benefit, tilting her head in Joel’s direction.

“Joel!!! Look!!!” Ellie’s grin is so full she can’t even close her jaw, gaping like a kid who just saw her first Christmas tree.

Another tiny bleat escapes the lamb as its mother begins to lick it clean and Joel’s eyes nearly disappear behind cheeks and crinkles. “Hey there, babygirl. You have a good time?”

“Fuck YES.”

Willa extends a hand to help Ellie up and Joel does the same for you, taking care to keep your dripping forearm at a good distance.

“She did real good out here; you’d be proud,” you praise the girl, squelching her grin with a big, wet, slap on the back. “I’d love to have her again.”

“Aw, maaaaaaan!” Ellie reels in disgust as you dig your palm into her shoulder, really getting the juices in there.

“You just earned your keep, kid.”

This snaps her head around. “Really? Do I get a bird name now?”

“Yup. And I think I know what’ll suit you just fine.” In a short second of mountain time, the wind picks up just a little, lifting the brown curls around her face and the sun comes up behind her over the bluff, kissing her pink cheeks as you lean down and look her straight in the eye.

“Welcome to the Roostlings, Starling.”

____

You let them ride ahead of you, allow the father-daughter team to catch each other up on the week’s news, watch adoringly as Ellie chatters on about the lambs and how they tumble and bounce and how cold the water is and how the Roost creaks and sways a bit when it’s windy, which sheep were her favorite and how much she hates spinning wool.

Next time you’ll have to teach her how to knit, you think. She’ll probably take to that a little better.

And when he’s not giving her his glowing attention, Joel’s only report is that he started work in the new section of town, nothing exciting except the house was blessedly quiet for a whole week thank god.

She still has stories to tell Maria and Tommy at family dinner, repeating again some of the highlights you overheard her tell Joel, and new ones she just remembered. Your friends smile and listen, bewitched, time enough to give her an ear and delighted with the novelty of an excited young person at their table.

“Looks like you have yourself a new recruit,” Maria laughs. “What did you settle on for a callsign?”

Ellie tips her head back, answering through a mouthful of potatoes, “Starling!” and slaps a hand over her mouth when a chunk goes flying.

“Ellie, dammit, talk OR chew, not AND.”

Maria ignores Joel’s curse at her dinner table to ask you, “What prompted that?”

You chew and swallow, pointedly showing off the patience that the girl couldn’t muster, a blatant tease. “Seemed a good choice. Kid’s a sucker for the stars.” You match Ellie’s smile before you sweetly add, “And, y’know. Because starlings are loud and annoying as hell.”

That earns you a bird of another kind.

_____

Tommy cuts a good silhouette against the coming twilight as he lines himself up to the peg and explains for his adopted niece how to score a ringer in an after-dinner game of horseshoes. He demonstrates the looseness of the grip, the swing of the iron, and Ellie soaks it up like a sponge, eager to learn.

He’s a good teacher. He taught Maria…who is currently beating his ass. But Maria is good at whatever she does regardless, always has been.

You concluded long ago that it’s not your game. Branded it a Texas thing and took up your spot on the back porch swing with a bottle of cider, kicking off your boots and putting your woolen-socked feet up on the railing to enjoy the setting sun reflecting off the mountain face.

There’s a cheer as Ellie tosses and the shoe lands with a loud clang.

The porch door opens when Joel returns with a bottle for himself. But instead of rejoining the game, he wanders over to sit next to you on the swing, upsetting it enough to pull your feet from their perch.

“Sorry.”

“It’s okay. Pull up a seat, Joel Miller.”

Several lazy minutes pass, a sweet, comfortable silence filled with the occasional sip from a bottle and an exchanged smile as you push at the porch a little, encouraging the swing to do its thing. And he lets his knees go soft, keeps his feet on the ground but aids in a little gentle rocking.

“Thank you,” he says, finally, tipping his head toward his ward as she scores yet again, “for taking her out there. She hasn’t shut up about it since.”

“Yeah? What’d she have to say?”

“Went on about the lambs, complained about how cold the water was. Said she was tired because she liked getting up early in the morning to see the sunrise but liked being in the trees at night and wanted to stay up to listen to the night birds. Said you liked to sing when you work and the fact that she didn’t complain about it–and from what I heard the night we met you–makes me think you’re not too bad at it. Not too fond of your cooking, though.”

That earns a snort from you. “Well I don’t blame her there; I warned y’all. I wouldn’t say she’s the most obedient kid, but she sure is smart, and really capable and brave. That girl eats the world with the spoon she’s so hungry to know all the things all the time. And strong–she swings an axe better than me. Got a mouth on her–”

“Sorry about that–”

“--and is beautifully, brutally honest, and pretty fucking hilarious. She’s really special.”

“Yeah. Yeah she is.” Something like pride melts his shoulders as he watches Ellie joke around with Tommy, and then slowly evolves into gratitude as he turns to you, to someone who can see her like he does. “Funny, that’s what she said about you.”

There’s a pull to share in that pride and gratitude, to lean in and let yourself bask in the glow of the compliment.

But a wall goes up when you reveal, as kindly as you can, “She told me Tess didn’t make it.” As his eyes grow stony and deny you the pleasure of their focus, you chase after his attention by turning your body toward him on the swing, bringing a knee up and placing a hand on his forearm, gently urging him to stay here with you. “Hey. She didn’t tell me what happened and I don’t need to know and you don’t have to talk about it. But I do need to ask you one thing. That man out there might be your brother, but he’s my friend. And Tess might have been your lady, but she was still family to him. She was important to him. And he’s important to me. And I need to ask you if he knows.”

The arm under your finger tenses as his fingers grip the cider bottle and you move to let go–to let him know you’re not forcing him–but a hand claps down over yours. It’s now his turn to urge you to stay, to give him a minute, to let him bust through whatever is starting to well up in him so he can swallow and tell you, “He knows.” Another quiet minute as he stares out at his family on the back lawn, his jaw working to bring the air in and keep the tension out. “He knows. Thank you…thank you for… taking care of him too.”

His fingers flutter a little, scarred knuckles contracting and loosening like he’s fighting the instinctual urge to hang onto something. So you set your bottle on the porch railing and gently lift his away too, slip out of this awkward hold and instead shift his hand between both of yours, giving it warmth, giving it permission to hold onto you like it wants to.

“They’re my family, which means you are now too. As long as you plan to leave off your wandering and let us keep you safe and cared for, that’s thanks enough, Joel Miller.”

“Quit that,” he grumbles, clasping your hand in case you interpret his words as an ask for release, needing a stolen moment of secret comfort in the deepening twilight. “Joel’s enough. You sound like my mother.”

“Okay,” you compromise, trying to tame your eager heart, silently explain to it that there’s nothing here but the time to do things right. “Okay, Joel.” You smile. “Joel Joel Cinnamon Roll.”

“Shit,” he cringes, shakes his head slowly, stifling a laugh. “Now you really sound like my mother. That’s what she used to call me, how did you-- Tommy.”

“Yup.”

“I hate you both.”

“No you don’t.”

Ellie scores another ringer and Joel smiles. “No, I don’t.”

________

NEXT: SUMMER

MASTERLIST

SERIES MASTERLIST

[delopsia]

Warning for mildly implied alcohol abuse & underage drinking

Thinking about Rhett in a soulmate AU...

Everyone's soulmates are different; his parents had each other's first words inked into their wrists from birth, and Perry had Rebecca's name on his forearm in a pretty cursive font, but Rhett...he had nothing. No markings, no counting timer, not a single thing to indicate he had a soulmate. Defective, doomed to spend his life alone, without anyone to share his world with.

He's 14 when Perry meets Rebecca and brings her home to meet the family. But then he's found himself so jealous that he's had to get up and leave the dinner table because he just can't stand seeing soulmates find each other, knowing that he'll never get to have that.

He's 15 when Amy comes into the world, with a timer that counts down to the very second she will meet her soulmate. At age five, Amy doesn't understand why Uncle Rhett gets watery-eyed when she asks about his soulmate. She figures it out when she's six, draws a fake timer, and glues it to his wrist, so he can have one too.

Rhett's just turned 17 when his buddies all decide to go to prom together as friends, because they don't have dates but they'll be serving food at the event. He doesn't make it an hour before he has to go outside, because a girl found her soulmate on the dance floor and he just can't stand it.

His momma finds him drunk on the front porch, the day he turns 18. She doesn't know how he got the alcohol, but he keeps hiccupping about how unfair it all is that he's doomed to be alone. "It just ain't fair," he sobs into her shoulder, "what did I do wrong?" She prays for him every night before bed, because she can't stand seeing her youngest so broken up. Nothing changes, and Rhett just keeps drinking.

He's given up on it by the time he turns 21. It's hard to think when you're slaving away on your father's ranch and drunk for the rest of the time, hooking up with randoms because it's the closest he'll get to intimacy.

Rhett's 23 and given up when he sees a car from out of state broken down on the side of the road. He doesn't know what possesses him to stop and offer to help you, but he stays with you until the tow truck gets there. He doesn't expect to walk into the bar that night and run into you.

He sees you again the next day, then the next, and before he knows it, he's spent a week going to the bar, just to sit down and talk to you about everything under the sun. Your fingertips and palm are permanently gray, something to do with a soulmate that you've given up on figuring out.

But then your car is fixed, and you're back on the road, because life unfortunately doesn't stop for a blue-eyed cowboy you've found in middle of nowhere Wyoming. Texts turn into never ending phone calls, staying up late into the morning hours, clinging to every second.

Two days after his birthday, you show up by surprise, and Rhett finds himself running toward your car is it pulls up his driveway, work long forgotten. You've only stepped out of the car when he scoops you up in a big hug, spinning you around.

He feels something start to tingle as you reach up and wipe the sweat from his left brow, a tingle that seems to follow as you cup his cheek. When your face changes, he knows something's happening.

Rhett's 24 when he realizes that he had a soulmate after all, because now he proudly carries a marking on his left cheek. Vibrant splotches of every color in the rainbow, from the outer corner of his eye to the lowest point his jaw. Those same colors that now adorn your once gray hand. Sometimes folks bug him about it, sometimes people ask if it's bothersome to have such an obvious soulmate marking, and he just smiles and tells them that he couldn't have asked for anything more.

Because now he has someone to share his world with, someone that he's fallen head over heels for and has made him the luckiest man in the world. You're all he's ever wanted.

At rodeos, the announcer calls him The Rainbow Cowboy, and Rhett's not sure if that was meant to be an insult or not, but he wears it proudly. It's the Rainbow Cowboy who wins that season, and it's the last time they see him ride, because just after New Years, he packs up and hops into his truck with you, ready to take on the world together and never look back.

[everett-mulligan]

( taylor kinney, cis male, he & him ) — is that really everett mulligan? i thought so, since i heard into the jungle by x ambassodors ft jamie n commons blasting just now. well, welcome to cole, wyoming! what brings you here as a 43 year-old? a job as a lieutenant firefighter at firehouse 10? wonderful. we’re glad to have you. talk around town is you can be a little hot headed, but i myself believe you’re more courageous… but is it true that you come from money & politics? wild. well, i’ll let you get back to it!

Kelly Mulligan was born and raised in Cole, Wyoming. He had met his wife during his Sophomore year in College all the way in New York at New York University. Sybil Wilson was a Freshman and from Atlanta, Georgia. They were in the same class, and of course Sybil forgot all of her pens and pencils, sitting next to Kelly asking for one. It didn’t take much for Kelly to fall for the studious Freshman and he didn’t care that she was a grade younger. 

Kelly came from a long line of Firefighters and Politicians, and even though that’s what his parents and grandparents wanted him to be, Kelly did not. Kelly wanted to study business and politics. That’s exactly what he did, Kelly studied business communications, while Sylvie supported his decision she studied english and early education. Overall the two had a good college experience, nothing too extreme. Had a good group of friends, kept to themselves. 

It wasn’t until they graduated that Kelly had proposed to Sylvie, with her of course saying yes. With their wedding coming and going, the two were happy and in love. During their honeymoon, the two officially decided they wanted a big family. That’s exactly what they got. 

William Thomas Mulligan was the first born, then Mitchell Michael Mulligan, then Addison Christine Mulligan, Everett Reilly Mulligan, and finally Isabelle Rose Mulligan. The Mulligan siblings were tight night and loved each other more than anything. 

Everett had a charmed life. He grew up with a silver spoon in his mouth, and while money wasn’t everything, Everett had his parents to thank for not struggling. He got good grades in school, was popular and genially just loved being with is family. His family meant everything to him, but when he was a Senior in High School, the man realized he wanted to get out into the World and explore a little bit. He chose Boston University in Boston, Massachusetts. Majoring in Criminal Justice and minoring in Safety Studies. However that wasn’t what he wanted to do in life. With being lost after graduation, it was his grandfather on his dads side who suggested he’d become a firefighter like he was.

Moving back home to Cole, Wyoming, Everett went straight into the academy and became a firefighter. A few years after, he became Lieutenant. It made him happy, being able to help whenever he could and being close to his family again. Though the man was lonely, and someone on squad had set him up on a blind date. Juliette Stone, the girl he didn’t realize who was from Cole, Wyoming. The first date went well, and when she agreed to the second date then the rest was history. Like his father did with his mother, Everett had fallen hard for the young women. Normally he didn’t but there was something about Juliette Stone whom he simply just called Julie. Things were good between them for a few years, leading Everett to buy an engagement ring. 

Right before proposing, their relationship took a turn. Always fighting, always disagreeing on things and that’s when she packed up her bags and left without a word. Not till days after, telling him she had gotten a job offer in some other state she just couldn’t turn down. It crushed him, broke him.  Though the man had his family, and his job and stayed in Cole and has been here ever since. 

[callsign-joyride]

John Wayne | Chapter 3 | Rhett Abbott

Despite the mood board suggesting otherwise, my fics are size and POC inclusive.

Series masterlist | Previous part | Next part

Summary: Rhett ends up in the city for a friend's wedding. You're going through a rough breakup. A meet-cute in a cafe changes both of your lives.

Every John is just the same I'm sick of their city games I crave a real wild man I'm strung out on John Wayne

Pairing: Rhett Abbott x f!reader

Content warnings: This is a fast burn fic now, fluff

You and Rhett had been texting almost nonstop. It wasn’t like you couldn’t live without talking to each other, but it was that you didn’t want to. Of course, your coworkers were pretty relentless with the teasing. No one really believed you when you said that you were dating an actual cowboy, not even with the pictures to prove it. You promised to call him when you were done with work, which seemed to work perfectly. You got done with everything at around 7, and there was a two-hour difference between New York and Wyoming.

“Can we FaceTime? I’ve been dying to see your face,” Rhett said after you told him that you were back at the apartment.

“I don’t see why not. Just give me a minute to get my food.”

You ate together and had a light conversation until after both of you were done eating. That was when he started to ask some of the more “hard-hitting” questions.

“Okay, so, where do you see yourself in ten years?” He asked. You leaned back in your chair and took a minute to answer.

“Well, I hope I can have all of my student loans paid off by then. I love working for The Times so I’m hoping that maybe I’ll have a change in position or a raise. Maybe a house if I can afford it, one or two kids. What about you?”

“I don’t know if I’ll ever leave Wabang. I didn’t go to college and I’m not good at a lot. I think I could see myself with kids. I love Amy, she’s my niece, so I feel like I’m good with kids. Definitely don’t quote me on that, though. I’ve got a foul mouth on me.”

The statement made you chuckle. He was definitely right about having a foul mouth. You completely lost track of time until Rebecca walked in.

“Hey, Rhett,” she said.

“Hey.”

It wasn’t long before you cleaned up the kitchen and went back to your room. You were still on the phone with Rhett, which was surprising. You didn’t normally do long phone calls, but he was special. It was getting late and you had to get ready for bed, but you made sure to text Rhett before you fell asleep.

“Who is that girl that he’s been on the phone with?” Cecelia asked Royal and Perry.

“He didn’t tell you? They met at a cafe in New York. We stopped there for coffee and they really hit it off,” Perry said.

“Huh, well are you sure that she’s even real? That boy has never had a girlfriend, let alone one that lives in the city,” Royal added.

“Oh, she’s real. Super pretty and nice, too.”

“I’ll believe it when I see it.”

You were eating lunch with Danielle when your phone chimed. It was a text from Rhett. You read it as it flashed across the screen.

“Oh my God!” You exclaimed.

“What? What is it?” She asked.

You quickly unlocked your phone and slid it across the table. Rhett texted you to ask if you wanted to visit him and his family in Wyoming.

“You need to go. He’s a bull rider, right?”

You nodded your head and took a sip of your drink.

“Ask him when his next ride is and go then. You know he’ll win, anyways. And you have a lot of vacation time saved up.”

“Okay.”

His next competition wouldn’t be for another two weeks, so you had time to get things figured out. The rest of the day seemed to go by alarmingly fast, but it also wasn’t really a busy day at the office. You texted Rebecca to meet in your room once you got back to the apartment because you “had news”. You almost jumped out of your bed as she practically kicked the door to your room open to ask what the news was.

“Rhett asked me if I wanted to go to Wyoming and meet his family… And I said yes.”

“What?! You’re kidding, right? Because you’ve only known each other for like two weeks and maybe that wouldn’t be a super great idea.”

“No, I’m serious. Danielle said to wait until his next competition and go then, which won’t be for another two weeks. So there’s time to get my stuff packed and everything. I’m actually really excited because they sound like nice people and everything. So hopefully, I don’t end up getting murdered.”

“I’ll help you pack but I hate that you are the way you are… I never said that he was gonna murder you.”

“It was heavily implied.”

It took a lot of persuading but you eventually got Rebecca not to pack your bags for you then and there. You were willing to let her take you shopping, but that was it. You didn’t really feel like you needed new clothes for the trip, but you loved going shopping with Rebecca so it was a fine balance. The first week went by in a blur. 

Maybe it was the excitement and the nerves, but that second week was agonizing. You couldn’t wait to get out of New York, even if it was just for a short amount of time. You made sure to send Rhett a picture of your ticket so that he had everything he needed to pick you up from the airport. Shopping with Rebecca quickly derailed as she dragged you into a Victoria’s Secret and picked up a black lingerie set.

“Okay, Wyoming is hot but it’s not that hot,” you said. She glared at you and sighed.

“Wear it under your clothes, dumbass. Or you could just wear it in general. No one cares. Well, no one cares that much. It’s a small town.”

“Yeah, and that’s part of the problem. Everyone knows everyone. It would be embarrassing.”

“Whatever. You’re hot. You know you’re hot, he knows you’re hot. I don’t really see the problem.”

“I guess I’ll buy it but I’m not listening to your advice. I’ve almost been arrested multiple times by taking your advice.”

It was hard not to laugh. Both of you knew that you were right, but it was quiet in the store and you didn’t want to look crazy. You got everything that you needed and (almost) everything that Rebecca thought you needed before walking around the mall some more. The candle store was irresistible even though you had at least one candle in almost every room of the apartment. You only had a gneral idea of what you were going to bring with you to Wyoming, so it took you a while to get your bags packed and put by your bedroom door.

“Okay, I love you, don’t get murdered, and take pictures of all of the cows,” Rebecca said as she pulled up to your gate at the airport. It was barely six in the morning, but you figured that an early flight would be best. You chuckled before making sure that you had everything that you needed in your bag.

“I can do the first two. Not too sure about the cows, though. That’s kind of a weird request.”

Taglist:

@littlebadariell @cycbaby @luckyladycreator2 @idontcare-11 @blue-aconite @maverick-wingman @shawty-fenty @littlemisstopgun @rosiahills22 @katieshook02 @justanothermagicalsara @caitsymichelle13 @smoothdogsgirl @adoringsebstan @cherrycola27 @alexxavicry @mrsjaderogers @mak-32 @thefandomimagines @tallrock35 @caatheeriinee07 @bradshawseresinbabe @rosesvioletshardy @anotherr-fine-mess

[jungle-angel]

1. “No, black with white stripes is NOT A KITTY!!!!!” 

I feel like this is Rhett's little girl! I feel like any Lewie Pullman character is a girl Dad.

Oh babes, believe me I feel the same way, and when the boys enter the Abbott family?? That's a whole different story (lol).

Wind River Reservation, Wyoming

October, 2022

Kaya giggled as she placed her father's cowboy had on her head, kicking her little legs as she squirmed in her seat and sang along to Extreme's "Hole Hearted" as it played on the radio.

Rhett and Kaya were suddenly startled by the aggressive snorts and loud, metallic *BANGS!* that erupted from the trailer being towed in the back. "Daddy?" the four year old said nervously.

"It's ok baby, he can't get out," Rhett assured her. "Can't hurt us either."

They were almost there, just a little ways over the hills and they'd be at the Granite Hill Ranch and finally........fucking FINALLY, be able to get the problem horse unloaded.

They turned off at the sign, heading into what could only be described as the deep backwoods of Wyoming, a place where good cell reception was hard to come by, where hard work met even harder living and where the closest friends of the Abbotts had lived for as long as they could remember.

Another loud *BANG!* startled Rhett nearly witless before he saw the big house coming into view. Two boys, age twelve, came darting down the hills, waving to the truck before Rhett pulled to a stop and rolled down the window.

"UNCLE RHETT!!!!"

"Uncle Rhett go up to the barn!!"

"Meet me up there!" Rhett told them.

Up a little further he went, the two boys practically jumping across the road as Rhett pulled to a stop outside the stables. Rhett lifted Kaya out of her carseat and set her on the ground as Wes, his daughter and the two nephews who had met him on the road, made their way to him.

"Tee-tee!!!!!" Kaya screamed when she saw Wes's daughter, Theresa.

The girls ran to each other, practically tackling each other into the dirt and giggling before their fathers told them to go and play.

"Whatcha got?" Wes asked him.

"Got a rescue and he's as ornery as your grandfather," Rhett chuckled.

"Bro, are you kidding?" Wes chuckled. "Nothing could be as ornery as Grandpa."

Wes helped Rhett drop the tailgate of the trailer, the two of them letting the salty bronco into the corral where he bolted, kicked and bucked, cantering in circles all along the fence. Scars were visible all over along with the ribs and missing patches in his coat, a sad sight to see, but one that the Abbotts and Wes's family were all too familiar with.

"How are the feet looking?" Wes asked.

"Awful," Rhett told him. "Dad and I drained a festering abscess on one of'em about a week ago. Should've seen it, it looked like Slimer had popped right out of it."

Wes made a gagging noise along with a face. "I hate when that happens," he said. "The feet are always the worst."

"Think we should let him be for a while?" Rhett asked him.

"Yeah let him be," Wes said. "We'll get Danny and Bear to deal with him at feeding time."

Rhett and Wes went about their chores with hardly a problem, tending to the horses, the cattle and making sure that the buffalo pen was safe and secured, the barbed wire pulled taught and tight to ensure that none of them got out and that no neighborhood punks stood a chance at getting in.

"Still dealin with those punks ya'll told me about?" Rhett asked Wes as they tightened the wire fencing around the bison paddock.

"The sneaky little brats from the rich leaf-peeper families?" Wes enquired. "Oh yeah."

"What'd they do now?"

"Little shitheads thought they'd be funny and try to jump the fence," Wes explained. "Little did they know was that it's the height of mating season and the male bison are kinda like how we were."

"Horny and angry?" Rhett chuckled.

"You bet your ass," Wes laughed.

Out of the corners of their eyes, Wes and Rhett saw their two little girls waddle running all the way back to them with something in their arms. "Daddy!! Daddy! Look what we found!"

"Whatcha got there girlies?" Rhett asked.

"We found a kitty under the porch!" Theresa exclaimed excitedly.

"Oh he's kinda cute I......oh......OH! OH SHIT!!" Rhett exclaimed.

"Whatsa matter Daddy?" Kaya asked innocently.

"Uh Kaya, baby, black with white stripes is not a kitty," Rhett explained.

Kaya looked down when the little critter began climbing up to her shoulder, sticking his tail up in the air. "Uh oh......" she chirped.

Rhett and Wes barely had time to utter another word before the air was suddenly choked with that awful smell they were all too familiar with......skunk spray. They coughed, choked and gagged at the awful smell as the skunk continued to spray the two unfortunate men and the two girls before jumping off her back and skittering back through the grass to the porch nest.

"Oh God.......oh God this stinks," Rhett gagged.

"Ok," Wes said, trying his best not to throw up the lunch that threatened to creep into his throat. "First thing's first, we need a crapload of tomatoes."

Rhett took a few deep breaths as Wes called for Bear, the shaggy haired twelve year old skidding to a halt before the skunk smell caught up with him. Wes handed him two twenty dollar bills and told him to go to the corner store and get as much spaghetti sauce, tomato paste and tomato juice as he could get his hands on.

"You gonna be ok?" he asked, noticing the pale look on Rhett's face.

"I think so," Rhett groaned.

"Makes you think twice about getting Kaya a cat, doesn't it?"

"Oh I fuckin hate you right now," Rhett groaned again, feeling his stomach turn.

Wes cackled as Rhett flipped him off. Giving themselves a tomato bath would be easy.....the two little ghouls on the other hand? That would be a whole other story.

[devouredsouls]

( Kylie Verzosa, cis woman, she/her ) — is that really Nikki Baccay? i thought so, since i heard Area Codes by Kaliii blasting just now. well, welcome to cole, wyoming! what brings you here as a 31 year-old? a job as a tattoo artist at anchor tattoo? wonderful. we’re glad to have you. talk around town is you can be a little vengeful trait, but i myself believe you’re more charming… but is it true that you’re on onlyfans under an alias? wild. well, i’ll let you get back to it!

tl;dr — her mother was one of the many women who were unknowingly with a man who was married. she told the wife who stayed with him due to his wealth and fame which pissed her mom off more. nikki was raised having to deal with her mother's anger towards her father and a lot of her future partners as well. she delved into art as a way to escape that and the fact that she was bullied in school. eventually, she left when it became too much and started to apprentice and eventually tattoo. as she grew confident, she kinda understood her mom a lot more and even leaned into shared traits by getting revenge against those high school bullies by going after their boyfriends. thankfully, she outgrew that quickly but it was something that led her to starting her only fan which she does in secret

personality — loyal but will fuck you up if you get on her bad side. she can be toxic and she is a wild child. if you want to have fun, she will give you fun but it may not be legal. she doesn't take life too seriously. her friends are basically family and are very important to her since she didn't have many growing up but if you're an enemy, then she will do anything to ruin your life.

infidelity tw, bullying tw

Nikki was a product of an affair her mother had with a singer while she was in her twenties. Little did she knew that the man was married and would only call her when he was in town or touring in the neighbouring area.

The betrayal sent her mother into an obsession for revenge by tracking down all the women and showing up at his house where he lived with his family. Despite letting his wife know the truth, the woman didn't divorce him and that may have bothered her mother more for the longest time.

Nikki grew up hearing about her mothers hatred for her father and other men who were in power. She watched her mother begin to use men for money in the hopes of finding some sort of validation or comfort with the situation happened many years ago.

Art was one of the ways that she was able to escape from her mother's anger towards her past and an outlet for being on the ouskirts of the girl's at her school.

Nikki never got along with the other girls in her school as she was often seen as competition due to the fact that she was friends with many of the popular boys at school, most of which she hadn't even seen or been with romantically

When the bullying got too intense, she dropped out of school and decided to apprentice at a tattoo parlour instead, quickly making a name for herself.

As she grew up and got more confidence, Nikki would go out and, in order to get back at the girls from her school, she would go after their boyfriends and make out with them only to prove that she could as a teenager.

Eventually, her ability to flirt and get the attention from the people she wanted brought her into posting pictures online and then opening an onlyfans just to make extra money.

[ooglywooglies]

people in the tags of that asian racism people being like "its always white people" its actually not always white people and thats what sucks

my mexican ex step father dished a decent amount of the racism ive experienced in my life, he once yelled (kind of playfully not angrily but still) at me for not being able to tell what specific ethnicity an asian guy in a movie was and was like "SEE EVEN YOU CANT TELL THEM APART" like i dont think thats what that stereotype means though

i dont really blame the guy in this story i think its funny but once i was meeting my brother in laws aunt and uncle or smth and the uncle was a black guy and he was like "are you oriental?" and i had to be like "thats not really a word thats meant for people" and he was like oh my bad i didnt mean anything by it i just didnt know and the white aunt was like "thats okay hes black!" and it was just crickets....

now that im telling stories though (probably the rest of these will be white people) in high school i was once asked if i had a sideways vagina, like she literally walked across the lunch room and up to me and asked outright in front of everyone

in middle school we learned about chinese foot binding and i was hanging out with one of my friends in a car with my shoes off and i curl my toes bc i got long toes and she looked at my feet and was like OMG IS THAT WHAT THEY DID TO YOU??? like i was born in minnesota and im not even chinese you fuck

when i used ok cupid when i was 18 a GOOD chunk of messages i got opened with "konnichiwa" or compared me to an anime character

when i moved to australia a white weeb girl told me i didnt look asian when i made a self deprecating joke, like very much had an air of "i know what a REAL asian looks like"

not racism but when i got off my flight to australia i was like checking in next to a group of japanese tourists and the japanese lady ushering them wasnt sure if i was with them or not

most of the rest of it is just people being not sure What I Am or me just being around for general racism not directed at me, people doing accents, people making eating dog jokes, people just saying the word chink a whole fucking bunch

oh except when my white family is like comparing me to stoners and calling me a china doll once my white mom called me a sesame cracker, people used to say i look adopted a lot

oh and staring, thats something people in australia thankfully dont do is just fucking stare at me in the grocery store bc theyve never seen an asian before, i grew up in wyoming mostly and every other asian person i knew there was mixed, i actually had a half japanese friend i always thought being japanese was like super duper uncommon in the midwest/plains but i suppose if every asian is rare it doesnt matter, ah i googled it apparently japanese and vietnamese are somewhat similar in distribution in the US

maybe it feels like vietnamese are more common bc no one fuckin likes us lol

[ophelia-jones]

Wyoming Sky ch 4

Keeping the peace

Rick would rise with the sun most days, and so he did as the new week began. The townspeople opened the shutters on the businesses which had been closed for Sunday and as they went about the business of their day, the talk of the stagecoach robbery was the hot topic amongst them all. It was the first such robbery that had occurred in his county, but it was one too many for him.  He had been elected Sheriff by people who trusted him to keep the peace and protect them from the sorts of things that were plaguing the western territories. 

He dressed Judith, now nearly three years old, and sat her at the table with her porridge, stroking her blonde curls and smiling at the precocious girl. Many had asked him why he had not given her up to someone with a family, a mother specifically, to bring the girl up. Others had been trying to push him to remarry or wondered how he didn't resent the child for Lori's death. But when he looked at her now, he couldn't understand how anyone could even consider giving her away or resenting her for things that were out of her control. 

As for remarrying, well, it wasn't that he was against it - but in a town with a population of less than three hundred, only 25 of those residents -give or take- were women. Not counting those who were just passing through, of course, but not many of those were women, either. Most women traveled along the towns built on the railway these days. The entire county had less than five hundred people, and the majority of the women who lived outside the town limits were married.

So, finding a woman with whom he would trust his children was easier said than done.

"Carl!" Rick called to his son, now fourteen years old and nearly a man. Carl leaned in the door from where he had been seated on the front porch, watching the town come to life. 

"Yes sir?" 

"I need you to take your sister to the schoolhouse for me today. Denise and Tara are expecting her but I need to head out. I'll be late tonight. I need to ride out to collect taxes from the north side of the county." Rick informed the boy who so resembled his mother. He loved his son desperately but had a hard time expressing it. He needed to show him how to be a man in a place that demanded strength.

"Can I ride out with you?" Carl asked as he had for the past six months. Each month Rick had replied, maybe next time. 

"Not this time, Carl. There are bandits out there on the run, I can't do my job and keep you safe." Rick replied as he strapped his holsters on and slid his freshly cleaned and loaded pistols into them.

"You don't have to protect me!" Carl objected petulantly. "Shane's been teaching me to shoot, my aim is getting to be true most times."

"At a still target, yeah - but outlaws don't sit still and wait for you to shoot them, Carl," Rick replied gruffly, settling his hat on his head, signifying that the conversation was officially over. "Don't go wandering off, either. Dale could use your help down at the Inn if you get your chores done."

"Yes, sir," Carl muttered as Rick kissed Judith on top of the head and left for the day, the sound of his spurs on the gravel fading quickly as he went.

Rick arrived at the jail and had two shotguns cleaned and loaded, plus both of the horses ready and waiting before Shane ambled in. His hat was low over his eyes and Rick could still smell the alcohol seeping out of his skin.

"Got the barrel fever today?" Rick smirked at his younger friend. He'd clearly spent the weekend in one of the saloons or another. Most likely both, and the Cathouse as well.

"A bit," Shane admitted with a meek smile.

"You're in for a long day, brother. We're heading north county for taxes today," Rick reminded him and Shane groaned. 

"Who you got covering the town?" he inquired, angling to get out of the ride.

"Jerry should be here anytime now,"

"Jerry?! You think he can handle this place all by himself?" Shane sounded genuinely concerned.

"Yeah, I do," Rick replied, his tone daring Shane to question his decision.

"Excuse me, Sheriff?" a soft voice interrupted the men's discussion. Rick and Shane both turned at the same time to see the woman with the dark hair and eyes from Friday's robbery.

"Miss Landry, how can I help you today?" Rick asked, removing his hat respectfully and placing it on the desk.

Izzy smiled at the men, Rick's Georgia drawl felt to her ears as sweet as honey tasted on her tongue, and she hoped he could not see the way her cheeks flushed.

"I wanted to see how the stage guard was faring," she replied, noting that the cot in the jail's lone cell was empty.

"He's recovering, thanks to your ministrations. A Dr came up from Cheyenne this weekend and we moved him to the Inn while he heals up." Rick was happy to inform her. She smiled at the man standing there, his hands resting on his hips. He had icy blue eyes that were unlike any she had ever seen before and she felt a bit tongue-tied under his gaze.

She glanced over where the deputy sat with his boots up on the desk, his hat tipped low so that all she could see of him was his strong, stubbled jaw. 

"I'm glad to hear that, Sheriff Grimes, gracias," she told him, lowering her eyes shyly. She had no other reason to be here, and yet she was hesitant to leave.

"Is that, I'm sorry, but I thought you had your locket stolen? Or is that another?" Rick asked, gesturing to her neckline.

"Oh! I did, but, well - it's the strangest thing. A woman came to see me at my father's shop on Saturday and said she had found it. Perhaps the bandits dropped it. It feels like a miracle to me," she smiled, fingering the locket absent-mindedly.

"Where exactly did she find it? Did she say?" Rick drew close to take a look, and Isadora felt her body tense as he reached out to take the locket between two calloused fingers. Her heart fluttered in her chest.

"No, Io siento, I was so happy to have it returned I did not ask," She told him, and Rick released his grasp of the locket, still standing close to Izzy, his jaw working as he considered this information. She cast her gaze downward and found herself oddly fascinated with his forearms as he stood with his fingers hooked over his belt on his hips. 

"Who was the woman? Did you know her?"

"Yes, it was Willow Hayes. She lives out on the Peltier ranch." 

Rick studied Izzy intently for a moment longer before nodding and smiling politely. As he turned away she noticed how the hair curled at the nape of his neck and had the strange urge to reach out and touch the tight coils.

"I should go, I have errands to run for my father and to check in on Mrs. Sales. She will be delivering her third baby soon," Izzy excused herself, flashing one last look over her shoulder at the Sheriff.

"Looks like you might've found yourself the next Mrs. Grimes, Rick," Shane smirked from his position at the desk.

"Get up, it's time we started," Rick told his friend with a scowl. He didn't know yet how to deal with the way this woman looked at him, he sure as hell wasn't open to Shane's commentary on the subject.

**********************************

It was mid-morning before they reached the Greene property, and they had ridden the bulk of the way in silence. Shane was plenty talkative most of the time, always eager to share his opinions, so Rick knew he must've had one hell of a boozy weekend. 

Herschel welcomed the officers and had one of his boys take the horses to the troughs for a drink and a brushing out, hospitable man that he was. He also had Rick and Shane sit on the porch with him while he sent his youngest girl Beth for some coffee.

"I hear the stagecoach was held up just outside of New Hope, that true?" Herschel inquired. Rick hung his head and nodded.

"I'm afraid so," he affirmed. Shane grimaced at the mention of the sore topic.  

"Funny, to me; it wasn't like the others been happening all around us. Witnesses said there were four men, but in the other robberies, they claim there were at least a dozen. Not only that, but all they took was cash, jewelry, and firearms. Hell, the Irish hen still had a derringer they didn't even find! Not to mention the cash in her luggage. The bandits down by Laramie took everything, I mean EVERYTHING. Horses, women, whatever they could take they did." Shane pontificated. Rick smiled slightly, thinking the hangover must be seceding.

"Think it's another band? Imitating the first and hoping the others get caught and blamed for everything?" Rick mulled over the idea. Beth brought out a tray with three cups of coffee and each of the men accepted theirs gratefully. Shane gave Beth a lingering look and a crooked smile that made the girl blush, and Rick chuckled inwardly. He was definitely getting back to his normal self.

"They're playing a dangerous game if they think they can stay in another gang's shadow. A smaller group is the one more likely to get caught, and then they'll be facing punishment for crimes they didn't commit. Crimes far worse than the ones they did commit." Herschel sighed.

"If you're gonna risk a hanging, might as well earn it. Imagine being hanged for other people's sins," Shane shook his head, squinting out over the field in the noontime sun. "A man would have to be pretty damned stupid."

"Or pretty damned desperate," Rick suggested.

************************************

After collecting taxes from Herschal, Rick and Shane moved on to Carol's and were greeted with much the same hospitality. Carol had blossomed in the years since Ed's death - she was not a wilting widow desperate to remarry. Lucky for her Wyoming was the most progressive territory in the nation, maybe in the world, and she was able to own and run her homestead as she saw fit. 

This was evident in whom she chose to take on as ranch hands. Shane and Rick stood at the split rail fence that formed the round pen in which a young stallion was being broken.  

Willow Hayes was a woman of 24 or 25, about 5'5" and strong. It was clear she was not the sort to lay around telling others what to do. Yet, despite the tone of her arms and the fact that she wore denim pants under leather chaps, she was not what you would call manly or masculine. 

She had long sandy blonde hair, tied up in the back with a strip of leather, and a pretty heart-shaped face with big green eyes under full lashes and a tiny cupid's bow of a mouth. 

She had a healthy figure, too, barely needing her corset to achieve the hourglass shape that was in fashion for ladies. Shane couldn't take his eyes off her hindquarters in those jeans.

"It's a good thing most women don't wear pants like that," he leaned over and commented conspiratorially to Rick. "A man would never get a damned thing done if they all walked around like that." 

Rick smiled and shook his head at him, watching as Willow tried once again to climb into the saddle they had managed to fit the horse with. As she got one booted foot in, she quickly swung the other leg over and held fast to the reigns. 

Her weight on the horse's back was like pulling a trigger; the stallion tried running first, and when she did not fall off he began to buck and kick. She stayed astride it for an admirable time before being tossed over the horse's head. She rolled out of the way and sprang to her feet, climbing the fence beside Shane to stay out of the animal's way as it continued spinning in circles to protest this violation.

She was flushed and disheveled, but the smile on her face lit her up like a candle and Shane grinned right back at her.

"Nicely done," he told her, his dark eyes taking everything about her in and recording it to memory. "Is that the first time he's been sat?"

"Sure is,' she told him breathlessly. She was pleased with herself. 

Now another cowboy moved in, approaching the stallion from the front, speaking in hushed tones and reaching slowly for the reigns. 

This man was an former slave, who had managed to run even before the war and find a free life as a cowboy. There were all walks of life represented here, and no one seemed to mind when it came to herding cattle.

Shane was eyeing a young Asian man suspiciously, though - even as Black, Indian, and Mexican peoples were beginning to gain acceptance, the cultural tensions between the locals and the Chinese miners and railway workers were at a boiling point. Most of the Chinese folks stayed within their camps, knowing they would not be welcome anywhere else.

"You desperate for ranch hands, Carol? Had to go poaching the Chinese camp?" Shane asked, spitting out a stream of tobacco juice.

"That's Glenn, and he's Korean," Carol told Shane dryly.

"How can you tell the difference?" Shane asked.

"I asked him," Carol said, "He was born in Boston." it was clear she was growing cross with Shanes's attitude and was defensive of the boy. Shane was wise enough to drop the subject.

"Go ahead, Ezekial, I did the hard part!" Willow called out to the man who was trying to mount the stallion - and failing. He flashed her a slight smile at her teasing but was quickly back to the task, determined to be the first to ride it properly.

"You have a minute, Willow? I got a couple of questions that need answering," Rick told the woman once she had stopped trembling from the excitement of the 8-second ride.  Willow looked over to Carol, standing next to Rick, and Carol smiled sweetly and nodded once. 

"I have the same question for you, Carol," Rick said, looking carefully back and forth at the two to watch their reactions.  "Either of you seen the Dixon brothers recently?"

Carol managed to keep any reaction to herself, simply pursing her lips as if thinking hard about it and shaking her head. Willow's green eyes flashed to Carol nervously, then back over the small barn where they stored grain and hay for the livestock. Rick wasn't the only one who noticed, Carol spoke to redirect the men's attention.

"I haven't seen them since the snow melted. I figured they signed up with another ranch to do a cattle drive. Why don't you boys come on up to the main house? Sophia and I baked cookies this morning." Carol turned on her most innocent smile and gestured for the officers to lead the way.

Willow put her head down and cursed herself for not reacting as calmly as Carol. She didn't dare do as she wanted and run over to the barn to be sure Daryl and Merle had indeed cleared out this morning. She hadn't seen them all day, surely they weren't still holed up inside. She slipped through the split rail and sat down on the grass outside the pen, her enthusiasm for the task dampened by worry. She hadn't had this bad of feeling in her gut since the day her father had gone to beg Negan for mercy.

******************************* 

"Hey, boss? We got a couple of riders headed this way. Looks like lawmen to me," Simon called over his shoulder to Negan and the others as they stood talking on the broad porch that wrapped around three sides of the large ranch house. Negan, in turn, looked at the Dixon brothers.

"Looks to me like you boys better run for the hills." 

Daryl was the first to mount his horse, the big black stallion Willow had been admiring a few nights back, but Merle wasn't far behind.

"Remember, clocks a-tickin' on the rest of that money you owe me, Merle, my man! Tick-fucking-tock!" Negan called out gaily as the men spurred their horses into a gallop and headed for the mountains to the North.  Simon laughed along with Negan at the men's flight. He couldn't care less if they got caught by the Sheriff - but if they did, then Negan would never recoup the debt Merle owed him, and so he moved out toward the approaching riders to draw their attention his way. As they approached, it was clear they were in the middle of a heated discussion and had not noticed the brothers slip away. 

"I'm telling you, Bat Masterson and Virgil Earp have banned firearms in Dodge City and the tombstone mining district and have managed to keep the peace for over a year now," Rick was saying to Shane as they dismounted and strapped the horses to the fence.

"And I'm telling you it won't work here," Shane argued, shaking his head.

"Why, Dodge has a bigger population and a more violent history than New Hope," Rick continued to press the issue.

"For one thing, him!" Shane said, gesturing to Negan at the top of the stairs and looking down at the lawmen as they approached. "You think he's going to turn Lucille over to you every time he wants to go whoring or gambling?"

"What's this about my Lucille?" Negan growled, still looking down at the men menacingly.

"They want you to turn her over to them when you go into town, boss. They're thinking of banning firearms like Masterson and Earp." Simon filled him in. Negan frowned deeply as he approached the men, danger radiating from him like heat from the sun. 

"So, let me get this fucking straight, RICK," Negan said, walking in a tight circle around the Sheriff once before leaning in until their noses were almost touching. "You're here to collect the taxes that pay your fucking wages, correct?" 

"Yes," Rick replied, keeping his eyes locked with Negans so he knew he could not be intimidated. 

"MY money pays YOUR wages, and as such, that makes me your fucking boss," Negan continued. He was smiling now as he circled Rick again, his face still close enough that Rick could feel his breath on his face as Negan spoke.

"That's not how it works…" Rick began, but Negan stamped his foot and yelled so loudly that his face turned red. 

"That is EXACTLY how that fucking works, RICK! I pay probably ⅓ if not ½ of the tax dollars that go into this mother fucking county. I own the most cattle, the biggest ranch, I own the cathouse Lena runs, I own the hotel Dale oversees, hell, I own half the god-damned citizens! Almost half of them owe me debts I haven't yet called in!" Negan stepped back and smoothed his hair down, drawing a few deep breaths to calm himself.

"I could sink this county if I called in those debts and left. There wouldn't be enough fucking money in the fucking county to NEED a god-damned lawman!" Negan declared, leaning back and spreading his arms out wide. He was becoming almost gleeful now as he built up to his final statement. 

"So, RICK, I OWN YOU. I fucking own you, the house you live in, hell, I own the god-damned horse you just fucking rode in on!" he gestured broadly to the men's horses, which were becoming agitated by all the yelling. "You will do what I want when I want, HOW I FUCKING WANT! Do you understand me?" When Rick failed to answer, Negan turned to Shane. 

"You understand me, Deputy. I KNOW Shane here understands me, but, Rick? I need to hear you fucking say it!" Negan demanded.

"I understand," Rick managed to say through gritted teeth. 

"What's that? I can't hear you, RICK!" 

"I understand." Rick managed to say a bit louder, the hatred in his voice clear,   his ice-blue eyes practically aglow. 

"See? That wasn't so fucking hard, now, was it?" Negan smiled, patting Rick on the cheek and pulling a leather satchel from his pocket. He removed Ricks's wide-brimmed hat and dumped the coins and bills inside it, then put it back on Ricks' head, scattering most of the money in the dirt so the lawmen would have to kneel to collect it. He smiled at Rick, a wide, toothy grin that Rick desperately wanted to knock off the man's face.

But he couldn't. He knew he couldn't. Shane knew he couldn't. Negan certainly knew he couldn't, and so the man ascended the steps to his porch once more and sat in his rocking chair, one foot resting on the opposite knee as he smiled down at the men, waiting to watch them scrabble in the dirt for the money. He lit a cigar and smirked.

Once they had collected it all, they climbed back on their mounts and turned back toward town.

"Don't forget, gentlemen, Lawmen tend to have real short fucking life spans in the territories. Be a shame to lose two such hardworking fellas as yourselves," Negan called out. As they passed Simon, he grinned up at them and waved his fingers. 

"Toodle-loo gentlemen." 

Rick and Shane did not speak again for the entirety of their ride home.  

[ignitiveifynovelcafe]

Cattenach Ranch Series by romance author Kelly Moran is a story about love and forgiveness.

Cattenach Ranch Series:

BOOK ONE ~ REDEMPTION: Nearly the last remaining member of Olivia Cattenach's family has just died overseas and left her overcome by grief. But when a soldier shows up at her ranch with a final message from her brother, she finds new purpose. Nathan Roldan is as formidable as they come. Bulging muscles and inked to boot, he looks like every bit the bad boy he claims to be. Except, under his shuttered gaze and behind his walls lies a gentle giant. Determined to carry out her brother's wishes, she chips away at Nate's layers and discovers more pain than any person should ever have to endure. And a passion she never dreamed was possible.

He's not the hero she thinks he is...

Nate's mistake got a fellow comrade killed, and a deathbed promise to take care of the guy's sister lands him in Wyoming with the hope of redemption. But he wasn't expecting...her. Beautiful, witty, and sweet, Olivia is everything he doesn't deserve. Born a nothing, he'll die a nothing. Though guilt is a living thing, temptation is too hard to resist. Somehow, she's unleashing his restraint and unearthing feelings he buried long ago. He wants her. More, he's worried he needs her. She's trying to save him, but when she learns the truth, he'll lose the only happiness he's ever known.

"An emotionally raw story with beautiful prose. A compelling read." ~Katie Ashley, New York Times & USA Today Bestseller

Read Now!

Western romance

Protector

PTSD

Military hero

Dark secret

Emotional scars

Broken

BOOK TWO ~ BENEDICTION: As a child, Nakos Hunt left behind the familiarity of his Native American Arapaho tribe for time on Cattenach Ranch. Now the foreman, he's happily settled into his life, but the girl who befriended him all those years ago suddenly has him twisted inside out. He craves stability and purpose, and Amy Woods is anything but a calming presence. Though she's unbelievably gorgeous and about the only person who can drag a laugh from him, he's never been able to understand her. Then a moment changes everything, and an urgent need to protect her rises inside him. And doesn't let go. So does an aching desire and a bond he can't seem to control, no matter how hard he fights the need.

She's no one's version of ever-after...

Amy's not a stranger to disappointment. She's spent the majority of her life pulling up her bootstraps and flipping Karma the bird. Once, she may have dreamed of things like happiness and love, but those were for other people. Nakos has never been someone she deserves, yet the attraction between her and the meticulous sexy-as-sin cowboy is undeniable. And too tempting to ignore. Not only is he strong, patient, and respectful, he's showing her a kind of romantic passion she didn't think existed. But the secret she's keeping could shatter their perfect bubble, and when an old nightmare comes crawling back from the past, she realizes losing Nakos will be the one thing she can't recover from.

"Benediction is friends-to-lovers done oh so right! I devoured this book!" ~Laura Kaye, New York Times & USA Today Bestseller

Read Now!

Western romance

Friends-to-lovers

Native American

Multicultural

Dark secret

Emotional scars

Survivor

LINK:

www.amazon.com/gp/product/B09CWLB9WK

[gallusrostromegalus]

I am absolutely loving the power of friendship/this gun I found, and also all of your trivia lists about it. If you have the time and inclination could we have some facts about uhhhhhh *spins wheel* Rex n’ Weevil?

Rex and Weevil initially met because the two of them have an Infodumping Hobby and onto Quora/Yahoo Answers/r/nostupidquestions and expositing about thier respective special interests, and they got into a fight over who was right about Horseshoe Crab Taxonomy (Rex thought thier closest living relatives were crabs, Weevil thought they were more closely related to insects) and it got so intense they agreed to meet in person and consult an expert on the subject, who informed them that Arachnids like ticks and spiders are the closest living relatives to Horseshoe crabs, also please get out of my yard, this is a family barbeque. They found out they have a mutual interest in Duel Monsters on the bus ride home.

They are in fact, both very allergic to fabric softeners. Rex is allergic to nearly all artificial scents, and Weevil is allergic to fine particulate like microfiber sheets or anything that's been washed in fabric softener, which basically chemically shreds fabrics.

Weevil's given name is 'Wilburforce', probably the one name in existence worse than his chosen one. Rex's name is actually Rex but his last name is Polish and hyphenated for a total of 28 characters so it doesn't even fit in most registration input boxes, so "Raptor" is his fursona/Tournament handle.

Rex's favorite insect is the Tree wētā, or New Zealand Giant Cricket, because they have huge mandibles and can be kepts as pets. Weevil's favorite dinosaur is Bambiraptor feinbergi based 100% on it's genus name.

Rex has been attending Paleontological digs since he was a small child because he grew up in the absolute boonies of Wyoming and they couldn't keep him away, and eventually just gave him the job of "Gofer" to fetch things between the dig site and main camp, or go into town when he got older. This means he learned how to ride a Kawasaki POS motorcycle across rough terrain At Speed without dying or breaking a crate of eggs, a skill which landed him an internship on a real dig as part of his high school's study abroad program. He got to go to Egypt on a dig to find a replacement Holotype specimen for Spinosaurus aegyptiacus after the first one was lost in WWII. His most notable adventure there was when one of Grad Students had Late-Night Drunken Pickaxe-Juggling Accident and he and a few other students were sent in all directions to find the nearest town or doctor or anyone with a working Radio and type-O blood. He managed to find a nearby archeological excavation team, and pulled up on the bike at 2 AM and, in very broken Arabic, screamed "I NEED BLOOD!!" Fortunately, one of the ladies at the site spoke English and had type O blood, and agreed to ride back with him to the Dig site for an emergency transfusion while her team called the Medivac in Luxor. Thus, Rex Raptor knows Ishizu Ishtar as the kind of fearless and generous woman that would hop on a motorcylce with some rando at 2AM for an emergency blood donation, and Ishizu knows Rex as the kind of fearless and generous person who would ride a laughably ramshackle motorcycle across some extremely dangerous desert in the middle of the night for someone he barely knew.

Weevil's parents kept sending him to summer camp in hopes he'd learn some Real Social Skills, but he spent pretty much the entire time fucking around in the bushes or at the pond, looking for insects. Last Summer, one of the girls from the Medieval-ish-maybe-vikings? Reenactment camp on the adjoining property accidentally threw a spear at him during Atlatl practice. She apologized profusely and explained that her vision isn't what it used to be as she fixed the hole in his jacket, and that she'd mistaken his hair for the blue target she was supposed to be aiming at- Not that she's blaming him in any way, but what's he doing all the way over here away from the soccer field? Weevil explained that he's not exactly the athletic type and would rather spend his time looking for dragonfly nymphs and waterbeetles here that get his glasses broken catching the ball with his face again. "Oh, you know a lot about bugs?" She asked. Then very patiently listened to him ramble for a good half an hour until he mentioned cochineal bugs, then she perked up. "Cochineal? Like the bugs Carmine Pigment is made from?" "Yeah! There's a farm near my old house that grows them. Not many people know about-" She siezed him about the shoulders, eyes in focus for the first time since they met. "YOU KNOW WHERE TO GET RAW COCHINEAL FOR CARMINE???" She demanded. "Er, yeah? I mean, if you wanted to process it for pigment it's a bitch to do by hand but-" He was suddenly aloft, being bourne back to the Encampment like a baby being stolen by a particularly excitable Fae. "GUYS." she bellowed, slamming him down in front of the main campfire. "THIS IS WEEVIL UNDERWOOD HE KNOWS WHERE TO GET RAW COCHINEAL!!!" And suddenly Weevil found himself beset on all sides by a pack of extremely excited Valkyries, all of whom were hanging off his every word as he explained the process for carmine, and how to raise Tyrian snails too boot. Which is how Weevil Underwood now has a membership with the Society For Creative Anachronism and knows Serenity Wheeler. He has not quite made the connection between her and Yugi's friend from Deulist kingdom.

[ashtraythief]

Jensen and Dani -- underneath verse snippet

I wrote part of this for the Dani chapter in Slip Ups, but it didn't fit. I finished it for Val's birthday and because it still doesn't really fit into the fic, I'm posting it here (after posting it on Twitter for the birthday girl).

After a night out dancing, Jensen and Dani have a late night conversation, pondering the nature of their lives and their relationships with their families.

It wasn’t until they were back at the mansion, and Jensen was keeping her company while she smoked a good night cigarette on the balcony that Dani thought about the scene outside of the restrooms again. Jared was already asleep and so were the dogs. The house was quiet and dark. Out here, on Jared’s big property, the only source of light was the end of Dani’s cigarette gleaming in the night and downtown Chicago’s lights in the distance.

“We can talk, you know.”

Jensen looked at her. “About what?”

“Everything.” She flicked the cigarette. “I know we party and relive our greatest hits, but I know that your life wasn’t always this glamorous. And neither was mine. So. I’m just saying.”

He leaned against the stone balustrade. “I appreciate it. But there’s a reason I’m living this life now. My first one sucked.”

Dani knew that Campbell wasn't his real name, knew he’d made a clean cut, same as her. “All bad?”

“Nah.” Jensen hesitated, then stretched out a hand.

Wordlessly, Dani handed over her silver cigarette case. Jensen rarely indulged, but occasionally, he bummed a cigarette when he was drunk. Or in a mood.

“I mean, it was kinda fucked up, but college was nice. I could have gone the straight route.” He laughed a little. “Well, not that kind of straight.”

Dani grinned, then took another drag. “Do you miss your family?”

“Do you?”

Dani thought about her father, alone in the big farmhouse. About her mom’s gravestone. About her two sisters, married and raising a brood of kids with husbands who worked the family’s cattle ranch.

“Sometimes. Not as often as I probably should.”

Jensen took a drag of his cigarette and slowly blew out the smoke in circles. “You wanna go back?”

Dani shook her head. “I send postcards for Thanksgiving and presents for the kids for Christmas. But I haven’t been back in years. They don’t understand.”

Jensen nodded. “I miss them too. My sister. Even my half-brother. But they don’t get me either. It’s not even the gay thing—” Jensen snorted “—well, my mom certainly wasn’t happy, but it’s just... I always felt like an odd duck. When I was a teenager, it didn’t matter, with the whole rebellious streak, but after… I don’t know. I love them, you know, but I always felt kind of shitty that I couldn’t really fit. And it hasn’t really gotten better over the years.”

He raised the cigarette to his mouth, rubbed the filter against his lips before inhaling. “I used to go back, for holidays and when I needed a break. But, at some point, it was an idea of a safe haven. A memory. It wasn’t… it was never like what I found here.”

“Why do you think that is?” Dani asked. It was the same for her and she hadn’t really found answers. Yes, killing had made her hard, but she still had friends. Had found a new kind of family. “You think it’s because they don’t know?”

Jensen wet his lips, took another deep drag. Looked over to his left, to his and Jared’s bedroom. “Maybe. But it also feels like—like I’ve been figuring out more and more who I am. Why I didn’t fit. And it gets harder to pretend.”

Dani thought about that. “Yeah. I don’t think you’re wrong there.” She pressed out her cigarette stub.

Jensen gave her a half-smile. “What a way to end the night.”

Dani stepped up and pressed a kiss to his cheek. “A good way. Now go to your man before I have to listen to him lecture me about enticing you to smoke.”

Jensen looked over to his bedroom again. Barely visible, Jared was leaning against the balcony door. They hadn’t been loud, but Jared seemed to have a sixth sense about Jensen coming home. He was giving them space, but Dani knew that Jared didn't like to wait for people.

Jensen put out his own smoke, then took Dani’s hand. “Thanks.”

She squeezed his hand. “Sleep well.”

“You too.”

She walked over to the big glass doors on the other side of the veranda but stopped before going inside. Instead, she looked back.

Jared had opened the sliding door to the bedroom, and Jensen stepped up against him.

“You stink.” Despite the words, Jared’s voice was low and soft. Heavy with affection like it never was when they were in company.

“I can take a shower,” Jensen said, tilting his head so he could press a kiss to Jared’s neck.

For a moment it was quiet, then Jared sucked in a sharp breath. “I don’t think that’s necessary.”

Jensen let out a throaty laugh while Jared pulled him inside.

Jensen was truly home here.

Dani smiled and stepped into the hallway, walked over to the room that was hers whenever she was here. Walked over the expensive, polished wooden floor to the restored nineteenth-century vanity Jared had gifted her after her first year of working for him. She took off her jewelry, gold and diamonds. She let her hands glide over the assortment of bottles of perfume and make-up, then she walked into the ensuite bathroom, marble floors and an elegant gold-frame mirror. She got ready for bed and then slid into her high thread count sheets.

It was lovely. But it wasn’t home. Neither was her New York apartment.

Home was still that old ranch house with the fading white paint and the green shutters out on the Wyoming plains. She didn’t fit anymore, but maybe it would be nice to go home after all. Just for a while. She knew her dad would greet her with open arms. He didn’t understand—he tried to, but his service in the army had led him down a different path than Dani—but he loved her unconditionally. Just a few days. Before the facade would crack and the questions would come. Thanksgiving maybe. It had been three years. But it would be nice, to go back home. Have someone greet her, just this once, with that kind of soft, unconditional love that was so hard to find.

[adhdeancas]

if you're still taking requests he/they nonbinary sam and he/him trans man dean and 'i could not care less about pronouns' agender cas all being happy in the bunker when jack comes out to them as trans?

Love this 

and since you didn’t specify, I’m going to go with Jack comes out as nonbinary? Since that’s the general knowledge of his gender

(now part ten of my transnatural series,)

It starts at breakfast. Sam is tasked with making breakfast, since Dean and Cas spent all night watching every Rocky movie ever made, even the bad ones, and definitely including the Creeds. Thus, Dean is slumped over against Cas who is barely upright themself and they are both forbidden from operating near any hot surfaces. Dean already spilled coffee down his shirt so he is now shirtless and careful when he brings the mug to his mouth. 

Jack comes into the kitchen bright eyed and bushy tailed as always, the smell of turkey bacon making him smile wider. “Good morning!”

“Morning, Jack,” Sam grins back at him. Dean grunts. 

Cas offers a small smile and, “Hello, Jack.”

“Hello.” he turns to Sam. “What’s wrong with them?”

Dean’s too tired to even complain about being talked about like he’s not right in front of the kid. “Late night. Don’t worry, they’ll perk up later.” Cas raises an eyebrow skeptically. “After breakfast. And a nap. And maybe some adderall.”

Dean snorts at the joke but Jack doesn’t get it. He moves on anyway, unbothered as always. “Well, I was hoping I could call for A Family Meeting,” he announces proudly. The resulting silence is not exactly stunned but definitely confused.

“A what?” Dean picks his head off of Cas’s shoulder, leaving a wet spot on his shirt. 

“A family meeting. Maybe tonight, at dinner. I have something I want to discuss with you all.” 

Sam and Dean make eye contact over Jack’s shoulder, both their heartbeats picking up at the formal announcement. In their experience, in human experience, a big Talk is never good. Cas notices their tension and pushes himself up so she can go to lay a hand on Jack’s shoulder. “That sounds wonderful, Jack. Although if there’s anything wrong, we can help now.” It’s both for the sanity of the adults of the room and for Jack’s problem, whatever it may be.

Jack shakes his head with a smile. “No, that’s okay. I have to take a shower!” He’s out of the room without another word. 

Cas reaches across the counter to steal Sam’s mug (a mug Eileen got him that says “I love you more than Wifir”) and gulp down coffee, his own and Dean’s mug a whole six feet away. Sam waves a hand in exasperation before trying to steal it back, which leads to a staring contest with both of their hands on the mug. Sam wins by licking Cas’s hand and making him let go, a move which earns them a laugh from Dean, who taught him that move. 

The rest of the day is spent in relative quiet; Cas and Dean do go off to take a nap but they decide to take one outdoors because as Cas says “humans were meant to spend time in the sun every once in a while” and as Dean says “Cas wants to punish me for getting old by sleeping on the fucking ground after not-sleeping on a fucking couch.” Sam video chats with Eileen for a few minutes while she’s at a truck stop; she’s on her way to them after a hunt in Wyoming (which Dean demanded pictures of, he doesn’t think the state exists. It’s the only one in the contiguous US that they’ve never been to). Then he spends the rest of the day pouring over one ridiculously complicated spell that Rowena has assured him is worth the effort (it’s a surprise) but which has to be watched over for several days before it’s ready. It feels like a magic game of jack-in-the-box (no pun intended) to him. Jack spends his day in town with some of his townie friends, and they all miraculously manage to make it home in one piece this time.

Still, by the time dinner rolls around, Dean’s dragged himself away enough to put aloe on his new sunburn, his lack of shirt making his freckles and top surgery scars the only breaks in light pink from waist up, and start making tacos and fried potatoes. 

They’re all seated around the table, Dean and Sam getting nervous despite Jack’s reassurances that the Meeting is nothing bad. “What the hell could he have to tell us? We’re literally around him all the time.”

Sam shrugs and wipes their hands off on their pants again. “I dunno, maybe…” he tries to think of anything it could be, but with Jack’s 22-but-also-three-year-old thing going on, he has no idea what to expect. Cas comes back from fetching Jack, the kid in question smiling like a doofus. 

Cas sits down with Jack across from the brothers, one of their arms on his shoulder for support. “Okay, Jack, go right ahead with whatever you want to tell us.”

“And hurry up, because the food’s getting cold.” Dean says, more out of anxiety for this to be over with than concern about the food. Sam elbows him anyway. 

Jack pops a potato in his mouth first with a grin. Dean rolls his eyes. “These are very good. Okay, so! Remember how we talked about human conceptions of gender?”

They all nod. The conversation had been a memorable one, confusing both Sam and Dean when they got into the more complicated aspects of what gender actually means. In the end, they’d explained pronouns and dysphoria and told Jack that he could be whatever he wanted to be.

“Well, I don’t think I’m a boy!” he says it like it’s a grand reveal at a party, which, to him, it is. They blink around the table, Sam smiling gently to encourage him to continue, Cas tilting his head and waiting for more information, and Dean squeezing his arm over the food. 

“That’s awesome, kid, what are ya?” 

“I think I’m like Sam. Nonbinary?” he looks at Sam for clarification, and Sam nods. 

“Not a girl, not a boy, somewhere in between or outside?”

“I think I’m in between.” Jack says thoughtfully. He looks to Cas. “It seems strange, to identify with human gender since I’m only half-human, but…” it’s like he’s looking to his angelic dad for reassurance that it’s alright.

Cas grins. “Well, you’re only half-angel as well. I think you decide.”

“Do you wanna talk about it?” Dean asks, trying to seem casual. If it was him coming out right now, he’d be three seconds from heading for the door at any question, but… Jack’s not him. Jack wasn’t raised the same way. 

“Hm, I don’t know what there is to talk about really. I mean, I thought about it, and gender doesn’t really make sense to me, like Cas, so I thought I might have no gender for a while. But I also like the feeling of it sometimes? So then I thought about whether I was like Dean and I knew it wasn’t that, but I’m not like Mary either.”

Cas, Sam, and Dean look around at each other quickly, their pride barely contained. “Well, that’s awesome, Jack.”

“Yeah! We’re gender buddies! Matching gender!” Sam laughs and nods, their hair falling into their eyes, which covers up how wet they are.

“Does anything make you uncomfortable? Any term or word or clothing?” 

Jack looks at Cas with that head-tilt he’d picked up from them. “I like the word them for pronouns. I like how it sounds. Also I wanted to do something with history since I don’t have like… a lot of history.” they look momentarily sad. “I thought about doing xe and xem for a while but I kept forgetting.” they laugh. 

“No problem, kid. Is Jack still okay?”

“Yes.” they say confidently. “My mother gave me that name and we knew each other well. She knew it fits.”

“Cool.” Dean nods, out of questions. Sam jumps in. 

“We’re really glad you told us this, Jack.”

Cas nods and pulls him into a hug. “We’re really proud of you.”

“We love you a lot, kid.” Dean’s voice breaks in the middle of the sentence, and Sam reaches over to squeeze his shoulder. 

Jack hears the change in tone and looks up, concerned. “Are you okay?”

“Yeah, yeah, m’fine,” 

Jack looks over and realizes Sam is sniffling too, and Cas looks like he’s about to burst with the emotions on his face. “Is this about the stuff you told me- that some people don’t like it when you’re not a boy or girl or when you change?”

Sam nods. “We’re just glad you know that’s not us, bud.”

“Well of course not. You’re my parents.” They’re suddenly taken over by a group hug, Sam and Dean come over to pile on top of them and Cas. They let the confusion of outsider ignorance roll off their back and revel in the love they have right here at home. After a few moments, their muffled voice says quietly, “Um, dads? The food is getting cold.”

And the spell is broken. It’s a normal family dinner.

[openheart12]

Mask of Death

A/N: I’ve been working on this fic for months so I hope you all enjoy I was so nervous to post lol

Thank you as always to @rigatonireid for pre-reading!! ❤️

Summary: Reader is kidnapped and of course, Spencer is there to save the day.

Warnings: mention of blood, kidnapping, implied torture, yk normal CM stuff lol

Word Count: 2,087

You had been working at the BAU for the past four years and since starting there, you had made lifelong friends. Emily, Aaron, David, Penelope, Derek and JJ were the best friends you could’ve asked for. Then there was Spencer. Spencer Reid who had become your closest friend and who you had caught feelings for almost immediately. Always wondering if he felt the same way as you did for him, but that was wishful thinking and you knew it.

The rare freetime that the team got was mostly spent together like having dinner at Rossi’s or going to the park with Henry and Jack. You and Spencer would always be glued to each other's sides and it didn’t go unnoticed by the rest of the team. They would make jokes to which you and Spencer would just blush while trying to change the topic away from you two.

When you had finally worked up enough courage to tell Spencer how you felt, you were shocked and relieved to find out he felt the same way. Your relationship could’ve been a liability so together, the two of you told Aaron who was behind ecstatic for you. You figured it had something to do with him losing his own wife, but you hadn’t been at the BAU for that.

Flash forward to the present, the team had been called to Rock Springs, Wyoming after a series of murders had taken place over the course of a month. The unsub held them captive for three days, torturing them before dumping their bodies into the Flaming Gorge Reservoir.

“Wheels up in thirty,” you heard Hotch say after he finished the debriefing, bringing you out of your thoughts.

It was a pretty standard unsub, traumatic childhood, white male in his early twenties or thirties, but as the case went on, it was anything but standard.

Of course you and Spencer sat next to each other on the plane, your hands interlaced throughout the whole flight. He was reading a new book you had gotten him from Christmas while you and Emily were talking about her and JJ’s upcoming wedding plans. The two had been dating for a couple years before Emily asked the big question.

You and Spencer went to check out the last known address of Walter Williams after landing in Wyoming. It wasn’t often that the two of you were teamed up together.

Arriving at a house in the middle of nowhere, you and Spencer walked up to the front door and knocked with no answer. You checked the back door while Spencer went to check a barn in the backyard. It was only for a minute and the next thing you know you woke up in a basement with your arms tied behind your back and your legs tied to a chair. You felt liquid trickle down the side of your head and assumed it was blood. You winced from the lights and they were dim so you probably had a concussion.

Your thoughts quickly wandered over to Spencer wondering if he was okay or not because you didn’t know what had happened, but before you could think of anything else, a man with sandy blonde hair and was about average height, walking into the room, a gun in hand.

“Y/N…” he smiled wickedly at you and the fact that he knew your name, sent a shiver down your spine. Something was definitely not right. “How is Spencer doing? Your four year anniversary is coming up, isn’t it?” He smirked at seeing your fear, you tried to keep your face straight, but miserably failed. “Cat got your tongue? Oh sorry, I forgot you’re allergic to them.”

“Who are you?” You finally managed to ask.

“You don’t remember me?” You shook your head no so he continued, “you probably remember my daughter, Anna, who was murdered the year before last. You promised me you would find her killer and I’ve been following you and not once did you ever look into her case again.”

Suddenly, you remembered the little girl, the one who still haunts your dreams from the brutality of her murder. You had looked into her case afterwards, but there were other little girls out there who needed you and the team. It was a hard decision, but you had to move on at the time.

“Mr. Williams...I promise you we tried everything we could, followed up on every lead we had, but we didn’t have any evidence and those are the hardest cases to solve.” You thought maybe reasoning with him would help, but it only angered him further.

“So that’s all she was to you? Just another case to be solved?” He scoffed, “that was my baby and I lost her and you didn’t do a damn thing.” He took a step closer to you, “well, you know what this means for you, don’t you?” He gave you a smile that made goosebumps erupt across your body. You in fact, know what this meant for you. If he stuck to his patterns that was.

“Revenge isn’t going to bring Anna back.”

“Don’t you think I know that?” You watched as he put his gun in the holster on his hip and traded it for a knife. You could tell he enjoyed the fear he provoked from you and it only edged him on. He ever so lightly ran the knife down your cheek to your neck and back up. “You know, this is the exact thing my Anna went through that night.”

You thought back to the details of the recent strings of murders that had the same M.O. as his daughters and didn’t know how you couldn’t piece it together. You tried to push the images of Anna out of your head all the time, Hotch had even brought up the idea of therapy to you afterwards and you took it.

“They’re going to find me,” you said confidently to which he just laughed. “She’s better off without you,” you shot back causing him to stop laughing and then everything went black.

You awoke some time later, you had no idea how long you were out. Minutes, hours, it all felt the same. Something in front of you had caught your eye, there was a video recorder with the red light blinking meaning it was on and you had no idea who was watching.

“Spence…” you called out softly. No answer. Your head was pounding now and the lights were making it worse. You jumped after hearing the door open and Walter walking back in.

“If you say shit like that again, it’ll be the last thing you do,” he warned and you weakly nodded your head. “Now where were we?” He glanced back at the camera and grinned. “Enjoy the show, Spencer Reid.” That caught your attention and your eyes widened in horror.

“Please, don’t do this,” you pleaded, but he got his knife out and went straight to you. After he was done, he left you in a bloody mess. The amount of blood you were losing wasn’t good and you began to feel lightheaded. You hoped, prayed that they would find you soon because your body was quickly beginning to give up. Walter repeated the process every hour, making you lose more and more blood. You had to stay strong for Spencer and your friends.

“FBI!” You heard and you felt hopeful for a split second, but that quickly vanished when you felt the cool metal of a gun pressed against your temple. The agents and officers poured into the dimly lit room, your eyes immediately going to Spencer’s. His eyes were full of fear...and something more that you couldn’t decipher. You tore your eyes away from him, taking in the faces of Hotch, Prentiss, Rossi, Jareau and Morgan. A flash of pink through the door caught your eye and you couldn’t help the small smile that passed over your face. Garcia had stayed back in Quantico as usual, but the news of your kidnapping had brought her to Wyoming. It warmed your heart to know that your friends cared so much about you and if you were to die, at least you would be surrounded by the people you loved the most.

“Let her go and we can help you,” you heard Hotch’s voice, but Walter’s grip on you tightened. You tried to meet Hotch’s eyes, to try to tell him that your life wasn’t more important than the other two girls who were still missing. They had family waiting for them and Spencer would be fine without you...right?

Hotch lowered his gun, the other agents following suit. “You don’t want to do this, let her go and we can talk. We can tell them you cooperated with us or make a deal with you, but in order for that to happen, you have to let her go,” he said in a calm, unwavering voice.

“Tell them where the other girls are and you can do whatever you want to me,” you said loud enough for only him to hear you.

“I’ll take you up on that offer, Pretty Girl,” he whispered in your ear causing you to shiver at the nickname that only Spencer or Derek would call you.

Hotch took a slow, tentative step forward making Walter return his attention back to him. “Step any closer and that’s it,” he harshly pulled you back, a whimper leaving your lips at the force. You saw Spencer’s eyes that had considerably darkened and in the three years you two had dated, you had never seen him this angry. He was always able to compose himself, but when it came to you? The man lost his ability to think straight and not to mention, that this was your first time being held hostage.

“Let her go.” Spencer tried this time.

“Wouldn’t you like that, Pretty Boy?” You could tell that was when Spencer realized who he was.

“You’re Anna’s father,” he stated. Spencer knew how much her case had affected you. “She wouldn’t want you to do this, Walter. She was nine years old and what happened to her was a tragedy, but you are torturing her closest friends right now merely for the fact that they’re alive and she’s not. Y/N, she worked tirelessly on your daughter’s case day after day and I know this because I was helping her. We hadn’t given up, but we were stuck and there were other cases that needed our attention. So I’m asking, for the sake of your daughter’s memory, let Y/N go and we can talk this out.”

You felt his grip on you loosen enough that you were able to get free and ran straight into Spencer’s arms. A shot rang out and you didn’t know where it came from. Spencer grasped your face with his hands, gently, to avoid hurting you further. “Are you okay?”

“B-better now,” you gave him a small smile, but you slowly felt yourself losing consciousness.

“I need an ambulance!” Spencer shouted out, cradling your bloodied body in his arms as he gently lowered you to the ground.

The soft murmuring of the hospital machines was enough to make you stir. Your entire body ached and your head was pounding and there was a weight on your stomach. When you opened your eyes, you saw Spencer with his head on your stomach with his eyes closed. A smile made its way onto your mouth and you softly ran your fingers through his hair, ignoring the pain it caused. You were just glad to be here with him without a gun pointed to your head. The gesture was enough to wake him up and he quickly moved off of you.

“Y/N…” you saw tears pricking his eyes and you felt your own start to water.

“Spence, I’m right here,” you patted the space next to you and as carefully as he could, he got into the bed with you and wrapped an arm around you protectively.

“God, I love you. I’m so glad you’re okay.”

“I love you so much.” Time passed and eventually the doctor came to check on you and was letting you go home as long as you had someone to be there for you and you did, you would always have Spencer in your corner no matter what.

“Come on, let’s go home,” he smiled at you and you matched it.

“Let’s go home,” you repeated.

[sadachmesarthim]

C-cowboy starker? What if cowboy starker, I mean? I think... cattle driver Tony maybe, and ranch hand Peter,,, always wanted to write about this but I’m shy 🙈

mid-writing edit: i’ve spent half an hour on this and my computer is literally lagging with how fast i’m typing. i really hope this makes sense because holy shit, i love cowboy starker. anon, i need you in my inbox every single fucking time you have an idea about starker. idk if it’s in passing, idk if it’s super fleeting and doesn’t make sense. anon, you are my muse

ohhhhh my god anon i ,, love this idea so much i’ve actually thought about this a bit ngl you don’t even know how much i like western aus

okay so hear me out:

i’m thinking brokeback type shit, right?? but just a tad different like be honest who doesn’t like the whole bbm trope yfm and twink jake gyllenhaal is my baby okay okay okay sorry babe i’m still crossfaded as fuck and i could talk about that movie for days anyway back on topic

- no okay but think of it - tony, he’s recently divorced and morgan, his baby girl, his one and only daughter, she’s 19 now and seeing this absolute gentleman of a roughneck. his house is empty, he isn’t paying child support anymore, he doesn’t have this bitchy redhead on his ass 24/7 about getting a job in the city

- because tony hates the city, hates that his father dragged them away from the mountains and prairies he remembers from his childhood. hates what the city gave him - black eyes and mean names and disappointed parents

- so tony high tailed it the fuck out of dodge the second he turned 18. abandoned school, abandoned his family, took his beat up ford out to montana and disappeared. married this nice girl, virginia pepper, worked construction to support her while she went to school. had a pretty baby girl a year or two later. moved both of his girls out to a ranch he bought with their tiny savings, got a couple’a cows and a horse and made friends with a neighbor with a bull

- but eventually, pep had bigger dreams. they were both young when they got married, didn’t look past the immediate sexual compatibility to see that their futures were well and truly not going to go well together

- so she left the ranch, took morgan with, and made her way to the city. became some big lawyer or doctor or businesswoman or something, tony didn’t know. didn’t really care because the child support invoices still came every single month like clockwork. 

- so instead of focusing on his distant daughter and his ex wife that wouldn’t listen to him and his family that just... didn’t understand, he threw himself into the wildlife around him

- became closer with those neighbors that had a bull. eventually came to an agreement and let him free with his girls

- built a very solid herd of highlanders in a handful of years, slowly attracting the attention of more and more owners wanting to trade, to buy, to sell 

- and maybe one year, he realizes, he’s in a bit too far over his head with this. he has 100 of these four legged fuckers, he has 50 acres to take care of by himself, he has horses to feed and shoe and groom. he has fields to plant and water and harvest if he wants to feed any of the animals mentioned above

- so he reaches out to his neighbors, puts feelers out and sees if anyone knows a farmhand who’d want to help him out, maybe live on the property full time for a bit. and when he gets a call back his heart breaks a bit, because oh my god he wasn’t prepared for this

- a kid, can’t have been more than morgan’s age, has responded to him, and he’s good with his hands mr. stark, and he knows his way around animals mr. stark, been takin’ care of ‘em for his whole life now mr. stark 

- and this kid is ,, he sounds so innocent and sweet there’s no way tony’s gonna say yes before he actually meets him 

- so tony gives the kid his address, tells him to come out and give things a once over before he makes his mind up

- so peter does. he comes out, introduces himself, looks around the property with tony. and tonys heart hurts, because this kid, this kid that’s standing right in front of him, is almost skin and bones and looks like he’s about to crumble into dust and blow away in his hands

- he brings peter into the house, brings him coffee, offers him food. even after peter politely declines he brings over some bread to share, maybe a slice of pie?? maybe tony can cook and bake. he has a sweet tooth after all, and he’s been on his own for the better part of two decades. 

- and he really gets to know peter. they sit, they talk, until the sun dips down and the open mountain chill takes over them

- and peter tells him that he’s been on his own for a couple of years, that his parents died when he was young and that his aunt and uncle took him in on their ranch. that he grew up around animals, working, helping out

- but when they died the property was repossessed by the bank and peter’d all but ran with ben’s keys and the clothes on his back. he’s been on the road ever since, going from missouri to texas to wyoming to montana, all in search of work, never staying in one place longer than a few months. 

- he doesn’t tell tony that he’s secretly so, so tired of life on the road. doesn’t say how elated he was when he heard someone was looking for a fairly long-term live in farm hand. because that’s something he knew, something he was good at. 

- he also doesn’t tell tony that his heart skipped several beats in a row the second peter laid eyes on him, and that he really wants to work for the gorgeous man in front of him

- it’s finally dark, his coffee cup is long empty and abandoned and peter’s just spilled nearly every single deep dark secret he’s ever had. tony’s closing the windows, and peter makes for the door. he’s taken up enough of this beautiful kind man’s time, he should leave before he stays even further past his welcome

- but tony’s stopping him, blocking him from the door, lightly grabbing his wrist and turning peter to face him fully

- and he’s asking begging pleading  telling peter he should stay, that the spare room upstairs is warm and not going to be used anytime soon. that he still needs a farmhand and, as he sees it, peter’s already here

- secretly, tony can’t stand to see him leave

- he couldn’t handle letting his man this... kid, really, leave. not when tony could provide for him. not when he could feed him until his edges soften and his cheeks round out and his tummy gets squishy. not when he could work him into a sweat outside, watch that paperwhite skin turn a rich tan under the summer sun

- not even when he realizes the sudden care for the orphan in front of him is slowly becoming less familial, less platonic, and more... instinctual. base. greedy. 

- because who better to make sure this kid is looked after than tony? tony, who has work-worn hands and time-softened eyes and cooking skills any bachelor would die for

- it’s honestly not even that shocking to him when peter says yes

- not when he takes his hand off the doorknob and immediately turns, immediately breathes out a “yes, yes of course mr. stark, thank you so much mr. stark, i’ll do whatever you need me to, you’re incredible mr. stark”

- and it all immediately goes to tony’s dick head because fuck, that was not the intended reaction but it was absolutely welcome, what the fuck

- so tony takes him upstairs, gets peter settled in the guest bedroom right across from his own

- and when he goes to bed that night he absolutely does not touch himself while thinking about the barely 20something thats maybe 10 feet away. doesn’t think about what peter said earlier, with tony’s hand wrapped around his wrist

- absolutely doesn’t cum with peter’s name on his lips, biting down on his knuckles so peter doesn’t hear

- and peter absolutely doesn’t cum with three fingers in his ass, tears streaming down his face, listening to the creaking mattress springs and heavy breathing from across the hall. of course he doesn’t

- and of course they don’t get along well. of course not. of course they don’t work together like they’re telepathically connected, not even needing to speak to know what the other is thinking. it’s like peter can read his mind, knowing exactly what needs done when

- but it’s not just tony. peter can tell before anyone else when the farrier needs to be called. when one of the girls is pregnant, even before she starts showing. knows when one of the cattle dogs has a hurt paw without even seeing him. can tell when it’s going to rain, so he knows whether or not it’ll be a good day to cut the alfalfa fields

- it’s a little freaky to be honest but tony doesn’t hate it. it’s really useful with everything on the farm, and it’s... it’s nice. having someone that can so effortlessly understand him. 

- it’s also like peters... totally unaware of it. like he doesn’t even know he knows things he shouldnt know. which blows tony’s mind even more. 

- it kinda turns him on, and he finds himself with his hand around his cock wondering if peter knows he’s getting off thinking about him. like, more than once. maybe even more than once a week. definitely more than once a week. 

- and maybe peters kind of catching on, a little. that maybe his feelings toward his employer/landlord/new friend are shared

- it also doesn’t help that he gets uncontrollably aroused every time tony goes to bed. like. every... single... time...

- peter always knew he was.. attentive. but he didn’t know it would manifest as literally feeling tony’s arousal through the fucking walls

- and it doesn’t help that peter’s filling out. he’s getting darker as the months get warmer, he’s getting significantly more meat on his bones now that he’s eating more and working more

- and it really doesn’t help that tony is getting eyefuls of the half naked ranch hand almost 24/7. it’s really not his fault that peter works better without a shirt on

- and maybe it comes to a head one day. maybe they’re picking up alfalfa bales from one of the fields and they stop to take a break and tony just ,, can’t handle sweaty, tan, barely-a-twink-anymore peter.

- and peter can feel it, with his ,, unique senses, that tony’s watching him. like, a lot. like, way more than normal even 

- so he decides to play it up a bit. he takes his shirt off, he throws his gloves in the bed of the truck and balls the tee in his hands, wiping his face off with it and sighing deeply

- and he knows tony saw that because he could fucking hear tony’s breathing change and he smirks a little bit, because that’s enough confirmation for him to know for sure

- so he looks up, and he meets tony’s eyes, and they’re wild and feral and tony looks like one of the wolves that tried to take out one of their cows last winter - hungry and ready to devour what was in front of him

- and peter just looks at him, a little incredulous, and finally speaks up: ‘you gonna get over here ‘n kiss me, or what?’ - and tony fucking breaks

- he turns the truck off and slams the door when he gets out, grabbing peter by the neck and fucking dragging him against tony’s clothed body

- “do you know what you’ve been doing this whole time?” 

- of course peter does, tony, you fucking moron. he knows and he’s been trying to get you to rip him to shreds, dumbass. you’re just oblivious

- but tony still can’t help but see the tiny young man that walked up on his doorstep those years ago, can’t help but want to protect him and keep him safe and warm and fed 

- so of course tony wanted to go slow, and wanted to be gentle with peter

- but pete was having fucking none of that, because oh my god tony i’m not 19 anymore please just fuck me already and been wanting you for way too long and please tony just--  and he grabs tony’s hand and makes him squeeze even harder

- and it’s hot, and it’s messy, and it’s not even really sex, just them rutting and grabbing and jerking each other off up against the door of tony’s truck, belt buckles undone and jeans just barely tugged down

- and tony’s basking in it, watching peter’s eyes screw shut and his pretty plush lips open and the little ‘aah, nngh fuck, tony’s that push their way from his throat

- and he knows, the second they’re done here, they’re abandoning their work for the day and he’s taking peter back to the house and he’s going to show him what this is like for real, what it means to be touched with intention and love and emotion behind it - not just a quick handjob standing in the hay field

- and he does. he worships peter’s body when they get back to the house

- he kisses every single part of him, nips at the tiny bit of excess fat on his stomach and thighs and hips, relishing in the fact that peter is his, his to take care of, his to keep safe and healthy and happy

- and eventually, the guest room opens up again. peter’s stuff slowly moves into tony’s room. he stops getting paid, but that’s okay

- because why would you get paid to work on your own farm?