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shortnotsweet · 1 month ago

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QUIET ON THE OLD FRONTIER (excerpt from THE THRILLING AND NOT AT ALL REPETITIVE ADVENTURES OF CAPTAIN MAN AND KID DANGER: “A CHRONOLOGY OF ENTIRELY TRUE AND HEROIC EVENTS COINCIDING WITH THE END OF HISTORY”) [1] [2] [3] [4]

Well, you know how it goes down in Hollywood: the sun never sinks on the West Coast, and no one can ever die for real.

[ Henry’s expression is frozen, part acceptance, part trepidation. A stallion stands in the forefront of the second panel, backlit by the stretch of desert and a yellow sun. The horse’s front leg is dotted with red; below, Ray is mid-grin with his arms outstretched, hands cut out of frame. The horse, mid-motion, flees toward the horizon. It won’t make it. ]

“I just can’t quit you,” is the kind of thing he would say, big hands outstretched to clasp the back of his neck or to fit over Henry’s windpipe like a noose. It’d be a bit, with a Southern drawl and eyes not quite meeting his, but there would be just enough substance that Henry could pause and think, Well. Maybe you should.

Somewhere underneath that ego is a person capable of letting go, of cutting their losses. Henry’s seen the Old Westerns in their grainy film and open desert, and knows the kind of look good men get in their eye when their horse buckles. It’s the same guarded expression he wore when Drex came barreling back in, looking like Henry might in a few years time—angry, bitter, and stuck in the same place after all those years. Drex came back on his own, but still holding the old reins. Maybe that’s a difference between Ray and the good man; when Henry breaks his leg, he gets benched and pulled from the field. He’ll be back out again the moment his femur mends because he won’t see the break for the escape it could be. A fracture is never just a fracture, and a boy is never just a boy.

A horse with a bum leg gets taken into the field. It can’t return because it never leaves. Oh, well. It was a good beast, a good ride while it lasted.

PANEL NOTES:

The first chapter of the fic “bite your tongue” by ao3 user irregularsatanist (slavishtrust) motivated this significantly, although this is not explicitly lifted. I am obsessed with their mind! Every time I read and reread, my fingers get the itch to storyboard. Much to say, and more to come, surely. (I’m actually being so, so, so serious, the levity of their work is what incepted me into this hyperfixation and every version of the characters I have in my head is inadvertently colored by the blueprint of trauma, codependency, and exploitation in the aftermath of young adulthood that their continuity of portrayal has lain out. I’m not kidding I’m being so real about this rn)

Something about the Wild West motif is just really, really compelling to me: empty space, inherent isolation, man in nature, evocative of incoming change sweeping into the country and devastating those that lived before and in the now and yet still feeling stagnant in the hugeness of the land, and the kind of vulnerability that the wilderness digs out of you. There is no difference between the civilized and the uncivilized here. I don’t think I’m super subtle about it.

There is an anonymous mark on Henry’s neck in the top panel. It could be blood, a bruise, dirt or dust, inflicted or coincidental, etc.

Three instances of hands, or hands in omission: Ray’s hand gripping Henry, the implication of his hands extended outward/upward, and the hand holding the gun in the bottom right panel. In the former and latter, they are highlighted with yellow lines.

Henry does not reach back for Ray, but he doesn’t retreat, either.

Henry and Ray’s respective paneling colors differ.

The horse represents freedom & captivity, cyclical tenancies, dehumanization, and escape into the natural.

Here, Henry may even identify with the gun itself. Ray’s hand over his face + neck mirrors the grip over the firearm, and the line where flesh meets object (or, in this case, Henry) is highlighted by the same line work.

The horse envisioned is a wild one that was groomed into captivity and subsequently domesticated. In most ‘horse’ narratives, the struggle culminates in the question of freedom—or return to nature—as opposed to the human need to keep. By allowing a creature of nature, which was not born into civilization but rather introduced into it, to return to its motherland is a humanist act and therefore a rejection of corporate or urban conformity. The horse exists as an objectified commodity, one to be used or paraded. To relinquish the horse demonstrates more than love, arguably something more important: respect. To respect nature is to relinquish the grip of expansion.

I feel like this is the moment when Henry returns and they both reunite with one another after a period of time. Ray’s expression, while still ambiguous, is much easier to parse than Henry’s. Henry, of course, considers himself the defective horse, and weighs the three possible routes: escape (back) into the wild, to be taken into a field and shot (real Old Yeller style), or to be ridden again. Each carries their own merit and implication of autonomy.

The reality of each unfolding is still dependent on Ray: if he lets him go, if he decides Henry must be discarded, if he utilizes him still—or, if he is defective at all.

Ray’s problem isn’t that he’ll be tempted to shoot the horse, but instead that he wouldn’t. The good man takes the creature out of its misery if he can’t heal, house, and release it. This guy would rather have a bloody horse in his house until the end of time than admit he shouldn’t have had it in the first place. From Ray’s perspective, the reunion is best characterized as the return of the prodigal son. To Henry, this is more of an ego death in slow motion.

Ego Death: “The disappearance of an individual’s sense of self, or the removal of one’s perception of oneself as an entity separate from one’s social or physical environment.” (Britannica)

Prodigal Son: “…a man or boy who has left his family in order to do something that the family disapprove of and has now returned home feeling sorry for what he has done.” (Cambridge Dictionary)

The chapter title, “QUIET ON THE OLD FRONTIER” is a reference to All Quiet on the Western Front, the English title of Erich Maria Remarque’s 1929 novel about the traumatic aftermath of World War I. The term, “all quiet on the Western Front” is a colloquialism referring to a lack of progress, or stagnation. “Front” is interchanged with “frontier”, Americanizing the phrase to refer to the Old West and settlement. California, on the Western Coast of the U.S., is assumed to be in close proximity with the location of the narrative.

Of course, “I just can’t quit you” is the iconic dialogue between cowboys Jack and Ennis in Brokeback Mountain (2005), the epitome of the modern Western movie (based on a novel of the same name). Here, the context is not exactly the same, but still (uncomfortably) adjacent. Sometimes, quitting is good. It can help you grow up big and strong.

#henry danger #henry hart #ray manchester #henray #dangerverse #kid danger #captain man #i stg i was not a horse girl however i had a healthy appreciation for the genre #really this is more about my poorly disguised fascination with cowboys and the self regulation of restraint even in open field #what we want to be and what we believe we are made for follows us into the wilderness like a root we cant pull out #and thats the downfall of man #this isnt so much about codependency as it is ingrained return to the place where we were domesticaticed. symbolically neutered but also #cared for washed and fed. thats why abandoning our animals that once had wildness is the ultimate mercy despite the difficulty of #seperation bc preserving that wildness that truth is kinder and more respectful than pretending it can be bred out in less than a generatio #my art #the red I used here was very warm and muted so in the process it looked burgundy but by the end it’s a little desaturated. oh well ummm #I stg the next one of these is going to be either Jasper or Piper. I need colors other than red blue and yellow

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sso-montana · 21 days ago

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Wings, hearts, some things are meant to be torn apart

Word Count: 3k+ Rating: Mature Warnings: violence, implied character death, vulgar language, descriptions of injuries, blood mention OC's Mentioned: Rachel Harrow @starstable-eve, Alina @alinasteelcrest, Carolina @carolina-nightjar

[Even in a zombie apocalypse Montana didn't expect something like this to happen. All she had wanted was to look for old Jasper, not have her humanity taken from her.]

As the head drops from the zombies shoulders its body soon follows. Montana was panting from exhaustion, pulling the blue scarf she had wrapped around her head down to allow more air to flow into her lungs. It was a safety precaution to stop any potentially zombie fluids from entering her system while… taking care of them.

The thought of zombie blood or saliva getting into her mouth was also, simply put, fucking disgusting.

“Onyx?” As she called out there came a low whine in response before a head popped out from behind a boulder not too far away. With a last look around what had once been a small zombie group that had been separated from the Silverglade Horde she let out a sigh and swung her axe over her shoulder. The shire came walking towards her, stopping only to sniff at a severed head before snorting in disgust and continuing his walk. As his hind legs passed the skull he gave a forceful kick against it, sending it flying straight into a bush.

The girl couldn't help but chuckle at her horse's attitude. At least some things hadn't changed since the start of all… this.

Really, Onyx's attitude had not let up even a single bit. The tantrum he had thrown before, whilst and especially after she had cut his mane and tail for his own safety had been the worst one she had ever seen.

Truth be told, it had hurt her, too. Justin and her had always threatened to cut them because of how terrible the grooming process was. Of course they’d never gone through with it, after all Onyx had always taken pride in his mane and tail (Montana wanted to judge him for it, really, but who was she to do so, considering how important her hair was for her, too?). It had been nothing more than a joke.

But actually having to do it because it could one day be the difference between life and death for him…

Shaking her head the former blacksmith apprentice turned her focus back on the present. Her fingers didn't feel the warmth from Onyx’s nose as she gently stroked it.

Of course she didn't. It had been ages since she had been able to feel any kind of warmth. The wildlife she hunted and cooked for food didn't feel warm to her, either. It wasn't cold and for the tiniest of seconds she was almost able to feel the heat of it as she bit down but immediately after the meat simply felt… not cold. It was weird to describe it and even weirder to actually eat.

Not even fire itself was of any use to her. The bandage that wrapped around her lower left arm and was hidden beneath her thermo clothing was a cruel reminder of that. Had Onyx not cried out when it happened it was unlikely she would've noticed the burn at all.

“Ready to head over to Jasper's farm?”

A soft snort was all the response she got. Montana gave the shire one last pat on his nose before she placed her axe in the scabbard she had taken (stolen) from one of the abandoned Jorvik Rangers Stations in Mistfall and attached to Onyx's saddle before she swung herself on the horse's back.

With her plan of taking the mountain range path instead of riding past the Equestrian Center- or what was left of it- the trek towards Golden Hills was still a good hour away. The chance of encountering both zombies or other survivors were much lower that way which was just up to her liking. Weeding out zombies was exhausting and she didn't have the energy for that after today's stunt.

Looking up at the fading sun they'd most likely arrive after nightfall.

ॱ⋅.˳˳.⋅˙ॱᐧ.˳˳.⋅ઇଓ

As she slipped through the metal gate Montana let out a string of curses. Her right hand had gotten caught on one of the broken metal bars and cut through her shirt. There was already a trail of blood forming, reaching from her index finger across the back of her hand all the way down to the right corner of her wrist.

Onyx let out a worried whine at her reaction, nervously scratching at the ground with his hoofs. He hadn't liked the idea of her looking for Jasper all on her own from the start.

“It's nothing. I'll be fine.”

Judging from his pinned back ears and continued scratching at the pavement her poor attempt at sounding reassuring wasn't working at all.

With a heavy sigh she motioned towards the riding arena to where Onyx, after a ten second stare down, started heading.

If he wanted to it would be no problem for the shire to kick down what was left of the gate, they both knew it. The only reason Onyx had refrained from doing so was that Montana wouldn't have it. Neither the noise nor the potential injuries were worth having him accompany her on the little trip. A five minute trip from the gate to the farm. Maybe she could make it in two if she ran. He was being dramatic.

Hopefully she wouldn't have to run.

Heading towards the old farm Montana couldn't help the sinking feeling in her stomach. Maybe it was wrong or even stupid to look for old man Jasper, but she had to. Not just for her own peace of mind but also the Moorlands. If she ever saw them again she could at least tell them about him. They were the only ones she still had left after her grandma had…

Pushing that memory back to the dark corners of her mind she started to observe her surroundings more closely.

There weren't any zombies around that she could see or hear. Not even the wolves that would usually howl at this time of night made a sound. No insects, no wind, nothing.

‘Something is wrong’ the thought kept repeating in the back of her mind as she got closer to the farmhouse. Something or someone was in the area that nature itself was terrified of.

‘Rule number one: if you're out in the wild and everything goes quiet, leave. Nature doesn't go silent unless something horrible is about to happen.’ It had been an offhand comment by one of the Jorvik Rangers- Rachel, maybe?- when they got talking after she had dropped off a delivery from the blacksmith. Back then Montana didn't think much of it, though after the incident she'd more than internalized that rule.

The sound of dry leaves crunching beneath her boots seemed deafeningly loud in the dead of night.

Trying to redirect her focus on the mission she had set for herself the uneasy feeling in her stomach only grew the closer she got to the house. It was hard to make out in the dark before but now she could see the front door was wide open, left hanging onto a single hinge that threatened to give out any second. Some of the windows were broken, the railing around the porch destroyed and even some of the tiles from the roof were missing.

There was no chance in hell Jasper was still around, at least not alive. She should go back. She knew she should go back. All she had to defend herself with was a knife- it wasn't bad, better than nothing, but the thought of being without her axe made her insides turn and not in a good way.

'It's fine. Calm down. At least look if there's some food left. That way the trip wasn't completely useless’ as she set foot on the porch the creaking of the wood almost caused her to turn around and make a run back to the gate right then and there.

She waited a second.

Then another one.

There was no reaction from… well, anything around her. No breeze, no sound of animals or zombies, no rustling of bushes or grass. Nothing changed. Just quiet. Too quiet.

It felt like a pair of eyes was watching her.

Shaking her head Montana mumbled to herself while walking over to the front door: “Get a grip.”

She was getting paranoid. Which was probably a good thing considering the whole zombie-apocalypse-shit that was going on. Better safe than bitten.

Still. It made her feel crazy, even if it was just a little bit.

Maybe she was turning crazy. When had she last held an actual conversation with another human being? Was it the time she had given that rider with the injured leg the warning about the collapsed bridge at Valedale Lake? Or when she shared some of her water with that blond-haired girl in Mistfall? These days everything seemed to blend in together.

Wake up. Travel around. Kill zombies. Look for food. Find shelter for the night. Repeat the next morning. The longest period of time she had spent in one place had been a week and that was back when she had been at the Valley.

Sitting around doing nothing felt wrong. Thinning out the zombies at least gave her a purpose. Like she was doing something useful.

Her thoughts came to a screeching halt as she entered the living room of the old farmhouse.

Flipped over furniture and broken glass was scattered around with books and photo frames thrown into the mix.

And the remnants of what had once been Jasper Holbrook laying on the floor.

It wasn't surprising, not really. Jasper had been old and stubborn and probably refused to join the G.V. because his farm “wasn't that far away.”

That didn't mean it didn't hurt. He was one of the last people she had left that she actually cared about, that she had considered family. To see his body mauled and eaten by those disgusting, wretched, abominations-

Blind rage or grief, it was hard to tell the cause of the tears threatening to spill down her cheeks.

'Don't cry. Don't you fucking cry.’

Swiftly turning around Montana headed to the kitchen, the back of her uninjured hand viciously rubbing at the corners of her eyes. Crying won't solve anything. It wouldn't help her, it sure as fuck wouldn't help Jasper. Finding food that hadn't been raided by survivors would help. Finding a first aid kit would help.

ॱ⋅.˳˳.⋅˙ॱᐧ.˳˳.⋅ઇଓ

Canned green beans and pumpkin purée, crispbread and raisins. Sure, it wasn't the best selection of food and sure as hell not something the former blacksmith apprentice would usually go for, but who could afford to be picky in an apocalypse? The big bottles of water were a good addition as well. Something with more flavor would've been nice though.

‘Man, I miss Energy Drinks’

Did it feel silly thinking about missing the fuel for her caffeine and sugary drink addiction? Yes. Was it at least somewhat helpful in keeping her feel normal-ish? Also yes. Humor had always been her coping mechanism, much to the dismay of others, and now there was no one but Onyx to judge her for her warped sense of keeping spirits high. Or the attempt therefor.

There was still the feeling of dread following her as she sat down on the porch steps and pulled out the fresh bandages she had found in a first aid kit. Disinfectant wasn't something she had been able to acquire though so the bottle of vodka she had found needed to do.

Taking a sniff from the bottle the former blacksmith apprentice considered taking a sip before eventually deciding against it. Alcohol had never been something she actively sought out, at least not in a comforting way. Self-hatred had driven her to many things but at least alcoholism wasn't one of them.

She could almost hear Justins disapproving sigh in the back of her mind.

Her face twisted in discomfort as the bottle's contents poured over the torn skin of her hand. The sting common for alcohol coming into contact with wounds accompanied by the icy cold feeling of the liquor send multiple shivers down her spine. It was as if a thousand tiny icicles bore into the already aching wound. She quickly set down the now half empty bottle beside her as another colorful string of curses left her lips.

“Stupid stupid stupid sealed magic!”

Montana shook her hand vigorously as if she would be able to shake the pain away, too. Pressing down on the cut with a crumpled up tissue she let out a quiet groan. ‘The things I do to prevent a fucking infection.’

Justin should be proud of her. She was taking care of herself. Somewhat.

As soon as the aching had faded to a dull pain the girl removed the tissue and started wrapping the bandage around her hand. At the very least it had stopped bleeding.

After the rest of the vodka and bandages had been stowed away in her bag Montana stood up from the porch, giving her surroundings one last look before-

Snap

The world seemed to freeze. Her pulse skyrocketed. Blood pumped through her veins with such an intensity she almost felt warm. Her mind was racing, going through every possible scenario of what that could've been, of what she had to defend herself with, of what her chances of survival were depending on her opponent.

Every single fiber in her body told her to run, to flee, to get away from there holy shit your going to die-

Rustling. There was the slightest rustling coming from a bush not too far away and out of the corner of her eye she could see a hooded figure emerging from the direction.

Without a second or even first thought Montana started to sprint. Toward the gate, towards her exit, towards safety. It wasn't strategic or graceful or even thought through. It was pure, primal survival instinct.

There was commotion behind her. More rustling. The breaking of branches and crunching of leaves. Footsteps.

She didn't dare turn around. This wasn't a matter of who was stronger but who was faster. Luckily for her adrenaline and the fear of dying did wonders for one's presumed limits.

But it wasn't good enough.

Halfway across the path something jumped her back. The girl's face was smashed into the muddy ground beneath her feet, muffling her groaning and screaming. She faintly registered the pain shooting through her nose and temple as they collided with the ground but didn't dare to focus on it.

The weight on her back shifted, a hand pressing down her head while another pulled at her scarf and turtleneck. In a matter of milliseconds, before she even had any chance to do something, there were two sharp objects piercing her skin. Her cry was muffled by the mud, hands balling into fists as a pain shot from her neck through her nervous system.

Something was biting her and she was completely helpless.

'Fight.’

‘Fight!’

‘God-fucking-dammit fight you useless bitch!'

The all too familiar rage filling her veins helped fuel the fire in her chest. With not even half a mind on what she was doing and the rest focused on surviving Montana tried reaching for the knife strapped to her leg. Her right arm had been trapped under her own body and the struggle to get it out seemingly caught the attention of who or whatever had attacked her. The stinging pain in her neck deepened as the hand that presumably had held her clothes now was pushing down on her right shoulder.

This couldn't be it.

This wouldn't be it.

She was tough. She was strong. No fucking chance she would let herself be killed just like that.

Racking her brain for something she could do to escape other than uselessly wiggling her body beneath the weight on top of her and her left hand hitting against what was probably the back of the thing an idea finally popped into her mind.

Putting as much force as she could behind it Montana slammed her head up and back, colliding the back of her skull with the forehead of her attacker.

Finally. The things- teeth most likely now that she gave it an actual thought- left her neck as the thing above her cursed.

Without a second to lose she gave another headbutt, ignoring the pain it sent through her own skull, before putting all her energy into rolling them both over. After two rolls she managed to shake the thing- person?- off her back. After three she scrambled to her feet and started running towards the gate again, putting a good distance between her and her attacker.

Again, she didn't care to look at whatever had attacked her before starting to sprint. She needed to get out. Needed to get to Onyx and her axe. Survival was more important than information.

Slipping through the gate in a haste it seemed almost ironic that she didn't sustain any injuries now that she wasn't being careful.

There were no footsteps behind as she sprinted towards the riding arena, her legs carrying her even faster once she spotted Onyx’s silhouette in the distance.

Seeing his rider running towards him the shire didn't waste a second and started galloping towards her. Only once they had reached each other did the two of them stop, Montana panting from exhaustion as Onyx whined loudly and positioned himself between her and the direction of the gate, ears pinned back and nostrils flared.

As she heaved herself up into the saddle the girl didn't waste any time on waiting for only god knew what had attacked her to show itself.

“We're leaving.”

Her voice was raspy, eyes staring into space as she gripped the reins tightly and let Onyx take the lead, galloping towards the direction of the mountain path they had come from. The aches all over her body, her hand, neck, head and nose slowly started to register as her pulse calmed down.

‘What in the actual hell just happened?’

ॱ⋅.˳˳.⋅˙ॱᐧ.˳˳.⋅ઇଓ

Montana doesn't know where she is. Actually, she doesn't remember anything that happened the last few days- weeks? Everything is a blurry mess. She doesn't remember how she got here, where Onyx is or why she was kneeling beside a corpse.

….

‘What?’

Her hands tremble as she looks over to the dead body laying beside her. The girl's jaw is slack, a silent scream leaving her pale lips. Her eyes are wide open, lifeless and staring into space.

There's a strong taste of iron in Montana’s mouth causing her to subconsciously lick her lips only for her tongue to graze something sharp. She winces, lifting one hand to tap along her lips and realizes her canine teeth are way sharper than she remembered. Longer too, now that she thought about it.

Thirsty. She was so, so thirsty. As if she hadn't had a single drop of water in weeks. Looking around for any possible source of water she went through what she currently knew.

‘A dead person. Sharp teeth. Blood in your mouth. A memory gap.’ While turning her head back to the corpse beside her she saw two holes, not even as big as her pinky's fingernail, at the base of the neck. The person seemed pale, weirdly so. As if all life had been sucked out of them.

As the pieces of the puzzle started falling into place the former blacksmith apprentice started shaking her head, trying, and failing, to get up from the ground. Something in her brain clicked and she started scrambling backwards on her hands and feet. Away from the corpse. Away from what she now realized had once been Judy.

Judy. Sweet, nice, Judy that worked at the Equestrian Center. Laying dead at her feet with an empty expression toward the afternoon sky.

With half a thought to not alert any possible zombies that may be lurking nearby Montana clasped her hands over her mouth before she started screaming.

Screaming at the sight of Judy, dead and lifeless and so, so pale.

Screaming at the thought that she had to have done this.

Screaming over the agonizing realization that whatever had happened at Jaspers Farm had fundamentally changed her.

Screaming because something within her knew- she wasn't human anymore.

#ssoblr #sso #sso oc #star stable online #montana opalheart #riders of fallen dawn #riders-of-fallen-dawn #rofd #my writing #I really really really hope it's okay I mentioned your guys oc's 👉👈#i put everyone montan could've possibly met in the wilderness into a spinning wheel and let fate decide bc I couldn't pick #also florence isn't tagged but that's bc she's not just mentioned and bc it's kinda obvious it's her #I hope #but yeah obvi the thing that attacked montana was florence #anyway i hope you liked the story of how montana got turned into a vampire!#it was a pain in the ass to figure out! :D #special thanks to gremlin who had to put up with my questions and nonsense I am verry sorry you had to endure that #i hope this makes even just an ounce of sense

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