#space mare post

[c0wgurlz]

Trouble On My Left, Trouble On My Right

Chapter 2: Operation, Find Caroline a Cowboy

gif by @bodybebangin

Kayce Dutton x Reader/OC - Friends to Lovers

He doesn't even have to take half a step to catch back up with me. “Come on Caroline, you know I’m just teasing you.” He pats my back as a peace offering. “Although,” Okay, maybe not. “I have it on good authority that I can please the ladies, so save a horse and all that.” Winking flirtatiously, he belts out a laugh, finally removing his hand from my bare back. And what a blessing that is, because if he had kept touching me while talking about… that, I’d be liable to combust.

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Chapter 1

Sorry it took me so long to update! I'm a teacher and my free time is fairly limited. We're at a point in the school year now though that is much less stressful, so expect fairly regular updates, at least for the next few chapters.

Comments are so appreciated! I'd love to know what ya'll like and what ya'll think I could improve upon.

As always: I do not own Yellowstone (2018) or any of its characters. This work is not monetized.

THIS FIC IS CROSSPOSTED TO AO3. It is not posted to any other site. I am lookingcold on AO3 and that is all. I do not give permission for my work to be posted by others to any other platform.

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We don’t talk for the rest of the walk, but the silence is comfortable, like it always is between us. Kayce and I have never asked too much of each other, have always read each others’ moods as if they were our own, and that apparently hasn’t changed from the five years we’ve spent apart. It’s glaringly obvious to us both that neither is up for idle chit chat. 

And while I’m really not up for small talk, the silence does, unfortunately, give me entirely too much time to overthink. What felt like such a natural decision, what felt like fulfilling my duty this morning, now feels foolhardy, and quite possibly too risky. Now this isn’t to say that I’m doubting my choice. Helping Mr. John, helping Kayce, helping the family and ranch that raised me, that picked up my pieces and glued me back together over and over, is a no brainer. Helping the people and the place I love most in the world feels as natural as breathing. But smoothing over a murder? That’s- No, I’m not doubting my choice, but I’m sure as hell doubting my sanity. When I said the Duttons needed a criminal defense lawyer, not a PR specialist, I wasn’t exaggerating. And if I’m being honest, this job feels more like that of an accessory than a public relations consult.

The front porch of the big house comes into view well before I’m ready. This dinner may be a reunion of sorts, but it’ll undoubtedly be a business meeting as well. Steeling my nerves for such talks doesn’t come quite as naturally to me as it once did. I feel like a knight with rusty armor. Weak at critical points, weak where it matters. More aptly, I feel like a little girl again, staring into the headlights of a train with no way to move and no way to stop it. I’m no coward, please don’t think that of me, but you know that feeling of impending doom? The one that makes your spine tingle and your stomach drop to your knees? Dread is probably the best word. That’s all I can feel as I stand at the bottom step of the Dutton’s porch. 

I must hesitate for too long, or stare off into space, or look absolutely fucking terrified, because in a flash Kayce is back down the two steps he’d already taken and by my side. He doesn’t say anything, you’d think we’d taken a vow of silence, but just looks at me imploringly, resembling a curious puppy so much I almost crack a smile. And then Kacye, sweet Kayce, wraps his calloused hand around mine and tucks it against his chest, over his heart, before tipping his head, ushering me up the stairs. Once I’m half way up I get a fond, “Atta girl,” and what woman doesn’t love being praised like an obedient mare. I snort in response and kick out my foot to trip him, but only a little bit, on the last stair. Can’t have hime getting too full of himself.

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Dinner is nice, but rather awkward if I’m totally honest, mainly due to the fact that Beth and Jamie are in attendance. Let’s just say Gator clears the table well before dinner should truly be over. To my surprise, we don’t talk business, but rather I’m questioned, interrogated really, over what I’ve been up to the past five years and why haven’t I called and would it really kill me to send a text every few months. Beth is the one who leads this inquiry. Jamie and I were never particularly close, so he remains silent for the most part, and he leaves in a huff shortly after Beth throws a fork like it’s a trident directly at his forehead. Can’t say I blame him, even I can only handle so much of Beth when she’s at her worst.

My interrogation is blissfully, or so I thought, cut short by Mr. John when he asks, “So, ya’ll have any plans tonight?” He folds his napkin meticulously, trying to look nonchalant but missing the mark by a shameful amount. If I thought that feeling of dread had left me, I was wrong.

I narrow my eyes and prepare to defend myself against an interrogation of a different kind. Before I can grit out a suspicious, “No, why,” however, Beth pipes up. “Actually Daddy, since you asked,” at this she turns to me, “Caroline, how do you feel about heading into town and getting gloriously drunk and then gloriously fucked? You’ve been gone far too long, so you’ve got to be re-initiated, re-tainted if you will.” She looks me up and down, assessing. “You’re far too shiny, like a little cherub.”

Jesus Christ, I think she’s suggesting I fuck a townie. And Mary and Joseph I haven’t even so much as kissed someone since my divorce - ok, well maybe a peck or two here or there, but that’s besides the point. Here I was, so worried about talking business, about skirting around the subject of murder, only to be blindsided by an age old Dutton scheme. Operation: Find Caroline a Cowboy. Well if Beth thinks I’m about to get biblical with some rando she is absolutely, positively looney tunes. Now, how to communicate all of that in a tactful way? Taking a shallow breath, I part my lips and prepare to spout some placating, buzzword bullshit. Something along the lines of, “Well, as fun as that sounds, I’m actually really tired. Maybe later this weekend?” or “How about we just kick back in the bunkhouse tonight, save the salaciousess for this Saturday?” Before I can even utter a word though, Kayce butts in on my behalf.

“Do you maybe think you could save the corruption for later, Beth? I’ve already promised the boys that I’ll bring Caroline around for cards tonight.” While his voice is calm, casual even, Kayce gives himself away the moment he begins to bounce his leg, the tap tap tap of the heel of his boot loud in the otherwise quiet room. He’s uncomfortable, maybe even irritated, which aren’t we all at least a little bit when speaking to Beth, but there’s something else. A boyishness to his demeanor that I haven’t seen since high school. There’s also the fact that we had decidedly made zero plans to visit the bunkhouse tonight. So. Interesting.

I’m certainly not the only one to notice his odd shift in behavior, as Mr. John’s lips curl into a smirk and Beth’s face arranges inself into a pleased, self-satisfied expression. She frequently wears the look of someone who knows enough to destroy literally any given person’s life, but this look is more playful, one of a cat that’s pinned a mouse by its tail. Ignoring Kayce, she turns her attention back to me. “Caroline, sweetheart, don’t even think about screwing any of those cowboys. I know old habits die hard, but trust me when I say not a single one of them is worth a ride.” Now, to be clear, Beth knows, I know, Mr. John knows, and even Kayce knows that Beth has only ever screwed one of said cowboys out in that bunkhouse, still, her dig elicits the desired reaction from Kayce. And furthermore, she makes it clear that she’s not just trying to set me up with any old cowboy. I’m on to her. Operation: Find Caroline a Kayce.

With a cringe of disgust and a flushed face, he exclaims, “Fuck’s sake Beth, I’m not taking her out there to pimp her out.” He’s stopped smoothing the tablecloth, but now he’s exasperatedly running his hand through his still damp hair. Shit, Kayce. You think he’d have learned by now how to not play into Beth’s hand. Some people just have to learn the hard way I suppose. 

Beth’s eyebrows lift and the corner of her mouth quirks. “Well you’re not a very good bestfriend then, are you?”

“Fuck you.” Kayce mutters, leaning back in his chair and crossing his arms petulantlly.

“Maybe you should be saying that to her.” Beth points at me with her napkin, dropping it onto her plate as she rises from the table. “This has been fun. Possibly the best family dinner we’ve had all year.” Planting a kiss on Mr. John’s cheek she says, “Love you Daddy, have a drink with me later, will you? I think we should talk.” Then, rounding the table to me, she strokes my hair, almost motherly, “Caroline, sweetheart, clear your schedule Saturday. Me and you are going to paint the town red.” Finally, reaching Kayce, she sighs, “Goodnight, dummy. Let me know if you’d like help finding your balls.” And just like a tornado, she’s there wreaking havoc one moment, and gone the next.

The dining room is uncomfortably silent for a beat after she exits, until Mr. John blessedly breaks the awkwardness yet again. “Beth’s antics aside, I don’t think ya’ll should be going out anywhere tonight. We’ve got several important meetings lined up tomorrow morning and I need both of you sharp. Especially you Kayce, tomorrow will require you to tell a very particular version of events and I can’t risk you fucking that up. Alright, Son?”

Looking slightly cowed, Kayce nods his head in agreement. “Alright.”

Having determined this hell of a dinner has gone on long enough, I begin to make moves to excuse Kayce and myself. “Dinner was delicious Mr. John, thank you for having me. And thank you for such fine company.” I may be lying out of my ass, but my momma didn’t raise me to be rude.

Mr. John exhales a dry laugh and rises from the table. It’s moments like this where his and Beth’s resemblance is striking. “No need to thank me, honey. You’re family, you’re welcome at my table anytime.” Pushing in his chair he surveys Kayce and I with calculating eyes. “Why don’t you two head on home, you both look like you’ve been put through the wringer.”

Gee Mr. John, I wonder the hell why?

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Our walk back isn’t nearly as silent as our walk to the house. To say Kayce is pissed would be putting it lightly. “What in the actual fuck was all that? I mean, Beth was no surprise, but what shit is Dad trying to pull?”

“Kayce, your daddy barely said a word.” I’m more focused on the words left unsaid.

“He didn’t have to say anything Carrie, he sat there like a smug bastard and let Beth say it all for him.” Kayce may as well be pitching a fit the way he kicks at the ground, arms hugged tight to his chest like a wronged toddler. Honestly, the image is kind of amusing, so much so that I have to stifle a laugh. I must not do a good enough job, because I can feel the glare that Kayce shoots through the side of my head. “What?”

Not wanting to add fuel to the fire, I’m quick to hide my growing grin. “Well first off, I’m gonna overlook the fact you pulled out my forbidden nickname. But second, do you remember that Christmas when we were thirteen? How Beth hung mistletoe from literally every single doorway, and how your daddy actually enforced the kissing rule?” I raise my eyebrows high, daring him to conveniently “forget” an awkward moment from our childhood as he often pretends to do.

The tips of his ears turn pink, but he sighs his agreement. “Yeah I remember, we must’ve kissed two dozen times. At the time I thought dying would’ve been a kinder fate.”

Asshole. I punch him in the arm, hard. “Wow. Thanks a lot. The sentiment is shared.” Rolling my eyes and checking for invisible dirt beneath my nails, I continue. “Anyways, what they’re doing now, Beth and your daddy, is just an enormous escalation of what they did then. I don’t think Mr. John will rest in his grave until I give him a grandbaby - with you.” I look at Kayce pointedly. It’s no secret that Mr. John, and Beth by extension, have been holding out hope that me and Kayce would fall madly in love and have lots of babies. When Kayce married Monica the teasing and hinting stopped, after all Mr. John would never disrespect their marriage in such a way, and when I married Judd it was almost like a fence went up between us, between myself and the Duttons that is, but now that both of our spouses are out of the picture? I’m certainly not surprised the trouble has started back up.

I expect Kayce to splutter and turn a darker shade of red. Despite his gruff exterior he’s always been reserved and easy to embarrass. He surprises me though when he mutters, “Maybe we should just give him what he wants then. Get him and Beth off our backs.”

I shock myself with the cackle that bursts its way out of my body. It bubbles out partly because of the utter glee I get from Kayce having a sense of humor for once and partly from the insanity of such a suggestion. “So you’re telling me, that your solution to getting your daddy and Beth to leave us alone, is to have a baby together? Yeah, because they definitely would have no interest in our love lives after a stunt like that.” I bump his hip with mine. “I can just hear Beth now, ‘I’m thinking a Fall wedding, you look horrible in bright colors and nobody wants to wear a suit in eighty-eight degree weather.’ We’d never hear the end of it.”

Kayce shrugs, shooting me a wry grin. “Hey, if we marry each other at least we’ll know what we’re getting into. No surprises.”

“Yeah, and no sex,” slips past my lips before I can swallow it down. What a stupid fucking thing to say. Good job Caroline, talk about fucking, or not fucking, your best friend some more why don’t you. Now I’m the one who’s blushing. Pink from the roots of my hair to my chest. And what a fatal mistake I’ve made by opening my fat mouth. My whole life I’ve had to be one step ahead of Kayce, embarrassing him before he can embarrass me worse, yet here I am giving him a golden opportunity.

His grin only widens. “I hate to break it to you Carrie, but to make a baby people have to have sex.” He slings an arm around my shoulders, adding insult to injury. “You know when a man loves a woman…”

I elbow him in the ribs before he can continue. He laughs at my embarrassment just as much as he groans from the pain. “Oh shut up.” Now I cross my arms, increasing my stride so that his arm falls from my shoulders.

He doesn’t even have to take half a step to catch back up with me. “Come on Caroline, you know I’m just teasing you.” He pats my back as a peace offering. “Although,” Okay, maybe not. “I have it on good authority that I can please the ladies, so save a horse and all that.” Winking flirtatiously, he belts out a laugh, finally removing his hand from my bare back. And what a blessing that is, because if he had kept touching me while talking about… that, I’d be liable to combust. If Kayce had always been shy and reserved in his day to day life, where I had been bright and obnoxious in mine, the topic of sex is where we switched places. I think calling myself a prude may be a tad harsh, but I certainly have never been one to broadcast my sexual business. Kayce on the other hand has never shied away from flirting, or kissing, or having sex in nearly every one of Mr. John’s pastures - you don’t get someone pregnant at nineteen by keeping it in your pants after all. 

Playing the game I had with Kayce in the bathroom earlier today had felt safe, probably because I was the one in control, but this battle of wills feels altogether different, like someone is poking at an insecurity, at a bruise I didn’t even know I had. It’s confusing at best and humiliating at worst. Throwing his words back at him, I huff, “Now Kayce Dutton, you know this conversation is entirely improper, so I suggest you drop it. And also,” I whirl around on the step I’ve just taken. Thank God we’ve reached the foreman’s house because I don’t know how much longer I can participate in this back and forth before I’m forced to will myself out of existence. “Who says I’d even want to have a baby with you? Good authority or not. I know ya’ll’ve gotten new ranch hands since I’ve last been here, all of whom I haven’t gotten to size up yet. You never know, maybe one of them is babydaddy material.” I poke him firmly in the chest. “Don’t assume I haven’t got options.” Before Kayce can respond I storm up the remaining steps and into the house, kicking my boots off perhaps a bit too aggressively before striding into the kitchen. What I plan to do in the kitchen, I don’t know, but I still don’t know which room I’m staying in and the living room feels too cozy to stew in, so the kitchen it is.

Kayce saddles in much more calmly, but his fierce expression gives his true feelings away. “Are you serious?” He grunts, and if I wasn’t so embarrassed, mad, confused, hurt - for some reason that alludes me, I might have found the rocky timbre of his voice sexy. 

“Serious about what?” I avoid his gaze petulantly, pouring myself a glass of water for a lack of anything better to do.

“You’ve gotta be fucking kidding me.” He groans, tipping his head back and rubbing at his eyes. “Are you really picking a fight over whether or not we should get imaginary married, have imaginary sex, and have an imaginary baby? You do hear how crazy that sounds?”

“So now I’m crazy?” My voice is cool, and serious, even though at this point I realize I’ve lost the argument. Even though I’ve realized there never should’ve been an argument in the first place.

Any fight Kayce had left in him drains away. I see the moment that it leaves his body, his eyes softening and his shoulders relaxing. “Caroline, honey, what’d I do?”

Almost as if there’s an invisible string connecting us, my body relaxes too. I blow out a breath, dump my water down the drain, and come to stand in front of him. No island between us. “You didn’t really do anything, just poked at a sore spot, that’s all.”

Sensing that this may be a conversation best saved for later, Kayce graciously changes the subject. Scratching at the back of his neck with one hand and gesturing towards the bathroom with the other he murmurs, “Well uh, if you still wanna have that spa night we should probably get going, we’ve got a early morning tomorrow and if I’m gonna let you take my spa virginity we’ve gotta do this thing right.” That earns him a hard exhale, the ghost of what could’ve been a laugh. But he must know not to expect much else, that I’m still nursing my bruised ego, because he carries on. “So why don’t I go get that bubble bath started and you can sort through your uh lotions and potions, decide on how best to pretty me up. And then maybe we could talk, about anything you want.” He begins to walk backwards, making his way towards the bathroom. It’s odd to hear the soft pad of his socked feet on the hardwood and not the click of his boots, but also kind of nice, endearing.

“Okay,” I breath, “Yeah, that’d be - that’d be nice.” I move to walk past him, into the hall where I’d left my bags. “I think you’ve got a bit of a sunburn so I’ll see if I’ve got an aloe mask for you. If you plan on putting yourself back on the market you’d better start taking care of your looks.”

I’m very purposefully facing away from him, so I don’t see the melancholy on his face so much as I hear it in his voice. “Yeah, I don’t think that’s likely to happen. My days of chasing tail are definitely over.” I don’t reply, not too keen on opening that can of worms further, and so an uncomfortable silence settles over us. It’s only broken when Kayce sighs, “Well, I’ll uh, I’ll be in the bathroom whenever you’re ready.”

Still looking down, I pause the mindless shuffling I’d been doing through my bags, “Alright, just give me a few minutes.” Having found the masks I was looking for well before now, I finally rise from out of my crouch, left knee popping in protest. “Like you said, you deserve a proper first spa night,” I turn my body to reveal my profile, pretending to check the label of the plastic tub in my hands, “I’ve gotta make sure I pull out all the stops. You know I don’t half ass anything.” Feeling generous, I finally offer him a small smile, turning to fully face him.

The relief in his eyes catches me off guard. “Don’t I know it.”

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I don’t know what I expected when Kayce said he’d go run a bubble bath. Too absorbed in my own thoughts, I didn’t consider that such an activity is typically done alone, certainly not with a friend, and even more certainly not with a totally platonic, albeit sexy, boy bestfriend. When I finally make my way into the bathroom however, I’m greeted by the sight of Kayce settled into the comically large clawfoot tub, chin tucked to his chest so that bubbles cling to his beard, eyes unfocused and contemplative. “Didn’t realize I invited Santa Claus.” I joke, at a loss for anything else to say. Too scared to say the wrong thing or ask the wrong question.

At the sound of my voice his head jerks up, the sudden movement sloshing water just shy of the lip of the tub. “Santa Claus?” He furrows his eyebrows. He really does look like a puppy.

“You’ve got bubbles,” I gesture to my chin, miming a full beard.

He chuckles, “Oh, yeah, I guess I just got bored and,” he shrugs, “I’ve gotten used to playing with Tate in the bath. You’re lucky I didn’t break out the bubble mohawk.”

“The bubble mohawk?” I giggle, “I don’t know, I think I’d like to see that actually. Just make sure I’ve got a camera on me when you do break it out, yeah?” Lining my “lotions and potions” up on the counter, I look away, still trying to figure out what exactly is going on here, or what Kayce expects me to do, to say.

He must sense my hesitancy because he volunteers, “I hope I got the water hot enough. I know how you women like to scorch your skin off, but I’m afraid I’m just a bit too delicate.” He’s pushed himself into a full sitting position now. The water pools just under his chest and it takes everything in me to meet his eyes.

“So we are taking a bath together then?” I huff. “Because that’s not weird at all.” Still, I move to pull my blouse up and over my head, clipping my hair up so that it no longer hangs down my back. “And if you’re not actively in pain, then no, you don’t have the water hot enough. But that’s alright, I’ll manage.”

Ignoring my comment about the water, his eyebrows furrow once again in confusion. “Why’s it weird? You’re the one that suggested it.”

“No. I didn’t.” I shoot some side eye at him, because who in their right mind would suggest such a thing. Hopping around to remove my socks before balling them up and tossing them into the hall so that they don’t get wet, I continue, “And it’s weird because usually when grown adults take a bath together it’s only because something else is gonna follow.”

Rolling his eyes, he insists, “Yes. You did. You said you normally take a bubble bath for spa nights, so here we are, taking a bubble bath. And it’s not weird. I’m wearing my underwear, and I assumed you’d wear yours too. It’s no different than going swimming together.” He sounds way too exasperated for a conversation that is this stupid.

Remember how I said Kayce and I have never had trouble reading each other? Yeah I take that back. Closing my eyes and taking a deep breath, I sigh, “That was not a suggestion. That was a statement. But thank you for the clarification. Now before I literally die of embarrassment, would you like the lavender hair mask,” I forcefully lift one colorful jar into the air, and then another, “or the apple?”

Looking as fed up as I feel, Kayce responds gruffly, “The lavender.”

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[morallyinept]

Summary: Joel Miller comes back into your life unexpectedly after a gap of thirty years, and stirs up all kinds of memories and longing. Now, as you're stationed on an outpost for five days alone with the man you stupidly let go of all those years ago, you have a chance to confront him about your past life together and all the things you wished you’d said and done.

But Joel’s different now, and you know you need to tread carefully. Joel Miller is not the same man you once knew in another life.

A slow burn romance set in the post apocalyptic world, approx. twenty or so years after the initial Cordyceps outbreak.

Pairing: Post-Outbreak Joel Miller x MatureF!Reader (No name or physical description of reader. However reader is of a similar age range as Joel; in her late forties/early fifties. Joel is slightly older at 56.)

Chapter Word Count: 3.9k

Series Masterlist

☝🏻See Series Masterlist for full smut warnings & triggers in this story. Chapters that contain smut or triggers will be highlighted in the chapter notes below. 👇🏻

Chapter notes: You're getting this a day early this week. For reasons. Mentions and descriptions of panic attacks. Mentions of self-harm/attempted suicide. Heavy angst - I promise, it will pep up soon! 😅

☝🏻Some of the tags aren't working, so please ensure you're following me and turn on notifs so you don't miss an update on this story.

Enjoy! 🖤

Previous Chapter

The sun is on the other side of the sky when you eventually arrive at outpost three.

The pink edges of an early dusk will soon make their way in, dip-dyeing the clouds rolling in puffy plumes above.

Summer evenings have always been beautiful, even before the world turned to shit.

You enjoy the colours; the golds fading into pinks, and then purples as the night would settle in. A pastel kaleidiscope, and you're thankful the sky has remained free of the horrors that taint the ground below it.

It's the only reprieve you have left these days, when you take a moment to gaze up at the stars, enthralled by the infinite beauty of space.

A renegade memory cuts in; Joel's body warming you on the air mattress he'd dragged out into the garden so you could both watch the meteor shower you'd been haranguing him about for weeks.

I don't want to miss it! You'd said, endlessly. There were only a few glimpses of the white, glittery streaks across the sky that night. Mostly because you and Joel were too busy looking at one another instead and talking excitely about the future. Your future, together.

Even though you never actually had one.

You smile with a deep sigh, throwing your head up to the sky as you trot on and Joel catches your wistful eyes.

"What's that look for? " He queries, curiously.

You shake your head smiling. "Nothing."

The day feels like it's dragged on deliberately to torment you, and tiredness weighs heavy on your back and under your eyes.

You follow Joel on his stud up the grassy knolls towards a small looking shack, tucked and nestled out the way that's not so obvious it's there, but gives a good view down into the valley which you’ve spent the last couple of hours riding up languidly. 

Once off your horse, you guide the mare into a side stable hidden by the trees and are surprised to find ample hay bales stacked in there.

Joel shuts the paddock fence, “grab that bucket there,” he instructs and you do, following him as he takes the heavy knapsacks from off your horse. You offer to take them, but he shakes his head as he loads himself up and it makes you smile that he's never lost his gentlemanly chilvary.

Even if he's lost everything else.

Joel reaches behind a piece of wood and pulls out a key, unlocking the door and you instantly marvel at the inside. 

“This is not what I expected from an outpost,” you say as you look about the place in bewilderment. 

There’s a small, ashy stove in the corner with a basket of chopped logs next to it. A singular camper’s cot is along the far wall, with sheets folded on top of it and a threadbare pillow.

A couple of beaten wicker chairs face a large window; most of it is boarded up, save for a small square cut out where the light pools in softly and illuminates the floor by your feet. Dust motes dance in the white beams and you wander over to the view of the valley that’s squashed inside the tiny frame like a grainy Polaroid.

You traipse over to the side room, which is an alcove cut into the wood, to find a hose pipe attached to a slow rusting tap. A crude shower with a curtain hanging up. There's a couple of rough feeling towels on a hook, and a large bowl on the floor, presumably the toilet.

"S'no hot water." He says with a thin line for a mouth.

You turn to Joel shrugging, surprised. “Are all your outposts this fancy?” You quip with a wry grin.

You were expecting a hole in the dirt to squat in for the next five days and not much else. This is a palace in comparison.

A rickety shelving unit houses a few dogeared books, a few battered boxes that you see are old board games on closer inspection. There’s also an array of metal tins, some in various states of peeling and rusting. 

“We work in rotations when on the lookout. The guys who were here last would’ve left yesterday, maybe the day before. Gotta leave the place smart n’ tidy for the next shift. Those are the rules.”

“Noted,” you say as Joel takes the metal bucket from you. He's careful not to touch you, you notice. “You’ve been on the lookout before?” Your fingers run over the sniper stand set up by the window. 

The floorboards beneath you creak and jostle as you move, and you look down to see one board is loose as you step on it with your boot. You can hear running water from the tap in the alcove as the bucket starts to fill.

“A few times. I mostly get picked for scoutin’ runs.” Joel explains, his head peering out from the alcove at you. “S’what I used to do in the QZ, so guess m’good for it.” 

"Are you good at finding things?"

He doesn't answer that.

You bend down and pull the floorboard up and find boxes of bullets and shotgun cartridges in there and baulk. There’s a small radio walkie-talkie too.

“Get ‘em all out,” Joel instructs you, resting the full bucket by the door. “We might be needin’ ‘em. Best have ‘em ready.” 

You do and Joel attaches his rifle on the stand, peering through the periscope and places the boxes, you hand up to him, on the small table in between the wicker chairs.

“We switch the radio on once, just before midday, each day. If nothin’ comes through by quarter-past, then all is well.” Joel explains.

He throws his thumb over his shoulder to three small clocks on a wonky wooden shelf that tick quietly out of sync. They all read at the same time, differing by a minute or two. A stack of batteries are beside them. “In case one stops,” Joel remarks as he sees you inspecting. 

“Industrious.” You nod understanding, and place the radio on the table next to the bullets. “Are all the outposts equipped like this?”

“Pretty much. Each time ya have a shift, ya bring supplies with ya from the commune to top up.” 

You nod again as he points at the knapsacks realising that you’ll have less to go back with.

“You want me to take the first watch?” You offer. 

Joel shakes his head. “No. I will. But we’ll eat first. Once it’s dark, we can’t use any light. Don’t want no-one or no infected knowin’ we’re here, okay? We keep quiet, keep our heads down. We just wait n’ watch.”

“Yes, sir.” You remark with a salute and Joel grits his teeth. 

“You wanna get the stove goin’?” He frowns. 

“You’re not gonna cook for me?” You remark with your tongue in your teeth, and he rolls his eyes. “I remember you being a great cook.” 

“I ‘member you bein' full of shit.” Joel remarks as he steps over and rifles through the knapsacks, pulling out several cans and handing them to you. 

You chuckle, recalling the time when Joel burnt the only dinner he’d ever attempted to cook for you on Valentine’s Day once. Instead, he’d ordered in pizza and then fucked you on his parent’s sofa whilst they were out on a romantic date night of their own.

It was a close call, barely getting your damp panties back on before they came home to two red faces with messy hair trying to look innocent. It was the same night he told you he loved you.

The thought warms your belly momentarily before the snakes strike with their venom again. 

You look down at the cans, some dented, some without labels, one is blown and you tell Joel you can't eat it and he nods. You get to preparing some food. It’s a lucky dip as to what it’ll be, but you remain optimistic. 

Joel pulls out a tupperware box with some baked bread in it and you groan in surprise.

“Courtesy of Jake.” He says with a little pride blooming in his cheeks.

“Jake?”

“He runs The Tispy Bison. He sees me right.” He tries not to smirk smugly.

“Is that because you’re his dealer or something?” You titter.

Joel baulks. “I might do him some favours when I’m on a run.”

“Mmhm. Is this focaccia?” You gasp, taking the tupperware box, opening it and inhaling the freshly baked scent of flour, rosemary and oils.

“Dunno, s’different each time.”

“Well. Jake might just be my new favourite person.” You say, grinning as the scent of the bread makes your mouth salivate. 

“Hm. Next time you can spend five days gettin’ cosy with Jake then.” Joel gruffs, the frown returning, but his mirth still remains.

You watch Joel take the bucket and open the shack door. “Gonna give the horses a drink.”

He closes the door, but not before you catch his dark, chocolate eyes glancing back at you. 

Out in the stable, Joel strokes down the mare gently whilst she drinks from the bucket hanging on a tough metal peg. 

He loses himself in the feel of her coat for a while, focusing in on that silky smoothness over his rough fingertips and he runs them up and down.

The stallion eats from the corner, chewing as he tugs hay from the bale with big, glassy black eyes. 

Joel’s mind wanders from the stable to inside the shack where you are. If he listens real carefully, and presses himself up against the far wall closest to the shack, he could probably hear you clanking about with the pans. 

He could probably hear you mutter obscenities at the stove as you struggle to get the wood to catch light. He’d probably rest his large palm against the coarse wood, reaching out as though he was touching you.

God, he wants to touch you so badly. Convince himself that you're real.

He wonders if you would feel it; sense him here, listening to the music of you as it pollutes his head and stuffs up his senses, only but a mere few steps away.

So close, yet so fucking far from his reach.

Joel takes his hand off the wood and steps back; shaking his head and muttering curses of his own to himself for being so damn foolish.

He steps back to the mare who snuffles at him and he gets back to stroking her down. Her large head knocks against his arm and Joel wonders for a moment if it’s her way of telling him to grow a pair and get back in there.

Get back to you.

He calms her with a soothing shush and strokes over her ears, winding the velvet of them gently through his thick fingers as she snuffles again. 

“You’re just as sweet as May, aren’t ya, darlin’?” He coos to her and the horse puts her mouth back in the bucket leaving Joel to contemplate and to just think some more. 

Thinking has always been his worst enemy, deducing that he probably does it far too much for his own good. Often, the thinking is what talks him out of things, calms the recklessness that used to run in his blood during his wily youth.

Thinking is what stops him from unleashing the ire on a daily basis now. And he’s not sure anymore if that’s a good or bad thing. 

He scratches at his temple and his fingers run the familiar pattern of the scar there. It stops all thinking for a moment as his tips notch over the puckered skin.

Just leaves him that stabbing feeling that starts at the bottom of his heart until it eventually takes over his beating muscle and renders him frozen, incapacitated for a few short moments as he remembers raising the gun to his temple in his darkest moment.

Joel wonders why it is that he never died; why it is that he flinched when he pulled the trigger. He should have died a long time ago, should be with Sarah now holding her close and smelling the coconut shampoo in her hair that he misses more than anything in this fucking cruel world.

Joel deduces that thinking probably talked him out of that too. That, somewhere, in the back of his foggy brain that could often chatter insidiously at him for hours - so much so that he had to resort to numbing out the noise with booze and pills just to get some simple shut eye sometimes - a small voice talked him down off that ledge.

But he wonders why it has, every day since. What was the point if not to taunt him with his losses? 

He’d said to Ellie that he was glad he hadn’t. And he’d meant it. But Ellie was gone, her time between visits getting longer and he knows it’s because he tried to do right by her, even if it backfired in his face later when she discovered his dishonesty. 

That voice that told him to fight for her as he gunned everyone down in that hospital selfishly. Point, shoot. Point, shoot.

The thinking had quelled then, a calm just leaving him to go stoically postal as he pointed and shot at targets; a quiet white noise filling his ears until Ellie was back in his arms and he could hear again. 

And now she’s not.

Joel Miller is a loser; he's continually losing the people that matter the most to him. That has to be it, he thinks.

He looks down at his hands; two large paws that are weathered and worn, calloused and rough. Index fingers with split skin and a liver spot here or there that never used to be. Prominent veins that ridge and thumbs that always annoy him with their stubbiness, getting in the way of practicality at times. 

Working hands that were once strong and built things, but now tremble and shake uncontrollably at times. Strong hands that fail to be able to hold onto anyone that he cares for anymore. He’d let go of Sarah, he’d let go of Tess. He’d let go of Ellie. 

And he had let go of you.

Joel squeezes his fists shut, breathing in through a choke that rasps out at the back of his throat. That shit makes his chest burn and he can’t breathe anymore. It takes his breath from him as he tries to suck in oxygen that he can’t quite catch in the air. 

He can feel his blood beginning to boil rapidly with the heat rising within him. Clarity is being lost to him and emotion - savage, raw emotion - is beginning to take hold as it creeps up his spine.

Please, stop.

He puffs in deeply a few times, sinking to his knees and breathing his way through it. Refusing to relent, refusing to let it take him. 

But it always does. It’s stronger than him. 

He feels it then, as it mutates from anger into sheer blinding panic crippling him in seconds; that all too familiar freezing grip tightening around his ventricles and muscles as he tries to regain his composure that’s stripped from him. He’s reduced to naked, quivering flesh in a matter of seconds.

He tries to remember to breathe as it ices his teeth shut. But all rational thought is swallowed up like it always is. All he can hear is his blood pumping -thump-thump-thump-thump- and then that tiny little voice -thump-thump-thump-thump- that slithers out from the dark again.

You’re dying, the voice says. This is what death feels like, and you’re going to die alone, Joel.

-Thump-thump-thump-thump-

He grabs at his chest, closing his eyes; hearing nothing but steam rolling through his ears. And for a few moments, he relives his personal Hell over and over.

He’s dizzy, falling forward on all fours as he rides it out; the horses are the only witnesses to his sinking, to his drowning right before them. They can’t save him, no-one can. 

The mare brays, calling out to him to come back, but it's swallowed up in the panic as he sinks and flows away.

Once he does come back, when the ice eventually melts and his heart relaxes, he realises he’s still in it. Trapped in a living Hell that relents on and on. 

He didn’t die, no - he’s still fucking here. 

Joel breathes tightly, feeling the raw scrape in the back of his throat as he sits back on his ankles.

His hands run through his hair that feels matted with sweat, dripping damp around the back of his collar, and he's past the stage where he wants to yank it all out in agony. 

It takes him two attempts to stand, cursing at his fucking knee that still pulls tight just to spite him, and once he's upright, he pats the mare on the side assuringly. Her silk anchors him back to reality as he convinces himself that he’s here.

As he turns, Joel sees your shadow moving forward in the doorway; your voice echoing in, and he stops dead, wide eyed. 

“...I came to see where you’d got to. Food’s almost ready, or what we're passing off for food anyway these days…” you say, and you eye him carefully noting how paler he looks. “You alright?” 

Joel stares at you, wondering if you just witnessed him falling apart, wonders what you’d make of it and searching your eyes frantically for any pity.

He can take you hating him - he wonders if you do, and wouldn't hold it against you, because he hates himself - but he can’t take your pity. That would be the final death of him.

“M’fine.” Joel replies through a swallowed wheeze, and passes you, heading back into the shack.

Nine Years Ago...

It feels soft and it’s a sensation that pulls your attention for a moment. Diverts you out and away from the suffocating void.

It shouldn’t feel like that, surely? Not after all this time. Coarse, hardened, maybe. But not soft. 

You watch as he winds the long, soft layers of the clean bandage around your wrist. It hurts less now, the sting. But you’ve been numb for a while. 

He tucks it in place, his hands applying light pressure around it as he fires off gentle commands around you. Your mouth is lead, your head is empty. A couple of pairs of eyes hover behind him, their silence deafening.

He instructs them to fetch some more water and he instructs you to drink it, but you don’t. Or at least you can't remember if you do. You look down at your wrist. It feels so soft.

He doesn’t question you. He doesn't look at you to make you feel even more shitty than you already do. He doesn’t feel sorry for you. 

He’s just... patient.

He stays with you, night and day. Doesn’t leave your side, which is equal parts infuriating as well as terrifyingly comforting. You loathe him, with every fibre of your being for what he did. For what he does.

For how he keeps you alive and fighting. 

He assists you, when you need it most. When you need it intimately, without disgust, without hesitation. Taking a shit is difficult with only one working hand.

You fucked up, cut too deep.

Your wrist aches from the damage to the tendons. Years later you’ll still feel that ache, when it gets cold. When you overexert yourself. A constant reminder of your epic failure. A single finger blessed permanently numb and tingly forever. You envy it.

It'll get better. Give it time, he says. Give it patience. But you have none of those things anymore. Not even pain.

It's all numbed out, washed away.

He holds you whilst you cry, when you try to push him away, when you let out all of that anger, all of that fury onto him in short bursts.

He takes it. He absorbs it. He’ll bruise under his eye, but he takes it from you. 

Until you have nothing more to give. 

And then you sleep. For days. You wake up in his arms, it’s hot. Stifling. You haven’t showered, maybe in weeks. But he still holds you close, unperturbed by your foul smells.

You’re not even sure when the last time it was that you ate. You’re not even sure where you are anymore. Who you are anymore.

There's more of you, new faces you haven't met yet. Names you can't remember. He tells you them, introduces you as something you're not. You think you smile, agree with him. Reassure them like he does that they're safe now. That you'll protect them.

Days turn into weeks at an incomprehensible blur. Weeks into months, and it’s not until you’re both out with a small group hunting, laying snares for wild rabbits, that you finally talk about it. 

“I didn't want to be here, just for this.” You murmur. Anything but this.

Kelper stops and looks at you. “Too late. This is all we have now.”

You walk on, your gun lowered as you trample over dead branches, leaves. Everything is dead now. It's been a harsh winter. Freezing. And you're just so fucking tired of not feeling any of it.

“I can't sanction your inherent stupidity. I can empathise with it.” He says, following behind. “But you don’t get to do that. Not on my watch.”

“You had no right.” You scoff. "It was my choice, not yours."

“Fuck you.”

You stop and turn to him. His eyes are focused, a frown crushes them. Kelper's face is unrecognisable. You've not met this Kelper before.

“Fuck you.” he says again, a growl to his voice. “Don’t be so selfish.”

 You shake your head. 

“You don’t get to check out. Not when…” He wipes at his face with his palm quickly. “You owe it to yourself to fight. To keep fucking going.”

“There’s nothing left to keep going for. Your delusion is misplaced, Kelper. It always has been.” You murmur. 

He steps closer to you. His voice is a soft, muted sigh, expressing a gentle annoyance now for this new found situation. He never gets fully angry and you wonder what it would take to see him implode like a sun. His devastation would be glorious.

“You know that’s not true. That’s the fear talking.” Kelper says and shakes his head. “We endure and we fucking survive. For each other. This world isn’t done with us. It’s chaotic. It fucking hurts, I know it does. It's rotten, right down to the core. But it has more to offer. It's has to..." He sighs.

His eyes water, but he blinks it away quickly. "They need you."

"No they don't." You say.

"I need you, Goose. I can't do this without you. I don't want to do this without you.” Kelper says.

You gulp. Then your lips crash into his. He kisses you back, if but for a weak, selfish moment as a sob escapes you and into his mouth.

It's been so long since you've felt anything warm. And his lips are warm, his tongue. And like a moth to a flame, you want him to burn you alive. Immolate your entire being to ash and dust.

Kelper pushes you back gently as you gasp.

“I’m sorry.” You whisper, clutching back onto him. Feeling foolish, feeling relieved that you finally feel something again, even if it is embarrassment. 

He smiles and shakes his head. “It’s a shame you don’t have a cock, otherwise I’d be all over that.”

Kelper sighs, pulling you into his chest. He wears a ring around his neck. The most delicate, fragile thing about him, with a tiny, blue sapphire embedded into the metal. A symbol of his own fragility and losses.

It pushes against your clavicle and leaves an indent in your skin, long after he pulls away. 

You smile, and then a snuffle of laughter escapes your mouth. He laughs too. 

“I’m never leaving you. And you’re not ever leaving me, okay?” His eyes bore into yours, hollowing you out from the inside. "I fucking love you, you got that?" He jabs his finger gently onto the side of your skull.

You know its futile to fight it anymore. To resist. His belief is a parasite worming its way in to your gullet and feeding, getting fatter. He's right, this world isn't done. It can't be. Every day that you're alive is a day to make it better. A day to find a purpose, to find hope.

You know these words, the mantras, as you try to pick through and unjumble them again. To see the clarity in them that you know is there. You felt it once before, you can again, right?

To endure and survive, long after this world has changed.

He saved you. Three years later you'd return the favour. And you'd have this conversation again. Only then, you'll believe the conviction behind these words, these ideals, as you tell him, yell at him, what he's just told you, as you keep his lifeforce inside of his skin to fight another day with you.

They need you! I need you, Maverick!

This is how you'll save him. This is how he saves you. This is why you endure and survive.

You nod at Kelper and you both clutch on to one another. “Okay." You breathe.

You run your finger up and down the raised, smooth track of the scar; your sleeve rolled up as you stop stirring the pot of the savoury, and somewhat overbearingly salty, smelling canned meat that’s simmering slowly on the stove. 

The skin feels different, it’s healed over, physically. Thicker. Thicker skin. Impenetrable.

It pulls you out of your reverie back to the present day. He’ll be alright. You chant internally. He’ll be fine. It’s five days, get a grip. 

Your attention is diverted by the sound of one of the horses braying gently outside, and you stir the contents again, pulling down your sleeve.

You serve up the bread on some chipped plates, breaking some off the loaf between you. You inhale the scents and it takes you back to another life; a life that was simplistic in its mundane joy.

A time when a broken heart was the only thing to fear in the dark.

You realise Joel has been gone for a little while as the stew bubbles sticky in the pan.

“Joel?” You call out gently.

You wander out towards the stable when you get no response, and he hasn’t returned.

You call out to him again en route. “...I came to see where you’d got to. Food’s almost ready, or what we're passing off for food these days…” you say, with a slight mirth clacking around your teeth.

The scents of the stew can be smelt in your hair, your clothes. That and the firewood. Your stomach rumbles, but you’re not sure if it’s from hunger or the fact that it’s been tossed around on an emotional rollercoaster all day.

You stop as you round into the stable and see Joel staring at you, a little wide-eyed and sweaty in his hairline.

“You alright?” You query, eyeing him carefully.

He stares back at you with a peculiar look; some furtive panic swelling around his eyeballs. He seems heavier somehow, like he’s being crushed.

He snaps out of it; the frown returning in its rightful place and then his eyes drop away from yours. He wipes his hands down on the back of his jeans listlessly and steps forward, past you, leaving a cold prickle blooming on your skin.

“M’fine.” Joel replies. 

To be continued...

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[insipid-drivel]

Southern Colloquialisms To Enrage ESL Bloggers:

I see a few posts asking international and other tumblr bloggers to supply the literal English translations to common colloquial phrases for the sake of the sheer silliness, strangeness, and outright lunacy of what happens when you take a colloquialism and take it literally (Factoid: linguists refer to this process as “Pidgin”)

But what about Southern colloquialisms from the United States that don’t even make sense in their native language? Hello! My great-great grandmother was born in a ditch outside of a mud house with mud floors in the Dust Bowl in the United States and I didn’t know I had a Southern accent until my friends in the Pacific Northwest pointed it out!

I have relatives from all along the Bible Belt, aka the “Old South” that, you know... Yeah. A few of my cousins are awesome people and we trade notes over ridiculous phrases our relatives and elders used that we never understood, but accepted on a spiritual level. Here are some I grew up with:

“Got myself a short cold.” - “I have seasonal allergies and just mowed the lawn.”

“Oh, crap and molasses!” - “I forgot something at home and we’re already almost to our destination and I don’t want to swear in front of polite company and small children.”

“Eating high on the hog tonight!” - “We’re not eating scrap cuts and offal for dinner because steaks were 2-for-1 today.”

“Hoecake” - A form of pancake or “Johnny Cake” made from corn meal instead of flour. They’re delicious.

“Catawampus” or “Cattywampus” - “I’m gonna have to wash that off the ceiling but at least it worked. It’s messy.” 

 “Piddling” and “Piddly” - Any worthless or time-wasting endeavor or result that helps no one. “This paycheck is plum piddly, hoss. Quit piddlin’ ‘round and gimme that re-GI-nal manager’s job y’all know I’m qualified for.”

“Hoss” - “Boss” that you also think could probably beat the crap out of you behind an alley for catching you cheating at pool.

“That boy’s bigger’n a brick shithouse.” - “Your physique and muscular stature is intimidating to the degree that I am complimenting you by comparing you to a solid structure everyone would regret trying to knock down.” 

“Crazier’n a shithouse rat.” - “Dude, please talk to a psychiatrist.”

“Doohickey” - Any object or concept you can’t remember the name of but need urgently. Often accompanied by aggressive hand waving in the approximate direction of said object without actually looking at it.

“Y’all better hush up back there!” - Your grandmother’s polite way of warning you she’s going to take a flyswatter to your ass if you don’t shut the fuck up in Church.

“Y’all’d’ve” - A real contraction I can’t even stop myself from using meaning “You all should/would have” and am leaving here just for the English majors out there. 

“Dude” - A completely urbanized individual who has no idea how to live or function in a rural or wild setting without technology and utilities and can’t ride a horse or milk a cow.

“Proudboy” - Oh yes, it was already a thing. In Southern slang, a “Proudboy” is a neutered male horse that still acts like he’s a badass stallion the mares will want to mate with. “Poor proudboy ain’t noticed yet, bless his heart.” 

“Bless his/hers/your heart.” -  “Because the Good Lord sure didn’t bless your head.” It’s also used as a heartfelt form of “Thank you” when someone goes out of their way to offer you a kind and thoughtful gesture. Context is important.

“Don’t let the door hit ya where the Good Lord split ya.” - “You are no longer welcome in this space and if you don’t leave now I’m literally going to slam the door on your ass.” 

“Living in high cotton” - “I have achieved fiscal success and am using a colloquial term to refer to it without considering the fact that the term originated out of slave plantations.”

“If the creek don’t rise.” - Basically “Knock on wood.” A term meaning, “I’ve prepared for everything but what I can’t prepare for or anticipate and will achieve my goal so long as it is within my power to do it.” Bonus points if you pronounce “creek” as “crick”.

 “Fixin’ to” - Another polite way of indicating you’re about to aggressively undertake a task. “I’m fixin’ to whip ya ass, son.” This is not to be confused with “Fixin’s” singular, which refers to the ingredients or catalysts required to cook or complete something that requires assembly.

“Doesn’t amount to a hill of beans.” - A hill of beans is a Southern unit of measurement for anything that remains worthless regardless of how much of it you have, much like NFTs. “Your anti-TERF ‘sources’ don’t amount to a hill of beans, proudboy.”

“(Way) Over yonder” - “It’s over there, and the number of times I repeat the word ‘way’ prior to ‘over’ is indicative of how much yonder is between you and there. Sorry, what’s a yonder? You just asked me to show you! It’s way, way over there! Bless your heart...”

“Madder than a wet hen.” - “Oops, you have reached ‘yikes’ level of pissed off. Better skedaddle!”

“Skedaddle” - “RUN AWAY FAST NOW AAAAAAAAAAAAAA”

“It’s blowin’ up a storm.” - The sensory indicators of an oncoming heavy storm or hurricane that presents with the smell of ozone, high humidity, and an abrupt drop in temperature. Yes, it’s a thing; I can also smell when a storm’s gathering and it is a distinct set of very subtle odors.

“Pretty as a peach.” - “That individual whose pronouns are irrelevant but is most commonly a woman or proud of rocking a femme aesthetic is exceptionally beautiful and I admire them.” 

“Busy as a cat on a hot tin roof.” - “We’re overburdened and understaffed to the point that I am numb to all forms of communication that don’t involve someone being on fire.”

“Aren’t you precious.” - Not a question unless it begins with “Well,”. Depending on tone, it either is a high compliment toward someone’s appearance or behavior being exceptional, or as a sarcastic response to when someone says something insulting to you. “Awww, you’re so sweet, baby sister!” vs. “That insult was just adorable.” 

“Yes Sir/Ma’am/Mx” - Also applies to “No”. Answering a question with “Sir”, “Ma’am”, or “Mx” to someone that is your age or older is just considered universally respectful in polite conversation. If a Southern person suddenly stops answering your questions with your preferred pronouns or never does at all, it probably means they have 0 respect for you. When the small niceties disappear, you’ve fucked up.

“Frunchard” - “Front yard”, the opposite of the back yard. 

“Quit being ugly.” - “Stop being an asshole.”

“He thinks the sun comes up just to hear him crow.” - “You’re so stupidly full of yourself you’d probably honestly believe the sun rises and sets just for you.”

“That dog won’t hunt.” - “I know you believe it’s a good idea, but uh... it’s not.” Also used in place of replying to a person’s excuse you know is 100% bullshit.

“Well, I declare...” - “I am about to obliquely reveal broad adjectives reflective of my emotional state or opinion about this state of affairs and you should probably prepare yourself for more nonsensical colloquialisms.”

“My eyeballs are floating.” - “I need to pee so badly it isn’t going to be an option very, very soon.”

“Can’t never could.” - “Can’t never could do nothing!” That’s... that’s literally it. I can’t elaborate any more than saying it’s a term indicating you’re feeling optimistic. 

“Give him two nickels for a dime and he’ll think he’s rich.” - “This person’s stupidity is physically painful to experience.”

“That makes me wanna slap my mama!” - “I am so impressed/pleased with that experience that we’ve circled around to domestic violence somehow.” 

“You could start an argument in an empty house.” - “Go to anger management classes.”

“Ain’t got the good sense God gave a rock.” - “I cannot fathom this level of lack of common sense and forethought and require divine intervention immediately.”

“Slicker than pig snot on a radiator.” -  “That person is the Webster’s definition of a scumbag.”

“About as useless as a screen door on a submarine.” - I think that one is pretty self-explanatory.

“There’s not a pot too crooked that a lid won’t fix.” - “There’s someone out there for everyone. Don’t give up on finding love and companionship just because you’re different.”

[urbanflorals]

Hiii im Emma the amount of fandoms I'm in is concerning. The amount of books i'm writing at once is also concerning. Point is you should just be concerned, enjoy your stay at my blog - here is a piece of cake 🍰

-> Im Emma/Ems or whatever nickname u want to give me I love giving people nicknames and petnames. Basic info -> She/her, minor, capricorn, intj, australian, ferrari girl, i will defend my babies warnette and evajacks until i die, a believer in sarcasm, i post about my writing sometimes, sometimes - cause im too lazy to write, im an ambivert and a joey lynch and damon torrance defender

Books -> [series] The inheritance games, acotar, shatter me, the folk of the air, pjo [im new to the fandom] the prison healer, caraval, ouabh, dance of theives, divine rivals, boys of tommen, the lunar chronicles, the red queen, the naturals, six of crows, devils night, boys of tommen [standalone] Better than the movies, the do over, betting on you (basically anything by lynn painter), the cheat sheet, powerless, the summer of broken rules and A LOT more. 𓆝 𓆟 𓆞 𓆝 Music -> taylor swift, gracie abrams, [recently getting into] maisie peters, tate mcrea, sadie jean, a little of lana del rey, chase atlantic, artic monkeys, guns and roses, conan gray. my music is all over the place lmao. 𓆝 𓆟 𓆞 𓆝 Movies/tv shows -> friends, b99, babysitters club, alexa and katie, fuller house, now you see me 1&2, oceans 11,12&13, knives out 1&2, mamma mia, adam project, red notice, enola holmes, and pretty much most chick flicks 𓆝 𓆟 𓆞 𓆝 Other -> rain <3, christmas, baking/cooking, art -> I paint, sketch, and draw, whenever I feel like it. I mostly draw though. 𓆝 𓆟 𓆞 𓆝 Moodboards -> I love making moodboards here is the masterlist 𓆝 𓆟 𓆞 𓆝Writing -> i have a few side blogs but my public writing blog is @the-ballad-of-us and i also have a secret one see if you can find it ;)

Misc -> my dream life is to runaway to paris or new york and open up a bookstore/cafe/flower shop. (and to be the rich hot aunt the everyone loves), I want to travel when I'm older! [places] -> London, Paris, Italy, Greece, Turkey, Sweden, Germany, New York, Bahamas, Japan, Korea, and a bunch more!, I spend an unhealthy amount of time on Pinterest and Tumblr, 𓆝 𓆟 𓆞 𓆝 -> If we're moots, we're best friends, no takes backs. -> I over use lmao, lol, <3, :), and 😭 too much. im trying not to come on too strong and be rude lol (right there see? perfect example) -> My Wattpad -> My Pinterest -> I love talking to new people, and asks and dms (only for minors unless i agree to it :)) are always open <3 -> i most likely won't follow you back if you don't have an intro post, but if you want to get to know me just send me an ask :) 𓆝 𓆟 𓆞 𓆝

Special people ->@skeelly - kris, @percabeths-blue-cookies - har, @a-beautiful-fool - lou lou, @moonlightt444 - mare bear, @nqds - nadsies, @mqstermindswift - nicky, @lost-in-reveriie - addy, @art-of-fools - mr o'hare, @reminiscentreader - jas, @myster3y - my wifey kiara, @sophiesonlinediary - soph, @deprivedofbraincellsandsleep - zia, @runwiththerain - ives, @doyoujustnotwantto - mihane, @that-multi-fandom-hijabi - nova my world manipulation partner, @hijabi-desi-bookworm - esme, @gergthecat - scout, @baboland - aria, @missedyour21st - fay, @daydream-of-a-wallflower - kat + all my other moots that i didn't tag but rlly wanted too [if you want to be added or removed just let me know!! <333

𓆝 this is a safe space for everyone!! ↳ Dni - if you're a racist, homophobe, sexist, pedos, ect..

love ya all <3

Emma

[skeelly]

"when im fat and old and my kids think im a joke"

"who cares if im pretty if i fail my finals??"

"who's your daddy?" (IYKYK ;))

"im tired and it's winter"

"i wish i could block me out"

"wanna die"

hi!! welcome. i suggest putting a seatbelt on and i will pay for your therapy, dont worry. :)

☘ "hi, it's me. im the problem it's me.": im kristen! you can call me kristen or kris. minor (im 14 if you really wanna know). she/her. intp-t. ambivert. 🇵🇭. reader (sort of). notes app writer (sometimes). i could not care less about my dumb typos so deal with it. i suck at math. biiiiiggg ophelia wilde fan. delulu swiftie no.9273737277. rodrigoxpartidge's biggest supporter. claire rosinkranz is the reason for my existence. gracie abrams ily. "how long can we be a sad song?". im married to grayson hawthorne. mirrorball//tolerate it girlie 4 life. stromboli fan until the day i die. nick girlie by heart. pjo stan at this point. harry potter simp. hermione granger is my mother. sherlock and enola holmes stan. "no body, no crime". haylor (sorry not sorry). one direction is my life. FREE PALESTINE. kenji, my spirit animal. jude is so ughhhhh perfect. javery shipper cause jameson for avery, grayson for me :3. massive k!nye west hater so if you like him, please leave. but i love rap. certified professional procrastinator. capricorn (not a believer in those things though). i love reading poetry. correct grammar = non existent. i can (technically) fluently speak 3 languages. i can speak (basic, not much) about 5 languages?. piano enthusiast. very big sport girly (football *soccer. america football can kiss my toes. that sport sucks*, f1, volleyball, badminton, basketball, tennis and hockey fan). walker scobell is perfect and i love him. c²>>>>. sharl leclerc. max the axe. oscar paistry. ankara messi. sewy. leah is my bestie. dior is the best artist no cap. pookie nation frfr. charlie's luke is best luke. andrew is underrated. olivea is jusssttt.

☘ rappers i like//listen to: eminem, lil skies, ysbtril (does he count?), nicki minaj, doja cat (:3), cardi b (rarely), dominic fike (does he count? yk, melodic rap). tbh idk who else lol.

☘ all around favorite artists: taylor swift, olivia rodrigo, claire rosinkranz, gracie abrams, the weeknd, doja cat, lil skies, ysbtril, selena gomez (?), harry styles, niall horan, louis tomlinson, zayn, liam payne, one direction, clairo, conan gray, lana del rey, one republic, why don't we, the neighborhood, billie elish, ariana grande, abba, michael jackson.

☘ navigation?:

rambles: #kristenstedtalk

anything i don't proof read: #i didn't proof read this lmao

grayson hawthorne: #loml

cringe posts that idk why i posted: #/j or #post to delete?

asks: #askaroo or #ty for answering <3

sturniolo triplets: #stombolis

☘ follower count (as of march 20): 313 (im actually not sure lol)

☘ DNI: racists, homophobes, sexists and anyone that's ok with any form of discrimination

✼　 ҉ 　✼　 ҉ 　✼ 　 ҉ 　✼　 ҉ 　✼ 　 ҉ 　✼　 ҉ 　✼

☘ safe space for: everyone lol

☘ my other accounts: @crysten my writing and other stuff @skeellymellows book rants (AAAH I CANT TAG)

☘ books/movies/series: harry potter, pjo, aggtm, tig, sherlock/enola holmes, little women, black beauty, tsitp, better than the movies. hp, pjo, enola holmes, tsitp, gilmore girls, gossip girl, mean girls, legally blonde, little women, hunger games (haven't read the books), marvel (barely lol), secretariat (my favorite :>>). tbh idk what else lol

☘ my people:

@stvrgirl111//@stvrlighhttt (mare) #maree

@urbanflorals (em) #walkers wife

@gergthecat (scouty) #evil batman sourdough guy #bread man #george

@mqstermindswift (quason) #nickyy

@nqds (NADS) #nads! or was it #NADS! ??

@reminiscentreader (JAS) #theworldneedsmorepeoplelikejas

@sophiesonlinediary (fifi) #fifi <3

@myster3y (kiaraah) #kiaraah

@regisdvmb(reggggg) ✶ @coco6420 (cocoo) ✶ @eddiethebanished (finn :)) ✶ @themidnightarcher ✶ @starchasers-stuff ✶ @what-about-wendy (wendy <3) ✶ @lucinda-008 ✶ @foaming-sea ✶ @lonelycatsblog ✶ @good-old-fashioned-lover ✶ @my-mind-is-frozen ✶ @dandelions-fly-in-summer-skies ✶ @baboland ✶ @blocked-zombieartist ✶ @sturn-wrld ✶ @swiftieannah ✶ @weeping-in-the-willows ✶ @s1xseasonsandamov1e ✶ @the-red-archer ✶ @svnflowermoon ✶ @helpimhopelesslyinlove ✶ @doyoujustnotwantto ✶ @atwtmvftvtvsgavralpsss ✶ @oh-whale13 ✶ @bonesofnixie ✶ @art-of-fools (stephanieee) ✶ @percabeths-blue-cookies ✶ @imthatweirdratinthecorner (a rat <3) ✶ @letmeseeallthefrogsinthecity ✶ @that-multi-fandom-hijabi (novaaa) ✶ @rachellelizabethhdare ✶ @sluttypoetsdepartment ✶ @kimu-dem ✶

[frameacloud]

Page number 9 of Theri There, originally posted on October 24, 2005. Description in alt text.

First page | Previous page | Next page

Note from 2005: The animal design within the brain in the second-to-last panel is based upon the White Mare of Uffington, a 370-foot design etched on a British hillside in the first century BCE.

Note from 2024: Some parts of this have become dated, and I would write it differently now. For example, I wrote "identify with" when I meant "identify as." I also wrote "spirit," when the more suitable word might be "soul." In the second panel, some words in that list fell out of use. The therian community hasn't tended to say "phenotype" or "were shape" for many years.

The ninth panel didn't get my intent across very well. It's in the punchline position, which I had meant to signify that this one disrupts the pattern of the sequence before it. It's not supposed to mean that some therianthropy or otherkinship is pretend. Therians and otherkin see their therianthropy or otherkinship as a genuine part of themselves. That is essential to being a therian or otherkin. If it's nothing more than a pretend roleplaying character that you can put on or take off at a whim and is not a long-term intrinsic part of you, then it's not therianthropy or otherkinship, it's something else, though it might look similar in some ways.

In that panel, the guy shouting "Impostor!" refers to how regulars in forums for therians and otherkin watch out for a common problem in all those forums. A newcomer mistakes the forum for roleplay, and then starts roleplaying there, not realizing they're doing this in a space where folks discuss their own genuine everyday experiences. When the newcomers come to understand their mistake, it's common for them to either call the regulars crazy, or double down on their roleplay story for mischief. Other times, a newcomer intentionally poses as a parody of therians and otherkin, just for laughs.

In reaction to this problem, later in the 2000s, therian forums started banning all roleplay, and grilling newcomers with a barrage of personal questions and judgments to make sure they understood where they were and that their story checked out. This was a change from how our earlier forums saw it as rude to question others' identities, and welcomed roleplay for nonhuman self-expression.

That brings me to another aspect of what I was trying to get at with panel nine. Although therianthropy and otherkinship aren't roleplay, roleplay is often an important part of that experience. Roleplay is useful for exploring what sort of person you are or want to be, so naturally some people discover themselves through it. Some people sincerely are therians or otherkin, but they dislike philosophy debates about it, and their preferred way to share it with friends is through roleplay. Some people use roleplay to achieve some forms of self-expression that they can't otherwise. Some people have roleplaying characters that are deeply meaningful to them, far more than a mere disposable pretend role, something that they say represents their "real me," or who they'd be if they could. The distinction between therianthropes and furries is somewhere in this paragraph. However, it would be just as much of a mistake to say that therians and furries both identify as animals as it would be to say that the concept of the self as an animal is deeply meaningful for therians and not for furries.

Here’s the DreamWidth discussion forum for this page.

[written-with-blue-ink]

Could we get headcanons of different pets the Genshin men would have and how they would interact with them or their personalities? Especially Diluc and Alhaitham. I love men with animals, the biggest green flag

I got you, boo! I honestly couldn't stop once I started so added a few other characters

Alhaitham, Diluc, Kaeya, Childe, Cyno TW: neglected animals in Cyno's

Pet Headcanons

Alhaitham

She showed up in a previous post but I think he would have a cat

An Egyptian Mau to be precise, her name would be Asal (Persian for honey) after her golden/bronze coat

She would 100% be a curious and very intelligent kitten who loves to run around and play

Type of cat who just climbs up fabric/clothes and will sit on your shoulder or around your neck

Will bite and pull on your ear if you oversleep and don’t feed her

Literally embodiment of “Ray of Sunshine”

Absolutely loves Kaveh for some reason (totally not because he spoils her rotten)

“Kaveh, stop feeding her so much, she’s getting fat. I don’t want two spoiled lazy cats”

“Excuse you, she’s perfect and skinny as is… Wait did you insult me too?!”

Does tricks! she knows how to sit, shake, tap (where she taps her nose to your finger/thumb) and is learning more

Diluc

A big dog man

I could see him with rottweilers, german shepherds or bernese mountain dogs with a name like “Bear” or “Beau”, short, bold, and simple.

Originally gotten as guard dogs for a paranoid Ragnvindr who has many enemies and just got back from a murder spree in Snezhnaya, they now work more as emotional support dogs for him and others

He also still has his childhood tortoise (because those things live forever) which he named ‘Clip’ as a child

He’s very mellow, the dogs treat him as one of their own

They also cuddle and sleep together, two dogs wrapped around a tortoise who rests his head on the dog’s neck

When he and Kaeya were in their older teens, Crepus got them both large Clydesdale horses when they both joined the Knight’s Cavalry. 

He named his horse Skinfaxi and Kaeya has Hrímfaxi (named after the sun and moon horses from Norse mythos)

Skinfaxi is one hell of a mare, it took Diluc a lot of time, energy, and patience to get her to behave (though she still has a playful streak)

Would buck him off during training but she was the fastest horse in the Cavalry

He would take her on long rides at night through the woods and around Dawn Winery just to get her to trust him

Kaeya

Obviously, Hrímfaxi, who, unlike his sister, was much more timid.

They both got along really well, with no issues, unlike their siblings.

The two riding are almost like one being, completely in synch

With the cavalry gone, Mondstadt City doesn’t have a lot of space for a horse so he stays with his sister at Dawn Winery

Kaeya comes by whenever he can to ride him

But besides her he would take care of the stray cats around Mondstadt City, refilling food and water bowls around the city while on patrol

One day, after a long night, Kaeya woke up to clawing and meowing at the door and saw his favorite cat, a Calico named Lucky, wandered inside and flopped on his rug in pain, crying as he noticed the giant lump coming from her stomach

By sunrise, he now had a mother of three kittens refusing to leave his house.

Two girls (One Calico like her mom and the other orange) and a boy (A black cat with faint stripes)

He lets Klee name them: Sunny (Orange), Cloudy (Calico) and Stormy (the black cat)

The girls are definitely headstrong while Stormy is shy and tends to hide behind his big sisters

(as a kaeya kinnie with three stray/outdoor cats, he gets them too)

Childe

From a family with lots of big dogs, like Great Pyrenees, Samoyed, and Tibetan Mastiffs

When he moved to Liyue for deployment and got super lonely, his subordinates weren’t super close to him and locals didn’t trust him as a Harbinger, he grew rather lonely

Till he went into the countryside to deal with some Treasure Hoarders and saw them using weasels and ferrets to carry contraband and money around without notice

What really sold him was watching a little kid in the camp playing with one and rubbing noses with it

The next day Ajax had two ferrets running around his apartment with the most expensive ferret setup money could buy

They are the most playful, feral things who love running around and play-fighting each other

Named Jayson and Lila, a pair of twins

(totally didn't name them after the stoats from Burrow’s End)

Loves them so much and plays with them throughout all of his free time

Leaves them to his assistant whenever he is away or is busy (who proceeds to give her hell)

They love it when he wears big coats/parkas so they can climb in and snuggle

Cyno

Didn’t have pets growing up

His first pet was on a mission as General Mahamatra, arrested some guy, went through his house for evidence, and found a severely malnourished and neglected Leopard Gecko

Some of his claws had fallen off to nubs due to layers of sheaded skin build up and he was cold to the touch from lack of heating. 

The lizard curls up into his warm hands and it immediately melts the General Mahamatra’s heart

Immediately putting him back and picking up the cage, he leaves the rest of the investigation to his coworkers before rushing to Gandharva Ville

Scared Tighnari and Collei with how quickly he rushed in through the door with a giant glass terrarium.

Looks calm and collected but is sitting in the corner with Collei just staring at Tighnari and the lizard, internal panic on the inside

Once Tighnari gives an analysis, Cyno asks Nari to watch the lizard for a few days and he will come back for it

Proceeds to spend two days straight researching Leopard geckos and how to take care of them

Also blows a good portion of his paycheck on supplies for the gecko, a larger tank, lights, and heating pads, etc. 

Picks him up and takes him home as soon as the terrarium is set up

Names him something dumb like “Geck” or a combo of his and Tighnari’s names like “Tighno” 

Most people don’t know besides Tighnari and Collei that the gecko exists, and why would they? Who’s gonna believe that the General Mahamatra has a tiny lizard as a pet

When Alhaitham and Kaveh find out Cyno has a pet, Cyno immediately pulls out pictures from his wallet like a proud dad

Whenever he is away for a while, he has Collei house sit and take care of the lizard, pays her generously

Will just sit on top of Cyno’s head or shoulder and chill

Loves to chirp and make little noises for fun/comfort

(also a leopard gecko parent and my gecko is a rescue with all these attributes from being mishandled)

[blackopals-world]

Hi! I saw the latest post about the headcanons about yuumaid au! But can you please do the same headcanon but this time, fem s/o is a charwoman and she's extremely shy and timid. Please 🙏

I'm not sure what this request means and it didn't name characters I'm choosing whoever my wheel lands on. (Mostly because is late and I'm tired. A little note I dont use s/o when i write because i dont use first person. I don't do any self insert writing. If you see yourself as Yuu then I welcome you to do so because they can be whoever you desire.)

Timid Maid!FemYuu x Jamil Viper, and Jack Howl, Epel Felmier

(The wheel has spoken)

Jamil- Mousy

She wasn't a new worker. She was hired by the Al Asim family to ease his burden of taking care of Kalim. She comes a few times of week to do chores that were lagging.

Jamil was suspicious of her and banned her from cooking meals. She didn't fuss and nodded quickly before scurrying off.

Jamil was unsure Kalim even knew she existed because of how quiet she was and how rare spotting her was. When Jamil gave her orders she'd stare at her feet and nod.

When Jamil got close she'd tremble like a mouse. He found it so adorable the way she'd look at him with tearful eyes when she was scared. She even squeaked when he pulled her close after hunting for her around the palace.

She was to cute to not tease.

He'd find her in whatever corner she worked in and give her tasks that forced her out in the open. The mouse girl hated being watched or having Kalim see her and pull her into festivities. Jamil even played the good guy and pulled her away to do something that allowed her to be alone.

Yuu was definitely his favorite form of entertainment.

Jack Howl- Little Lamb

The prince of the Kingscholar family needed to be cared for. So she was hired to do so. But whyshould a lamb like her have to do this.

Leona was well, scary. Savanaclaw was scary too.

Loud, noisy, and nosy predators. She didn't like predators. They pull her tail and her fluff. They made fun of her all the time and are just really mean.

She hadn't known that she was being watched by a wolf. A very protective wolf.

Jack drove away any beast who tried to harass the lamb. Not because he liked her or anything. I just hated bullies.

He didn't mean to spy on her of course. It happened on accident. When he first layed eyes on her he was drawn to her fluffy wool and droopy ears. He just wanted to touch, he didn't mean to scare her. He Larned to keep his distance but he couldn't help pay attention when he heard the bell that hung at her neck jingle as she cleaned.

He worked up the courage to befriend her which was difficult because she was always watching everything around her with her doe like eyes. Lambs don't trust wolves and they don't make a habit of befriending them.

But trust can be won. The more a lamb strays from the crowd, the more likely they will get picked up by the wolf.

Epel Felmier- Sweet Magnolia

Grandma said she needed help around the house and farm so she brought a girl around. She was a daughter of a distant family friend who would come by to help.

She was a quiet little thing and barely strayed where you could see her. The only time you'd know she was around was from the clean space she'd left behind.

She could cook too but she never showed her face during dinner.

A few of Epel's cousins came by and said they saw her a few times at the river writing and she was as pretty as a peach. The cousins tried to talk to her and she just skittered away soon as they saw her.

They even mentioned going and ask'n her pa to let her court her for her hand, she was so pretty.

Epel had seen her a handful and would admit she was as rosy cheeked as a bush. But she was also as timid as a rabbit. No one but Grandma was able to get close. She was elusive and Epel was only able to catch up if he was on horseback.

He met her by that same river when he was leading his horse to water. They were separated only by different banks as his favorite mare Sugarcane waded into the water. For whatever reason the mare was really interested in whatever the maid girl had and she saddled up next to her to nip at what she was eating.

The maid was eating a sandwich out of her picnic basket as the nosy horse began trying to rifle though her lunch.

Epel had to charge across the river to grab the old nag before she caused too many problems.

The girl laughed as he scolded the horse and offered up her last slice of pie she had been saving to the boy before packing up and going on her way.

His cousins where right. That wallflower. Well she was pretty as a magnolia in May.

(magnolias actually do bloom in May and are my favorite flowers)

[flightlessangelwings]

More Than a Job- Part 1/2

Din Djarin x fem!reader (no use of y/n)

Word count: 5.2k

Warnings: bodyguard!Din, mutual pining, feelings, protective!Din, minor violence, attacks on reader, badass!reader, reader has an older brother and they have a good relationship, me making up a planet and some lore, reader wears a corset, lingering touches, kisses, so much pining!!! This takes place after the end of season 2 but before Book of Boba Fett

Notes: This was all inspired by that post about your appointed knight tenderly helping you lace up your corset and I went 👀 bodyguard Din! No smut in this chapter, but part 2 will be smutty so this fic and my blog is 18+ only still! And I named reader’s brother after my good friend @thematthewmurdock​ because I like giving my friends cameos in my fics lol! Let me know what you think of this one cause I’m really excited for this!! 

To stay up to date on when I post, feel free to also follow my update blog and turn on post notifs @flightlessangelwings-updates​

~

Alone. 

For the first time in a long time, the Mandalorian found himself alone. He used to be accustomed to being alone, but since Grogu, he grew fond of the little one’s companionship. And while it was always his mission to return Grogu to his people, Mando still felt the sting of sorrow at letting him go. But, he was with his people now, and the Jedi would take good care of him.

Now it was time for the Mandalorian to find his own people.

Mando heard whispers of the whereabouts of a clan of Mandalorians, but the only concrete information he could get was a direction of where to go to find them. It wasn’t much, but it was a start, so Mando made his way to Mare. Ironically, it was in a neighboring system to Mandalore. Mando wondered if that was a coincidence or not.

“I’m looking for Prince Rion,” the Mandalorian stated simply when he walked into the throne room.

It was a simple space, but still elegant. Mando could tell it was built more for function than glam. Instead of a throne at the top to look down on subjects, there were several tables all with various plans and holos of the planet. It was clearly meant to state that the rulers saw themselves as equals to their people, not above them. It was admirable.

A well dressed man who stood in the center of his constituents raised his head, “Please, just call me Rion,” he crossed the room to meet his guest, “What do I owe the pleasure of a Mandlaorian in my palace? We haven’t seen one of your people in a very long time.” He was warm and friendly, but he also had an air about him that was immediately respectable.

“I’m looking for information on a clan of Mandalorians,” he replied, “I was told you could tell me where to find them.”

Rion didn’t seem surprised by the question; Mare had been a sanctuary for Mandalorians in the past, and several of their secret paths went through the planet. But, ever since the great purge and wars, there have been less and less of them. This was the first one Rion had met in many years. 

He sat in quiet contemplation for several moments before he finally answered, “I know the paths, Mando. I think I can help you,” he paused, “But I’ll need something in return as well. Call it a favor for a favor. I’ll even pay you handsomely too.”

Mando knew he wasn’t going to get something for free, “What do you need?”

Rion clasped his hands behind his back and paced, “I don’t know if you’ve heard of the state of my planet, but I’ll be honest with you,” he took a few steps closer and gave him a solemn look, “It’s not great,” Rion sighed as he released his hands and the facade of the wise, strong ruler melted away to reveal a desperate man, “My parents, the King and Queen, were killed recently, and I’ve had to take charge in a rush. We’ve never been sympathetic to the Empire, and even though it’s gone, sympathizers still try to spark the flames of what used to be. I cannot allow that to happen. My people must remain free,” he ran his hands over his face, “But until I can assume full power, my palace and I are vulnerable. We are a people of tradition, you see, and my hands are tied until I’m officially crowned ruler of Mare… And that won’t happen for several weeks…”

“So you need a bodyguard?” Mando assumed.

“Yes,” Rion replied, “But not for me. Let me explain…”

*

You let out a heavy breath as you made your way down the hallway. Something in you told you that your brother didn’t summon you for idle chat, and you prepared yourself for anything he could have in mind. The two of you were as close as could be, especially after you lost your parents. Rion was a kind, smart and admirable man, and you looked up to him. 

“Ah, there are are, I’ve been waiting for you,” your brother noticed you the moment you walked into the room. 

He was dressed elegantly, as he always was, and he carried himself like the leader he was born to be. Even when his path to the throne of your home plant was fast tracked, he still looked out for you and watched over you, sometimes you thought a little too much.

“Alright Rion, what was it you needed me so urgently for?” You looked out of place in the room as the only one who was more dressed down. It made those who were unfamiliar with you underestimate you, but that's how you preferred it. You were your brother’s right hand, and you were a skilled and valuable member of his team.

Unfortunately it also made you a target, especially recently.

Your brother gave you a look that he only used when you weren’t going to like what he had to say, “Listen,” he said your name as he crossed the room and stood in front of you, “Things are worse than I realized lately,” he put his hands on your shoulders as you braced yourself for what was to come, “And until my coronation goes though, you’re at risk.”

“I can handle myself, Rion, you know that,” you fought to keep your voice calm, although you didn’t like where he was going with this. 

It was true that since your parents died, attacks on you and your brother increased. Those who still sympathized with the Empire tried their best to get rid of you and your brother so that the throne could be filled with someone who was more aligned with their views. But, you both were strong and tough, and you’ve evaded the blaster fire and vibroblades until now.

Your family fought hard to keep peace within your system, and it wasn’t easy. But, both you and your brother knew you were doing the right thing, and you were determined to keep doing so for as long as you could. Until he was officially named ruler of the planet Mare, though, the two of you were more vulnerable, and your brother did not like that at all.

“I know you can,” he sighed, “But until my coronation, I don’t have the power to fully protect you,” he paused as he felt the weight of your stare, “That’s why…”

You raised your eyebrows.

Rion turned around and gestured to the shadowy figure in the corner, “Sis, meet Mando. He’s going to protect you until I’m crowned.”

“What?!” you lost your control, “Rion, I don’t need a bodyguard!”

“Please don’t be a pain in the ass for him,” your brother’s voice was stern, “It’s only temporary. Just until the courts officially move the power to me. Then those Empire sympathizers wouldn’t dare attack us.”

You huffed in frustration as you crossed your arms. A whisper of a curse escaped your lips.

“Please,” Rion whispered your name, “You’re my little sister… My only family left. I can’t lose you too.”

It wasn’t often that you heard your brother sound like that, and the desperate look in his eyes deflated you a bit. Deep down, you knew he was right, you just didn’t want to admit it. You were alive so far, but how much longer would your luck last? How long could you keep up with your own duties to the planet and fight for your very life?

You let out a heavy sigh, “Alright.”

Rion pulled you into a hug, “Good,” he whispered into your ear, “Thank you.”

“Uh-huh,” was all you could respond with as you broke away from your brother and met the helmated gaze of the Mandalorian, “Alright Mando, guess we’re going to be getting to know each other very well.”

You turned and made your way out of the room, and the Mandalorian silently followed. He was stopped, however, by your brother who grabbed onto his arm and leaned in, “She’s tough, but she’s got a good heart. Just don’t let her stubbornness get to you,” he paused, “And once you’re done, I promise you’ll get paid well and I’ll give you the information you wanted. You have my word.”

Mando nodded and went to follow you out the door.

*

The first day was filled with council meetings in which you had to argue your way for anything. The others at the table seemed to talk down to you, no matter how right you were about the topic. As he watched, Mando realized the reason for your guarded behavior: you were like this because you had to be. You had to fight for anything and everything, even if your brother was well respected.

And the bizarre part for Mando was how right you were about everything. The lives of everyone would be better if they would only listen to you. And you could get more done if you didn’t have to argue for yourself every step of the way. 

“Have fun today, Mando?” you asked him as he escorted you back to your room.

Through the modulator in his helmet, Mando just scoffed.

You couldn’t help the smirk as you felt his eyes roll even if you couldn’t see them, “Well, this is me,” you gestured to your door, “I think Rion has you set up right next door,” you didn’t know why you suddenly felt nervous under his gaze. 

“Let me check though first,” Mando barged past you, “Always do this every night,” he told you as he swept through your room.

You were too flustered to say anything. There was a stranger in your room, and you didn’t quite know how you felt about it. You watched him move swiftly, despite the heavy armor he wore. You caught a glimpse of his silhouette under the cape as he bent over to check something, and you couldn’t help but stare at his legs. Suddenly, you were glad for more reasons than one that he wasn’t staying in your room with you.

“Everything’s good,” Mando turned back around and stepped in front of you, “You alright?” he tilted his helmet to the side as he saw the expression on your face. He wasn’t sure what to make of the look you gave him, and it made him swallow hard.

“Fine,” you regained your composure, “See you tomorrow I guess.”

Mando nodded as he left the room, “Keep your blade and comm close. Lock the door behind me,” he told you before he stepped out.

The moment the door slid closed, you let out a heavy breath, and you didn’t know that just on the other side of the door, the Mandalorian did the exact same thing. This was going to be a long few weeks…

*

And a long few weeks it was. Mando watched from the shadows over your shoulder as you went to council meetings and fought for the fate of your planet and the safety of your people. He watched as you displayed the same admirable traits as your brother, even if others couldn’t quite see it at times.

The way your brows furrowed when you tried to hide your exacerbation, the way your shoulders relaxed when you finally had a breakthrough, even the fierce look in your eyes were all captivating to the Mandalorian. The more time he spent with you, the more he became enamored with you, and Mando had to fight off his own quickly growing feelings for you.

“It’s just a job,” he’d whisper to himself at night when he was alone in the room next to yours. And yet, he couldn’t help but think, “The kid would really like her.” 

On the other side of the wall, you let out a heavy sigh as you started to feel comforted by the Mandalorian’s presence. What you thought was an annoyance at first, quickly evolved into something else, and the few times he wasn’t at your side, you suddenly felt lonely. You didn’t even have to look behind you to know he was there, and you always felt his watchful eye on you.

There were no attacks yet, and the whispers of threats always turned out to be rumors, but you wondered how fiercely Mando would defend you if something were to happen. You knew how to handle yourself, you and your brother both learned young how to fight, but his broad, armored body made your mind race. Your imagination ran wild as you wondered what it would be like to be in his embrace. 

“Safe,” you exhaled with a sigh as you thought out loud, “He makes me feel safe,” is what you decided it would be like in his arms.

While you were stubborn and reluctant at first, you quickly grew fond of the man in beskar who always watched over you. The more the days went by, the more you wondered if he was only so attentive because it was a job, or if he started to feel the same way about you. 

Of course, you would actually have to say something to know for sure. And you felt like you needed to apologize for the way you were short with him when you first met. That was when you had an idea.

*

“Here,” you shoved a small package into the Mandalorian’s hands as he walked you back to your room at the end of the day like he always did, “I’m sure my brother is keeping you well fed, but take this as a special token of appreciation from me. It’s a small comfort cake I’ve always loved. I don’t know if you like sweets much but I just thought…”

“Thank you,” Mando interrupted your rambling with a genuine tone. He tilted his head the way he did almost every time he looked at you now, and it was a gesture you had come to adore.

You let out a deep breath as you flashed a quick nervous smile, “I also wanted to apologize,” you waited for him to say something, but when he kept silent you went on, “I’ve been kind of a hard-ass with you, and I know it’s not your fault or anything and it wasn’t fair of me to take my frustrations on my brother out on you. So, I’m sorry.”

Mando watched you for a long moment, and you wished more than anything you could read his expression. You wondered what thoughts ran through his head as you saw the subtle way his helmet lowered as he looked you over.

“Don’t worry about it,” was what he finally broke his silence with. He stared at you for another long beat, and you thought his gaze dropped down to your lips, but you couldn’t quite tell. “Good night.”

You fought to keep your face neutral as you dropped your shoulders in disappointment, “Good night,” you replied before you turned and went into your room.

Once the door closed and locked and you heard the Mandalorian’s footsteps retreat, you let out a heavy sigh, “What am I doing?” you asked yourself as you changed and got ready for bed. You went through your usual routine, as well as the added safety measures Mando told you to do. You checked all entryways, made sure your door was locked and secure, and placed your knife and comm on your bedside table just in case.

Once you were sure you were safe, you flopped onto your large, plush bed and sighed again. Sleep did not come as easily as you had hoped, though, and you found your mind was full of thoughts of your bodyguard. You wondered about his past, and what he planned to do once your brother felt you no longer needed him at your side. You wondered if he would miss you after he went away. You wondered what it would be like if he were here beside you right now…

But your thoughts were interrupted as the glass of your bedroom window suddenly shattered and men dressed in all black poured in. You yelped as you shot up and instinctively grabbed your knife before they could grab you.

“You’re coming with us, sweetheart,” one of them sneered as he reached for you.

“I don’t think so,” you quipped back as you lashed out at him with your knife.

In the next room, Mando quickly leapt to his feet the moment he heard commotion. Sleep hadn’t taken him yet either, and he laid awake with thoughts of you in his head when he heard the sound of glass breaking and your shouts.

Still fully armed, Mando rushed to your door and unlocked it with his keycard. He whispered your name to himself and hoped that the seconds it took him to get up didn’t make him too late. But, as he bolted into your room with his blaster in his hand, the sight before him took him by surprise.

You stood in the middle of the scattered bodies on the floor as you panted heavily. In your eyes was a fierceness Mando had never seen before, and it made his breath hitch in his throat. When you heard the door open, you spun around, ready to attack again, but you immediately dropped your shoulders when you saw the Mandalorian there. 

“Mando!” you sighed in relief.

He breathed your name as he stepped closer to you, “Are you alright?”

Just as you opened your mouth to answer, another crash through the adjoining window called both your attention. One last man barreled through the other window to your bedroom and leapt right for you. You braced yourself, but the Mandlorian was faster and he rushed forward and shot the man right in the chest before he reached you.

Both of you watched the last man drop to the floor dead as Mando quickly rushed to your side, “You ok?” he repeated as he clasped his hand around your arm and looked you over for any injury.

You gazed into the visor of his helmet and you felt your heart pound in your chest at the way he held your arm so tightly, “I’m fine,” you let go of the breath you held, “See, I told you I could handle myself,” you added with a smirk to try and diffuse the tension you suddenly felt.

Mando tilted his helmet to the side as you swore you heard a short laugh, “I didn’t doubt you.”

A sharp exhale escaped your lips as you found yourself at a loss for words. Between the adrenaline that rushed through your veins and the way the Mandalorian held you, your mind swam with a thousand thoughts. 

Before either of you could speak, though, a groan from the floor interrupted.

“If we can’t take you alive…” he hissed through gritted teeth as he lifted his arm and revealed a detonator in his hand.

Mando reacted quicker than you did and with your name under his breath, he grabbed you and rushed you toward the open window. Suddenly, you found yourself swept up in his arms and before you knew what happened, an explosion shook your bedroom. Mando got you out just in time, though, and he leapt out the open window with you in his arms.

With one arm secretly around your waist, Mando pulled out a grapple and flicked it toward the frame of your window. He used the leverage of the cable and swung you both forward into the window of the floor below your bedroom. You gasped and buried yourself in the crook of his neck as he used his body to shield you as the two of you crashed through the window and landed on the floor safely.

All the breath felt forced out of your body as you hit the ground hard and immediately felt a weight on top of you. Mando had positioned himself over you to protect you in case there were any more intruders and he pointed his blaster out into the open space, ready to attack. As you panted underneath him, he scanned the area and it wasn’t until he was sure you were safe that he finally moved.

“Looks like that was all of them,” Mando said as he lifted himself off of you, “Let me help you up,” he extended his hand to you.

Although you had just fought for your life, you found that you missed the feeling of Mando on top of you, and you were almost disappointed that he got up so quickly. It took a moment for your mind to catch up to you as you stared at his extended hand for several moments. It wasn’t until he said your name with concern that you snapped out of your head and took his hand.

“I’ve got you,” Mando’s voice was soft and comforting as he helped you onto your feet.

Your hand stayed securely in his as your eyes never felt his visor. There were so many things you wanted to say to him at that moment, but nothing came out of your mouth. And before you found your voice, the door to the room you were in suddenly burst open.

Mando quickly shoved you behind him and pulled out his new weapon-the darksaber. He had it braced in front of you both, ready to attack, but he relaxed when he saw that it was your brother and his guards. Rion breathed your name in relief as he lowered his own weapon.

You peeked out from behind the barrier of beskar that protected you and gave your defender a square on his arms, “Rion,” you glanced at Mando for a moment in a silent thanks before you rushed over to your brother.

“Are you ok? What happened?” Rion looked you over and his eyes held a panic that you had never seen before, “Get to the healers at once,” he shouted orders to his guards.

“Wait… Rion…” you looked back at Mando with a worried look as you were pushed out of the room before you could stop them.

Your brother glanced down at the unmistakable weapon in the Mandlaorian’s hand. His mouth dropped open in surprise before he regained his composure and crossed the room to stand in front of him, “Thank you,” his voice still trembled no matter how he tried to hide it, “Thank you for protecting my sister.”

“It was my job,” Mando’s own voice betrayed him as he sheathed his weapon and secured it on his belt.

“Mmmhmm,” Rion didn’t sound convinced, “I think there’s more for us to talk about, Mando…”

*

You found yourself in a whirlwind as preparations for your brother’s coronation hastened. What should have taken weeks was done in a day, and you between the attack last night and the flurry of preparations, felt overwhelmed. It was a relief when you finally had some time to yourself to get ready for the ceremony.

Since your room was nothing more than ash now, your brother moved you to another room along with anything that was able to be salvaged. If you were honest, your belongings were the last thing on your mind. You actually only had one person in your thoughts, and you had barely gotten the chance to talk to the man who saved your life last night since you were so busy all day. 

You wondered where Mando was as you fumbled with your corset in vain. The last thing he said to you was that he was going with your brother to check over security and that he'd be back as soon as he could. As much as you initially resented having a bodyguard, you found yourself lonely without the Mandalorian at your side. You let out a loud sigh as you forced those thoughts out of your head and tried again with the corset of the outfit that was much fancier than anything you liked to wear on a daily basis.

As if on cue, a knock at your door made you turn your head and you couldn’t hide the smile that lit up your face when the Mandalorian walked into the room.

“I’m sorry I took longer, I…” Mando froze for a moment when he saw you standing there with your outfit off your shoulders and your corset loose on your waist, “Sorry I’ll…” he rushed to leave, but your voice stopped him in his tracks.

“No, wait,” you sounded troubled, and the desperation in your voice made his heart skip a beat.

Mando turned back around and the look in your eyes stirred feelings within him that he tried to hard to bury ever since he came here, “Is,” he swallowed hard as he stepped back into the room and shut the door, “Is everything ok?” he asked in his usually soft voice as he hoped you didn’t hear how strained he sounded.

“I actually,” you suddenly sounded sheepish, “I can’t get this stupid thing tied on my own. Could you…” you took a deep breath as you fiddled with your fingers, “Would you mind…?” you gestured to your back and the undone laces.

“Alright,” Mando whispered as he stepped up behind you.

“Thanks,” your voice was just a hushed as you turned back around and faced the mirror. You forced yourself to keep your eyes up as you watched the figure of the Mandlaorian come up behind you. You hoped that he couldn’t see how nervous you were as you tried your best to keep yourself calm.

His touch was surprisingly gentle for how tough a bounty hunter he was. You barely even felt his fingers against your body as he threaded the laces and carefully tugged at your corset. Vaguely, you wondered if he had done this before as you bit your lip and fought to keep your breathing steady.

You had a searing question on your mind, but as badly as you wanted to ask, you kept silent about it. You knew something was up by the way he was acting, but Rion refused to tell you what it was. You were sure it had to do with the weapon Mando carried with him, and as much as you wanted to know, you cared more about the man who stood behind you than anything else.

Together, the two of you stayed in a tense silence as the tips of his fingers gently brushed against your skin.

When you couldn’t stand the silence anymore, you whispered, “Thank you by the way. For saving my life last night.” You watched his helmet in the mirror and you caught the way his gaze seemed to flick up to your eyes as he looked up for a brief moment.

“It’s part of the job,” he replied softly.

Your next words were bold, even if you spoke them softly, “Is that the only reason?”

Mando was quiet for several moments, as if he wasn’t sure what to say back. “You had it mostly handled,” Mando replied as he forced his gaze back to your corset, “Everyone underestimates you.”

“Not you though,” you smirked as you felt him secure your corset.

“Never.”

At the same time, both of you looked up and met your gaze in the mirror. The lingering silence was tense as Mando’s fingers lingered on the skin of your upper back. It was at that moment that you realized he took his gloves off. 

You quickly spun around and took his hands in yours before you could stop yourself. Mando hissed your name in a soft protest, but any fight was lost when you looked at him with those eyes.

“Should I not…?” you asked in a whisper.

Mando stayed silent for a long moment, “It’s alright,” he finally said.

You knew you couldn’t see his face, but there wasn’t anything saying you couldn’t see his hands. But, you also didn’t want to cross any line with him, so you waited for him to nod before your eyes dropped back down to the only exposed skin on his body. His skin was surprisingly soft, even with the calluses on his hands from the weapons he wielded over the years. And on the back of one hand was a small bullseye tattoo. You smirked as you ran your thumb across it and made a note to ask about it another time.

“It wasn’t the only reason,” Mando whispered softly.

Suddenly, you felt brave and your eyes ran up his arms as you pictured what his bare skin looked like underneath all that beskar. When you met his gaze through his helmet, an idea popped in your head.

Slowly, you reached out and rested your hand on Mando’s chest. You looked into his visor for a sign to stop, and when you found none, you carefully slipped your hand underneath his helmet. You heard his breath hitch in his throat, but he made no attempt to stop you as you caressed his cheek under the armor. You exhaled sharply when you felt patches of stubble on his skin there and you couldn’t help but smile.

“Do you trust me?” you broke the silence of the room.

“Yes,” Mando replied without hesitation.

You nodded as you pulled your hand out from under the helmet and took one of his hands in yours. You brought his hand up to cover your eyes and you didn’t let go until you were sure he would keep his hand there. With trembling hands, you reached out again and slowly lifted his helmet up, unable to see anything in front of you.

Mando’s other hand came up and held your waist tightly as he allowed your actions. When you lifted his helmet enough so that his lips touched the cool air, he leaned forward and took own lips in a soft but needy kiss. You immediately moaned softly into his mouth as you almost lost your grip on his helmet.

The warmth of his lips engulfed you, and you quickly parted your own lips to invite him deeper into you. Mando took the invitation, and he tightened his grip on you as he dove his tongue into your mouth. The kiss quickly heated up and you felt like you could burst into flames from the passion you felt in Mando’s kiss.

“Din,” he whispered against your lips as he peppered soft kisses along the side of your face.

“What?” you kept your eyes closed as you basked in his affections.

“My name,” he clarified, “I want you to know it. It’s Din.”

You smiled against his cheek, “Din,” you echoed. The way he squeezed you tighter told you that he liked the sound of his name in your voice. And then it hit you that he spoke to you without his helmet on for the first time. Meaning you heard his unmodulated voice. It sent shivers up your spine and suddenly you didn’t care about your brother’s coronation. All you wanted was for him to rip off the corset he just so tenderly tied and tangle your body with his.

But, duty called, so reluctantly, you lowered his helmet. You waited for Din to take his hand off your eyes, and even then you kept them closed for another moment and just savored the feeling of his strong body against yours. Once you blinked your eyes open, though, you were greeted by the familiar silver beskar helmet that you had grown so fond of and you couldn’t help but smile.

“Shall we?” you asked with a heavy exhale.

Din nodded as he ran his hand down your arm and gave your hand one last squeeze before letting you go. 

[hefty-haunches]

Hehe- it occurs to me I was thinking Alek when I said Dani, so ofc the Alek lore would be lovely too! Really just adore all these folks, you have a good cast of OCs!

aaa thank you!!

Alek, the original girl of my cast.

Alek is probably the most fleshed out character in my roster, or at least has the most idle world building thrown in around her. Much like my dragon Vera, Alek is another former human within her setting, though this time it was more intentional.

As part of her astronaut training she chose to become a post-human in order to be better suited to her life being predominantly off-planet. This is mostly hand-waived in setting as making them better adjusted to living in micro gravity, genetic makeup being more resistant to radiation, general animal traits that might make them better at different tasks (like being a limber leopard when working in and around equipment). This is usually a bit drawn out, the changes occurring over the course of a few weeks as candidates complete their final courses, having selected a specialization. I came to coining this as "Space Animal HRT" in the time since I started my own transition. That being said, it is very common to see furry post-human folks around both planetside and off world, space program or otherwise.

Alek started off as "Aleksey" for the first year or two of them actually solidifying as a fursona. I ended up keeping this part of em in canon and had Alek go back and transition as well, becoming the Aleksandra of today.

(still one of my favorite Aleksey pics, done by t0ddnet over on twitter!)

Born on the moon and went back to work on the surface post-graduation in a settlement around Mare Nubium (because I couldn't help having a clouded leopard in the Sea of Clouds). Later transferred up to an orbiting station where she works as engineering/maintenance staff, keeping the place up and running.

Work gets busy, rations are plentiful, and all that floating around does a number on your figure even with a compression bodysuit.

Bringing us to probably my favorite shape I've drawn her in myself up until this point. Marshmallow Moon Cat. Soft, round, but still surprisingly limber. Maybe she ought to turn down jobs that involve tight spaces nowadays.

[mayorundertheplumtree]

This story is called Forgetting to Bring the Sketchpad(no

There was originally another pic of Mare but it seemed like every time I posted it something went wrong and I gave up ((

((@colourfulmes The last time I saw the picture you reblogged, it gave me a feeling of traveling through time and space www

That picture was the product of a chat with my friend a few years ago.(@tiewwww0-0 the talent who made that matt and fox pic www and I sent them the blog and they were a little surprised too www

(we actually didn't come to a conclusion about what animal Nate felt like the most lol but whatever I just want to draw kitty Nathan (Wow how shameless)(no

But still, it feels so cool to see how it went all the way back www

[delopsia]

I saw this post today abt how all the best horses go to heaven with no tail because their person couldn’t bear to be without them and cut the tail hair off to remember them by. And it’s got me emotional because Rhett is totally the kind of man that would go to auction and find horses that are really old/not doing well and he would give them all the love and care for the rest of their lives no matter how long or short their time is with him. And he would 110% keep every horses tail because every horse deserves all the love

And now I’m crying over this

You cannot do this to meeeeee 😭 Rhett and having a whole wooden box of tails, with their little nametags and photographs to remember their faces by. He begged his dad not to sell the old ranch pony, Peppermint, when he was little because they all knew she would wind up in a bad place and had to work extra around the ranch to pay for her feed as a result.

It's an odd little snowball effect; after Peppermint, he finds an old mare that wandered up on the property and keeps her when nobody claims her. She only has six months left in her, but she's the sweetest little thing, and one way or another, she's referred to as Sweetie until her last day.

Then there are the two donkeys that Royal brought home from an auction. didn't know they were sick until that weekend, and the vet's only suggestion was to end their suffering. They didn't have names, but Rhett kept their tails anyway.

He bids on a horse with a broken leg that the owner tried to conceal and makes sure to call the vet that the sheriff uses after he wins. It's expensive and the longest night of his life, but he doesn't regret sitting with that little two-year-old until the pain finally left their veins for the last time.

When he has ranch space of his own, he starts taking in old ranch horses from the surrounding area, giving them a nice pasture until their time comes. Collects binders of pictures and memories and talks about them like he'd known them since they were born. If he's lucky, he'll move up near a tourist town and open up a small business that lets visitors spend time with the old fellas. Sharing their stories and making sure their memory will live beyond their last breath.

[keep-the-wolves-close]

Steady Heart

Chapter 38: In the End

* Pairing: Slow-burn Kayce Dutton x OFC Stella Daniels

* Rating: M

* Warnings: language, severely injured character, kidnapping

* Word count: 1,430ish

I would love to give credits to @dameronscopilot and @deanscroissant for being sounding boards for me during this whole process, giving outsider insight, being cheerleaders, and allowing me to screech at them about things that have happened during the writing process. I seriously couldn't have gotten this far without y'all.

Author's note: Shew, it’s rough right now. I hope everyone is enjoying so far! I hope you love this chapter as well!

Kayce pulled up in the space between the barn and the bunkhouse with Rip, Ryan, Lloyd, and Jimmy. All the wranglers that were still at the barn, including his brother, were running around in a panic. “Somethin’ happened.” Kayce said as his heartbeat picked up. They could all feel it. They all jumped out of the truck, and confusion took hold. Abigail trotted up to the group. Her ears were partially pinned, her eyes wide, and her breathing snorted out with every exhale. They brushed it off because everyone was running around in a panic.

Ryan grabbed for the mare’s reins. “It’s weird for Stella to just leave Abs like this.” Ryan commented, frowning. He hitched her to a post nearby. He would take care of her in a minute.

As Jake ran by, Kayce caught him. “Jake what the fuck is going on?”

“The boy and Stella are missing.”

Kayce’s heart stopped and his chest filled with dread. “You mean my little boy—,”

“— and my sister?!” Ryan exclaimed at the same time, not sure he heard Jake right, hoping he didn’t hear him right.

“We can't find them.” Jake explained.

Rip took charge. “Jimmy. Get flashlights out of the back.”

Kayce took off and ran around the corner to find Monica where he heard her calling for their son. She met him halfway. “What's going on?” Kayce asked her.

“Kayce, they’re gone. I came to see Tate, and your father said he couldn’t find them.”

“What do you mean gone?”

John caught up with them. “Tate came down here to feed his horse.” He breathed heavily. “I thought— I thought he came back.”

Kayce yelled. “Alone? You let him come down here alone?!”

“No one's alone on this ranch. There's a dozen wranglers down here. Or there's supposed to be. Stella should have been down here somewhere. Where the hell have you been? Where the hell is she?” John shifted the blame.

Monica interrupted. “Oh please! Argue about it later. Let's just find them.” She stomped forward ready to go.

Everyone started to search the grounds, looking for any sign of the missing pair. They all spread out in multiple directions and called for both Stella and Tate over and over again.

Kayce spun around looking for any sign of movement or trail of his son or his best friend. No one was able to find anything and the hours crept by faster and faster.

Everyone searched high and low for both Stella and Tate for hours well into the daylight. There was absolutely no sign of Tate that they could find, and the only person that could potentially have answers for them, was missing too.

They all walked in a line along the lower pasture, scoping the grounds for tracks. John spotted something carved into the high grass, it was almost flattened completely. Kayce witnessed his dad coming to a conclusion and darted over to him.

John pointed to the tire tracks that he just found. “What is this?” John turned to everyone and shouted. “Did any of you drive back here?!”

“No sir.” Someone answered faintly.

Kayce’s heart sank lower than he thought it could, and he spun on his heels and took off sprinting. He followed the tracks down to the tree line.

As Kayce got closer to the water line where the trees were, he could see what looked like Stella dropped back against the side of one of the trees. She was hidden in the morning shadows. Her dark green jacket camouflaged her well. Kayce was surprised that he even saw her. Her back was against the bottom of the tree trunk, but her head was slumped forward.

Kayce frowned and called out to her. “Stella?” He jogged forward. She didn’t respond. He yelled out louder. “Stella?!” He picked up to sprint when he noticed the dark spots all across her chest and face. His heart stopped for what seemed like the millionth time that day. ‘Oh god is she?’

Ryan heard Kayce scream for his sister and sprinted to catch up with him. Ryan’s heart leapt into his throat at the sight of her. “No, no, no! Stella!”

Both men reached her at the same time. Kayce reached for her chin to bring her head up. Nausea swept through him. He whispered, “Stella, my god, sugar. Come on, please please open those pretty brown eyes.” There was a giant gash that started just above her right eyebrow. It sliced through her brow, but skipped her eyelid. It stopped just under her eye. Blood oozed from it. Sticky and dark from sitting there for so long.

Ryan watched the desperation pour out of Kayce. Kayce fumbled around Stella, trying to remember his medical knowledge to check her over. Both men were near tears seeing her in this state. Her cheeks and eyes were swollen and bruised. Her glasses were nowhere to be found.

Ryan leaned forward to grab her face and lifted her head. “Stellee belly, please,” he sniffled as his nose started to run and his eyes watered.

Monica, the wranglers, and John all stood off to the side and watched the two men worry over the resident sweetheart. They weren’t really sure what they could do. Their mouths hung open, breathing heavily from running, but also the shock of seeing Stella looking like she got mauled. Monica couldn’t help but think there was something more going on between her ex and his best friend by now, but she couldn’t be concerned about that right now. She had to find her son and make sure Stella got help.

Ryan checked the rest of Stella out for more injuries. “Come on, Stella. Come on.” Stella had quite a few deep cuts along her sides and bruising. Neither he nor Kayce could get her conscious, or to respond in any way. Ryan finally noticed there was a piece of paper laying next to her with her hunting knife stabbed through the top of it. A small muck boot that was a child’s size laid next to it. Kayce grabbed the boot and held it tight in his hand in disbelief that this was happening.

Ryan picked up the letter and turned to the whole group and read it aloud. “Casualty of war.” He cleared his throat to get rid of the lump there. “She stuck herself where she didn’t belong, but put up quite a fight. Do we have your attention now? The cards are in your hands, Dutton.” A string of curses came from everyone standing by.

From behind John could see his son knelt down, shaking. As he got closer Kayce stood slowly. He turned, looking several shades paler, holding the tiny muck boot that belonged to his son. Monica’s knees gave out and she dropped to the ground screaming. Her son was taken. Beth ran up to her, and gripped her tight.

John pondered over the note for a few seconds before realization smacked him. He knew exactly who the problem was. “We need to find Tate.”

Kayce’s hearing came back all at once. Sound rushed in and made him finally spring into action. He yelled to Ryan. “Fuck! Get Stella to the hospital! Take my truck and go!” He threw his keys Ryan’s way and took the note. “We need to get her to the hospital now!”

Rip called out to Ryan. “Viggo should be here any minute! The truck will take too long!” He and Lloyd rushed over to help Ryan get her ready to go into the chopper when it got there.

The sound of helicopter blades slicing through the air could be heard getting closer with every second.

“Everyone get in here! We need to pick her up as easy as we can to get her in the helicopter!” Rip ordered all the free hands nearby. All the wranglers came over and banded together to help pick Stella up without causing much more damage than had already been done.

Viggo landed, quickly getting to work opening the doors for them. John grabbed Ryan by the shoulder. “You go with her. Someone will come to you when we’re ready to go get these sons a bitches.” Ryan didn’t need to be told twice as climbed into the helicopter swiftly.

Immediately he started tending to his sister, primarily to make sure she was still breathing. Viggo scurried back to the controls and hurried to get the sibling pair to the hospital.

Rip wiped the blood on his hands from Stella on his jeans. The lone call of a singular crow could be heard not far from where they stood. An unusual chill ran up his spine. He pulled out his cell phone while he cussed quietly to himself. He placed a call to the hospital so they knew a trauma was coming in.

[dystopicjumpsuit]

Martyrs and Kings - Chapter 1

A Clone Walks Into a Library

Rating: T (rating varies by chapter; mature content will be tagged)

Pairing: Kix x archivist/historian OFC

Wordcount: 3.3k

Warnings: slight angst; mentions of canon character deaths; office politics are canon in the GFFA

A/N: Finally migrating this story over from AO3. I'll be posting a chapter on Tumblr every few days until I'm caught up, but if you'd like to read ahead, here's the link to the story up to chapter 8.

Summary: Clone medic Kix is a man displaced in time. Captured by Separatists and put into cryostasis when he learned the truth about the clones' inhibitor chips, he awakens fifty years after the end of the Clone Wars. The Republic is gone. The galaxy has changed. And now, the last clone trooper searches for answers with the help of a New Republic historian.

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Republic City, Hosnian Prime

32 ABY

The man gazed up at the imposing building in front of him, squinting against the harsh sunlight. The air was chilled despite the brightness of the day, and his breath swirled in clouds around him. He stood, seemingly oblivious to the pedestrians that bustled past as airspeeders whizzed through the skylane behind him. Few noticed the man, but those who did felt a strange sense of unease, of slight wrongness, as though he did not quite belong in the setting. Whether they observed this or not, the pedestrian traffic instinctively steered away from him, leaving a wide bubble of space around the stranger.

He stood, unmoving, for some time, locked in a silent debate with himself, until at length, he reached a decision. With a sharp nod, he walked into the building.

It was cold in the New Republic Galactic Library. Maree readjusted the shawl that she always kept in her office for mornings like this, then wrapped her hands around her mug of tea as she scrolled through the morning’s holomessages. Most of them were from colleagues complaining about the temperature. Most recently, the head maintenance droid had sent out a dispassionate mass response explaining that the sprawling complex’s central climate control had been automatically adjusted due to the spring equinox. Maree’s eyes lit with amusement as the indignant replies began to pop up in her inbox.

New Republic efficiency at its finest, she thought. Everything had to be automated. It didn’t matter that the outside temperature was still well below freezing; the equinox had passed, and so they were moved to the spring climate schedule. No doubt the decision had come from a droid that had no problem functioning in the cold. It would probably take weeks of complaints and committee meetings by the time the issue was resolved, and by that point, Republic City would likely be in the middle of a full and magnificent spring, rendering the problem null.

She nearly laughed as she skimmed through her messages and saw identical leave requests from two of the department’s interns who thought they were being subtle about their burgeoning romance. Ah, young love. Who was she to stand in the way? She quickly approved the requests, then moved on to carefully review the latest research directive from the New Republic Judiciary. Finally, she could longer put off reading the last message in her inbox. Despite herself, her heart began to beat a little faster as she opened the message. 

To: Dr. Maree R. Finnall From: NRGL Department of Outreach Subject: Decision on Expedition Proposal Submission Submission Number: ORE-R-72-00066T5 Dear Dr. Finnall, It is with great regret that we must inform you that your recent expedition proposal has been rejected. As you are aware, the current political climate in the Outer Rim is somewhat tenuous. . .

The message went on, but there was no need to finish reading it. Force knew she’d received it often enough to know what it said. Maree turned off the holoprojector with a small sigh. She took a sip of her tea and grimaced when she found it had gone cold. 

Taungsdays, am I right?

She crossed to her small kitchenette and dumped the tea down the sink. She briefly considered making another cup, but it would likely share its predecessor’s fate, so instead, she moved to gaze out the massive window. Glacial air flowed off the transparisteel, but the view was worth the discomfort. The early morning sun sparkled off the thick layer of frost covering Republic City, transforming it into a glittering wonderland. Beyond the city’s magnificent towers and spires, she glimpsed the deep azure of the western ocean.

I love it here, she reminded herself. It wasn’t exactly a punishment to stay on Hosnian Prime. Surely the benefits outweighed the disappointment of yet another rejected proposal.

The soft chime of her office door startled Maree out of her reverie.

“Come in,” she called.

The door slid open to reveal one of the library’s receptionists, Eidani Olphes. Maree didn’t know her well, but she passed the younger woman at the library’s front desk every morning when she arrived at work, and Maree always tried to be friendly with the support staff. She remembered her own early career when senior faculty were often dismissive and condescending, and she had vowed never to be the cause of anyone feeling so small and unimportant. 

“Good morning, Eidani,” she said with a warm smile. “What can I do for you?”

“Dr. Finnall, I have a gentleman here who is visiting Hosnian Prime to research the Clone Wars. Do you have any availability to meet with him this morning?”

Maree’s interest was piqued immediately. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d gotten such a request from a private citizen.

“As a matter of fact, I’m free now,” she said. “Is he here?”

“Yes,” Eidani replied. “TJ-60 asked him to wait outside your office.”

Eidani fidgeted a little as she spoke, and Maree wondered if the man had made her uncomfortable. Maree commed her droid assistant, fully prepared to ban the visitor from the library if he had harassed the young Devaronian.

“Teejay, please show the gentleman into my office.”

“Right away, Dr. Finnall,” came Teejay’s monotone reply.

Maree heard the outer office door hiss open as Teejay directed the visitor to her office. Eidani turned around as soon as Teejay opened the door and watched his approach with a wide smile and undisguised interest. As the visitor walked into view, Maree realized she had misread the young receptionist’s reaction.

Force almighty.

Maree had never seen such a gorgeous man. He was tall and athletically built, with golden brown skin, curly black hair, and a neat beard. His nondescript clothing entirely failed to disguise his powerful frame, and he moved with the relaxed confidence of a man with absolutely nothing to prove. The beard emphasized his high cheekbones, but his eyes were the most arresting. They were a warm, luminous brown that reminded her of sunlight glinting through amber. Something about his face tugged at her memory, and she wracked her brain trying to remember if she’d met him before.

“Hello again,” Eidani giggled. “This is Dr. Finnall. She’s our Clone Wars expert.”

His solemn gaze flicked from Eidani to Maree, and she nearly blinked at the intensity in his eyes.

“Maree Finnall,” she said, shaking his hand. 

“Kix,” he replied.

“It’s a pleasure to meet you, Mr. Kix.” 

“Just Kix,” he said.

He had a lovely voice, smoky and dark and beautifully accented, and Maree briefly wondered if he had any flaws at all. She hoped she had a better sabacc face than Eidani.

“My mistake,” she said. “Please call me Maree.”

“You specialize in the Clone Wars?” he asked.

 “To a degree. My scholarship focuses on the military history of the late Galactic Republic and early Imperial periods,” Maree clarified. “The Clone Wars are, of course, a major part of that era. How can I help you?” 

He glanced at Eidani, who was staring up at him with a worshipful expression.

“I, er—I’m looking for some fairly detailed information,” he hedged.

Maree took the hint.

“I see,” she said. “Please come in. Thank you, Eidani. I’ll notify the front desk if we need your assistance again.”

“Of—of course!” Eidani gushed. “Please let me know if you need anything. Anything at all!”

“We will keep that in mind,” Maree smiled.

She shot a meaningful glance at Teejay, who immediately began to usher Eidani out of the office. Maree closed her door and turned to Kix, who was looking around the room with interest.

“Nice office,” he said.

“Thank you. Please make yourself comfortable,” she replied, gesturing to the soft, padded armchairs that were strategically placed around the room. “May I offer you a cup of tea?”

“No, thank you,” he said. “I don’t want to be a bother.”

“It’s no trouble at all,” she said. “Let me know if you change your mind. For now, can you tell me what specific information you are looking for?”

He selected a chair that was oriented so that it faced both the window and the door of the office, she noticed. Maree’s mother was the same way; she hated the vulnerability of having her back to an opening. Mindful of Kix’s hypervigilance, Maree picked up her datapad and settled into a chair on his left, leaving plenty of space between them, as she prepared to take notes. From this angle, she could see the edge of a tattoo peeking out from his hairline. It looked like aurebesh, but his hair covered too much of it to be sure. It was intriguing, and she had a sudden and distinctly unprofessional urge to brush the hair away from his face and take a closer look.

“I’m interested in the late months of the wars,” he said. “Everything after the Battle of Anaxes.”

She tapped the information into her datapad. He observed her closely as she worked. She wasn’t accustomed to such scrutiny, and she found it slightly distracting. She felt a bit like a bug that was being dissected and studied.

“I can prepare an overview,” she said, “but that is still quite a broad area as there were so many simultaneous campaigns. Is there any particular battle or unit that I should focus on?”

“The 501st Legion,” he said in a clipped tone.

“General Skywalker’s legion. A fascinating unit,” she said. “Are you interested in their actions in the Imperial era as well, or only those preceding the fall of the Galactic Republic?”

“Both,” he said. “Is there a way to research individual soldiers in the battalion?”

“Yes, if you send me a list in advance,” she replied, “though it may take me a few days to compile the records. Will you be on Hosnian Prime long?”

“As long as it takes,” he said.

“I see. Perhaps we can meet on Primeday morning?” she suggested. “That should give me time to collect the combat reports at least, and once we’ve had a look at those, we might have a better idea of where to direct our research efforts.”

“What time on Primeday?” he asked.

“Any time you like,” she said. “I’ll have Teejay clear my schedule so I can be at your disposal all morning. I do have appointments in the afternoon that I won’t be able to reschedule, unfortunately.”

He looked startled. “Oh, I don’t want to take you away from your work for that long.”

“This is my work,” she said. “And I am delighted to meet someone who shares my interest in this particular field. Not many do. Consider yourself warned; you are far more likely to get tired of me than I am likely to run out of things to talk about.”

“I doubt that,” he said, meeting her eyes squarely. 

“Let me know if you still feel that way after I send you so many reports and articles that I crash your datapad,” she said.

He smiled for the first time since she’d met him, and it made him look younger and even more handsome, if such a thing were possible. She found herself smiling back at him even as she told herself not to indulge her interest. Not only was the man a client, but he was at least a decade younger than Maree—much closer to Eidani’s age, in fact. 

“I should forewarn you,” she said. “This period of history—it’s a difficult one. Most of the stories do not end well.”

“Trying to scare me off, Doc?” he asked, raising an eyebrow.

“Not at all,” she said. “I just want you to be prepared. There’s a reason most historians choose other periods to study. It’s a hard time to confront.”

“I understand,” he said, and something in his eyes told her that he truly did. “I will see you on Primeday.”

Kix exited the library feeling decidedly ambivalent. He stepped into the frigid air, which had failed to capture any heat from the bright sunshine during the time he’d spent inside the building. Still, he took a deep breath and felt the sting of it in his lungs.

He had been nervous when he entered the library. He’d spent over a year with Sidon Ithano and his crew, throwing himself into their skirmishes with a ruthlessness and ferocity that startled even the notorious pirate’s crew. But the violence failed to distract him from his own thoughts. He’d been consumed by grief and rage, overwhelmed by feelings of failure and guilt and the futility of everything he and his brothers had suffered and sacrificed. And worst of all, the knowledge that all of his brothers—every single one of them—were long dead. 

He had never felt so alone. 

Every time he looked in the mirror, his fallen brothers’ faces looked back at him. So he avoided mirrors as much as possible. Growing a beard helped disguise the resemblance, but he still couldn’t stand to meet his own eyes in the reflection. When he decided at last to uncover his brothers’ fates, the ship’s Twi’lek mechanic Reveth had warned him that nothing good would come from digging into the past.

“It ended bad,” she said. “I don’t think it could have ended worse. Don’t do this to yourself.”

They had been lying in bed. It hadn’t taken them long to seek each other’s company after Kix joined the crew. They both needed comfort—needed to forget. Just for a moment. He was haunted by his memories, and she by her hopeless, despairing love for the ship’s mysterious captain. They found oblivion in each other’s beds, but nothing more.

“I have to know,” he said, no longer able to bear the uncertainty. 

And so, he took a temporary leave from the Meson Martinet crew and traveled to Hosnian Prime in search of someone who could give him the answers he needed. The New Republic Information Bureau had directed him to the library, explaining that the facility maintained an extensive staff of archivists. At least one of them would surely be able to help, the information droid had assured him. When Kix had arrived at the entrance to the library’s vast structure, he’d hesitated, remembering Reveth’s warning before he’d departed the Meson Martinet three days earlier.

He’d shaken off the voice in his head, squared his shoulders, and gone inside. The pretty young Devaronian receptionist at the front desk hadn’t been able to answer his questions, but she had located an archivist who could, leading him through the labyrinthine facility with an ease that spoke of many such trips. She had been friendly and outgoing, peppering him with questions that left him tongue-tied, so he responded with mostly monosyllables or silence. His reticence did not seem to affect her at all—quite the opposite, in fact, and by the time she had located the archivist, she had escalated into full-blown flirtation. It had been a relief when the office droid had requested him to wait outside the office until the archivist was free to speak with him.

When he’d been admitted, he braced himself for another verbal onslaught, but the archivist was very different from the bubbly receptionist. She was older, for one thing. Her elaborate hairdo was threaded with silver, and a few fine lines crinkled around the corners of her eyes, evidence of decades of laughter. Her greeting had been friendly while maintaining a professional reserve, and he was struck by her low, melodic voice. 

And Maker, she was beautiful. Kix had found himself staring as she introduced herself, taking in the graceful contours of her face. She was dressed in elegant, flowing robes, and he had felt a moment’s self-consciousness about the shabby plainness of his own garb. But she had given him a kind smile, and despite the chilly air of the library, her small hands had been warm when she had clasped his in greeting. He clenched his fist lightly when she released him, trying in vain to hold onto that warmth. 

Her office was a comfortable, cozy room that seemed more like a home than a workplace—at least in Kix’s opinion, accustomed as he was the the harsh sterility of Kamino, the endless gray of the Republic Star Destroyers, and the chaotic violence of the battlefield. There was a large desk, which he had expected, and an assortment of soft, mismatched armchairs set around the room, which he had not. The expansive view from the enormous window naturally dominated the space, but she had decorated the room to suit her own taste as well. Several paintings hung on the walls, a few sculptures were tastefully displayed through the room, and there was a vase of fresh flowers on the desk. When she offered him tea, he noticed a small kitchenette, and he wondered exactly how much time she spent in this room. 

As she settled into the chair next to him and began discussing his request, he felt his anxiety spike again. He wasn’t sure how he was going to explain his interest in the Clone Wars without giving away his identity. It was something of an open secret in the Outer Rim that Sidon Ithano traveled with a clone trooper—though there were those who insisted this was merely another rumor designed to fuel the Crimson Corsair’s intimidating reputation. In general, Kix kept to himself, and he was reluctant to disclose his origins to anyone, let alone a government representative. To his relief, she did not interrogate him about his motivations; instead, she directed her questions to how she could best assist his search. Her soft voice made him want to lean in closer when she spoke, and as they conversed, he felt his tension begin to disperse.

She had a way of drawing him into the conversation without pressuring him for personal details, and he deeply appreciated her tact. It was not easy for him to talk to people, whether they were strangers or friends. Not like it used to be. He was not the same man he’d been before the Separatists tortured him for information and shoved him into a cryo-cycle stasis pod. 

During the Clone Wars, he had been fun-loving and easygoing. He’d been popular with his fellow clones and with the civilians he encountered—in fact, the bubbly receptionist from the library would have been exactly the kind of partner he would have sought out during a night out at 79’s. And most importantly, he’d had a group of brothers who were his best friends. Hardcase; Tup; Jesse; and the Domino twins, Echo and Fives. They had fallen, one by one, replaced by shinies, until it was just him and Jesse left of the original group—and Captain Rex, of course. The best commanding officer a clone could have asked for, and the closest thing Kix had ever had to a father. 

Finding Echo alive had been a miracle, and it was entirely due to Rex’s instincts. But the man they had found on Skako Minor had been so different from the ARC trooper who’d been left for dead at the Citadel that he had felt there was no longer a place for him in the 501st, and so Kix had lost Echo a second time. That loss was what had pushed Kix to take up Fives’s investigation. What he had found had horrified him deeply. He had tried desperately to alert the Jedi to the sinister plot, but the Separatists had found him first.

And now, fifty-one years later, he was a stranger in a strange galaxy, begging an alluring historian to tell him how his brothers had died.

---

Chapter 2

Tagging: @blueink-bluesoul @secondaryrealm @spicy-clones

[impetuous-impulse]

Ruthless Representatives, Unjust Executions (1/3): the Death of an Artillery Captain

This is a response to @josefavomjaaga's recent post, which partially deals with the alleged arrest and execution of an artillery captain by Saint-Just, then a representative on mission, during the siege of Charleroi, and the representatives' abuse of military men around the time of the battle of Fleurus. Josefa enquired whether anyone could shed light on this incident from the FRev community. While I am not well-versed in FRev events, I would like to offer some of my findings about military justice in the army during the Revolution in relation to the representatives in three parts. The first part deals directly with the tale of Saint-Just's execution of the artillery captain, and how it was turned into a symbol that exemplifies the Revolution's extrajudicial violence. All translation errors are my own.

The source about Saint-Just's terrorisation and execution of the artillery captain that is cited the most is from Soult’s memoirs (1854). Writers, including Colonel Phipps, use this source verbatim without questioning it, because Saint-Just and all the representatives were obviously Stupid Civilians who thought that any incompletion of their orders amounted to betrayal:

It was above all the siege division which deployed with activity before Charleroi. The colonel Marescot directed the engineering operations, under the eyes of Generals Jourdan and Hatry; we had a sufficient artilery crew, and the representatives Saint-Just and Lebas stood at the foot of the trench to speed up the work. One day, they visited the site of a battery that had just been marked out: "At what time will it be finished?" asked Saint-Just of the captain responsible for having it executed. "That depends on the number of workers that I will be given; but we will work relentlessly," responded the officer. "If tomorrow, at six o'clock, she is not ready to fire, your head will fall off!..." In this short time, it was impossible for the work to be completed; even though as many men were put there as the space could contain. It was not entirely finished when the fatal hour struck; Saint-Just kept his horrible promise: the artillery captain was immediately arrested and sent to his death, because the scaffold marched in the wake of the ferocious representatives. (pp. 156-157)

Saint-Just, in Soult's depiction, is the proper Archangel of Death, guillotining everything that stands in his path. In portraying Saint-Just thus, Soult criticizes the representatives' murder of an innocent man. Worse, he depicts representatives as civilians that can only stand around instead of hardworking soldiers bringing the siege to fruition, making their commands unjustified. Soult condemns the fact that a civilian's word could be the injust law that separated soldiers from life or death.

That said, as Soult is no friend of the political figures of the Revolution, his remembered account requires precise corroboration to be valid. I found one earlier source that describes, presumably, the same incident, from Victoires, conquêtes, désastres, revers et guerres civiles des Français, de 1792 à 1815, vol. 3. It was written in 1817 by "a society of soldiers and men of letters", and edited by Charles Théodore Beauvais de Préau, a general of the Revolution and Empire. Though this anonymisation may have been taken to avoid the wrath of the Bourbons in the Restoration, it means we have no idea who wrote the following section, nor their intentions:

This fierce man [Saint-Just], who never showed himself in the trench, informed that a captain of the first regiment of artillery had been somewhat negligent in the construction of a battery of which he was in charge, had him shot in the trench. At the same time, he gave General Jourdan the order to arrest, and consequently have shot on the spot, the General Hatry, commander of the besieging troops, the General Bellemont, commander of the artillery, and the commander Marescot. The General Jourdan had, at the risk of his own life, the courage to resist the wishes of this gutless representative. The officers of whom we have just spoken of had the audacity of protesting against the cruel sentence which condemned the unfortunate artillery captain Méras, and, in his his atrocious delirium, Saint-Just dared to accuse them of complicity. (p. 47)

If we infer from the title of this source that the editor compiled the accounts of his comrades, then this account was written by a former Revolutionary and Imperial officer who could have some memory of the incident. However, many aspects of this text don’t line up with Soult’s account, including the way the captain was executed (shot in the trench here, guillotined in Soult's account). Saint-Just's successive condemnation of high-ranking officers, which highlights how much power he had over even the highest echelons of the army, also does not appear in Soult's account. But we do have a name for the captain: Méras. His name, in fact, appears in a 1797 publication: L'observateur impartial aux armées de la Moselle, des Ardennes, de Sambre et Meuse, et la Rhine et Moselle, a memoir by Pierre Charles Lecomte, at the time "the conducteur general of the artillery in the Army of the Rhin-Moselle [sic]". This is his account on the affair, relegated to a footnote:

Before giving the details of the capitulation of Charleroi, I must cite a horrible feature of the role of Representative Saint-Just. The French proconsul ordered the construction of a battery that he thought was necessary.* The general Bollemont [sic] entrusted its execution to an artillery captain, named Méras. All the shovels, pickaxes, and other utensils happened to be employed in other work, the orders of the Representative could not be executed. The morning of the next day, passing close to the location where the battery was supposed to be constructed, he [Saint-Just] shouted, raged, sent to search for the captain; and, without listening to his reasons, he had him arrested. Two days later, when his [Méras’] company was battling against the enemy, he [Saint-Just] had him taken from the prison, he had him conducted to the middle of his works; and there, o misery! o inhumanity! he had him assassinated. At night his company returned to the camp covered in glory; they learned that their chief had been shot; they surrendered to despair. They wanted to go to the tyrant: they were stopped, under the fear that some of these brave soldiers would have become new victims. Méras was so much loved, that all of the artillery wanted to enact vengeance on his assassin. This almost universal rumour made itself heard amongst the trenches; and, for preventing it from having consequences, the company of the unfortunate Méras was sent into the interior. *We know that there was a time when the Representatives, often little-instructed in the military arts, dared impudently to command old soldiers whose arms had dulled, and obliged them to sacrifice, according to their whims, some thousands of brave soldiers. (p. 38-39)

Once again, the details contradict even more with Soult’s account, and with that of the 1817 one. Soult says as much help as possible was given to the artillery captian, but Lecomte says all other workers were occupied and that captain received little help (presumably because the battery was militrarily unimportant). Méras’ misery is stretched out over two days instead of him being shot immediately, and it is not the generals who protested against Méras' execution that Saint-Just raises a hand against, but Méras' entire company, which the civilian government sends to the Vendée. The message could not be clearer: under "tyrannical representatives" like Saint-Just, the Revolution is eating its soldiers, the common people it was supposed to protect.

Is this the truth of the matter, since it is the earliest version? The publication is contemporary enough, but I am inclined to doubt the reliability of a text explicitly titled “impartial”. A look at the author's background reveals his attitudes. Lecomte was, according to BnF data, the maître de pension in Versailles until 1792 (presumably up to the abolishment of the monarchy), then the inspector of octroi taxes in Paris until 1815. Seeing that he served the First Empire, I am inclined to think that he was no die-hard revolutionary, and certainly not part of the Montagnard faction. Furthermore, he published his account after the fall of the Montagnards, during the height of the Directory. This makes the affair more likely to be Thermidorian propaganda, and indeed Lecomte even admits that his account was an “almost universal rumour”, not a fact, because in his story, no one is present at the scene of Méras’ death other than Saint-Just and his executioner. This makes the account unverifiable, and makes it more likely to be fabrication.

It would seem that, after Saint-Just’s death, the army’s fear and hatred of representatives turned into slander against their characters, often resulting in widely circulated variants of the same tale to emphasise different effects. The 1797 version highlights Saint-Just’s cruelties as a tyrant against the “small folk” of the Revolution and uses exclamatory language to amplify the reader's pathos. The 1817 version emphasises Saint-Just’s power over even the generals of the army, exaggerating his dictatorship. Finally, in Soult’s memoir, Saint-Just is not just a dictator who could dismiss soldiers with a wave of a hand. He and the representatives were synonymous with the guillotine and the excesses of the Revolution themselves.

The accounts of Saint-Just condemning Méras to death are inconsistent, and should amount to nothing more than invalid hearsay, which tells us nothing of the representatives' historical actions. If anyone has more information on the topic or the wider subject, feel free to add to this.

[dilf-din]

Yeehawgust Day 1: Gather the Posse

Cowboy!TLOU AU

WC: 1550

Characters: Sarah, Joel, Tommy, Tess, and a surprise guest

Rating: T

Warnings: gun violence, language, David is a creep, author was not a horse girl

A/N: hi friends! Happy Yeehawgust! I’ve got big plans for this month and the prompts we were given. I can’t promise to post every day, but I will do my best! I’ll create a section in my masterlist for all the fics I post this month. Enjoy this little Miller fam beat down that @ellies-little-gun helped me workshop 🤠

Shit. Shit shit shit. Of course the one night she needed him, he decided to head home early. Sarah cursed once more as the door to the sheriff’s office slammed shut behind her. Her boots pounded down the faded white steps into the dusty street below. Her palomino mare whinnied from the post she was tied to, her coat a few shades lighter than the red dirt beneath Sarah’s boots.

“We’ve gotta go find daddy, Harlow,” Sarah explained swinging herself up and into the saddle. Dust flew in a steady stream behind them as they raced to the whitewashed cabin on the edge of town. Every cloud that rose from Harlow’s hooves gave them away like a breadcrumb trail. The sun had faded into a blood red pinprick on the horizon behind her leaving them with nothing but navy skies and a quickly descending chill in the air. Goosebumps danced down her arms as the last rays of warmth retired for the evening.

“Don’t take your eye off her,” she had hissed at Tommy before hurrying out to find Joel. She knew the girl would be safe for now, but if David and his men made a move, there was no way he’d be able to hold them all off alone. She was racing the clock, making every second and stride count.

Within minutes, the grey roof of their homecame into view. She quickly made out Tess’s figure taking their linens down from the line Joel had carefully strung up for them. The white of the sheets was as bright as the stars coming into view with dusk’s arrival.

“Whoa, slow down,” Tess said, holding a hand out and catching Harlow’s chest as the pair came to a stop, a sheen of foam and sweat visible on the mare’s coat from the ride.

“Is dad inside?”

“Yeah, what’s goin’ on?”

Sarah practically flew up the steps, her hat falling off of her curls and hanging around her neck by a thick, leather cord.

The front door was open, leaving only the screen door to separate their living space from the swarm of summer bugs. With Tess on her heels, Sarah entered the house and looked around for her father. He was at the kitchen table propped up by an elbow, a decanter of bourbon uncorked beside him, his boots set neatly in front of his aching feet.

“Might wanna put those back on,” she said gesturing to his boots as she pulled her shotgun down from the rack beside the door.

“Now hold on, what happened baby?”

“That orphan girl we’ve been seein’ around town? She’s at the saloon tonight. David’s been giving her the eye. I was up there with Uncle Tommy. He’s on it for now, but I don’t like where it’s headed.”

“I’ll grab the horses,” Tess nodded after exchanging a quick glance with Joel.

In a second, he had pulled his boots back on and was beside Sarah.

“You know we can’t go in there guns blazing on a whim,” he said with a gentle hand on her shoulder.

“He’s not layin’ a finger on her without losin’ a hand,” Sarah said icily, her jaw set in the same way his did when he had his mind set on something.

Joel nodded and followed her out the door.

Back at the saloon, Tommy sat in the corner sipping a mug of beer, eyes carefully following the situation unfolding in front of him. The girl was at the bar with her back turned to the buzzing room. She was scarfing down a plate of food that Sarah had slipped the bartender a few coins for. She looked like she hadn’t eaten in days, wiry frame, wide brown eyes, disheveled curls sticking out every which way. She couldn’t have been more than fourteen, he reasoned.

It started with a whisper, an almost imperceptible smile across his snakelike features. The red headed man had gestured at her with his pale blue eyes, pointing her out to the taller brunette man always at his right side. Everyone in town knew David’s reputation, the way women disappeared with him never to be seen again. Joel had spent the last several months hunting down a gang of raiders who had been picking off of their herds leaving David and his men to terrorize the townspeople. He wasn’t happy about it, but it was what it was for the time being. He had been waiting for a chance to wrap his hands around that man’s neck.

Tommy sat tight lipped as he saw David push back from his table and start making his way to the bar where the girl sat. Words falling like honey covered venom fell from his tongue as he placed a hand on the small of her back. A chill ran up her spine from the touch, causing Tommy to shift his weight on his stool. He slammed back the rest of his beer, readying himself to approach and intervene. The girl ducked and pulled her head away, no doubt trying to avoid his rancid breath, each exhale laced with the smell of death and alcohol. Tommy saw a glint in his eye he could’ve sworn was a vertical slit, fangs bared to strike in the low light of the saloon. He took a deep breath and strutted over, leaning onto the bar and enveloping the girl in his shadow. She shot him a look that was half thankful and half terrified.

“What’re you doin’ Miller? Stickin’ your nose where it doesn’t belong again?”

“That’s your favorite pastime, innit?” Tommy smiled, thick mustache curling up over his lip.

“Eat shit,” David spat at him, turning his attention back to the girl, “Where were we darlin’?”

“You were telling me about your massive house and all your riches,” she said in an unimpressed tone, still trying to wriggle her shoulder out of his grasp. Tommy didn’t even bother to hide his chuckle.

“Enough chit chat, let’s go get you cleaned up,” he said firmly, trying to tug her from the bar stool.

“I’m not going anywhere with you, creep ass,” she elbowed him hard in the ribs and made a run for the door.

Tommy grasped David on the shoulder to hold him in place, but two of his men followed her out without her knowing.

“Sorry,” Tommy said.

“What for?”

“This,” he slammed the man’s face into the bar nose first and rushed towards the exit without waiting to see the aftermath. Tommy wove through the raucous room, dodging drunk patrons and red lipped waitresses. He burst through the double doors shoulder first to find the space in front of the building empty save a gaggle of horses tied up by the water trough.

“Get off, you motherfucker!” he heard the sound of the kid, her teeth gritted coming from the alley between the saloon and the post office.

Everything that was about to transpire would happen in a matter of seconds.

Joel, Tess, and Sarah thundered up to the front of the saloon, dismounting quickly as David stumbled out the door with blood pouring down his nose and chin, coating his teeth. Tommy ducked into the alleyway after the girl. The two men were blocking her exit from the way she came with one more bringing up the rear. The one behind her was James, David’s top guy. She backed into him with a start and whipped a switchblade out jabbing it between two of his ribs.

The attack caught him off guard, sending him to his knees. Tommy took the opportunity to tackle one of her other assailants, slamming him into the wall. Joel was beside him in a second connecting his fist with the other man’s jaw. Tommy could tell by the glint of moonlight out of the corner of his eye that his brother had slipped his brass knuckles on on the way here.

“Nice.”

“Thanks,” Joel huffed.

Out front, Sarah wasted no time stopping David from joining the fray. While he staggered down the steps, she hoisted her rifle up and slammed it against his neck, pinning him to the wall.

“Where do you think you’re goin’?” she snarled.

“None of your fucking business,” he strained.

“What are you doin’ trying to pick up little kids?” Tess asked with her lip turned up in disgust.

“Oh I’ve got big plans for her,” he smiled, yellow teeth stained red from the blood that was still pouring.

“Wrong answer,” Tess said casually, lazily raising her revolver to fire a round straight into his knee.

He howled in pain while Sarah strengthened her hold on the length of the rifle to make sure he didn’t budge.

Back in the alley, Tommy drew his revolver and alternated aiming it at the three goons they had disarmed.

“Why don’t y’all get out of here ‘fore things get uglier?” he suggested, a fake sympathetic smile on his face.

The three men blinked at him wordlessly until he fired a warning shot into the dirt at their feet, and they scrambled away like a pack of scared dogs. When Tommy turned around, Joel was on one knee talking to the kid.

“Hey, it’s okay, we’re not gonna hurt ya,” he said softly. “I’m Joel, I’m the sheriff. What’s your name?”

“Ellie.”

Taglist: @ellliemilller