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babbushka · 3 years

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Biting Dust - Ch. 5

Life ain’t too easy for a woman, ‘specially not a woman on the run like you. With a bounty on your head and gunpowder in your nose, you’ve grown adjusted to a life of solitude away from the hustle and bustle of civilization. That is, until you meet one particular man who’s got a face you’d only ever seen in your dreams – or on wanted posters. And when he offers you a proposition that sounds too good to be true, well. You don’t think your life will ever be the same again…

Outlaw!Kylo Ren x Reader

Tumblr Masterlist | Available on AO3

6k; Warnings: Attempted assault, attempted murder

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Red clouds of earth kick up behind your horse’s hooves as they gallop far past the town line, hootin’ and hollerin’ all the while. The wind whips your hair around, your bonnet flung right off your head, held onto your person only by the wide ribbon that’s kept it tied ‘round your throat. Adrenaline pumps through your body, makes your vision spotty, makes your heart beat fast fast fast, ridin’ like lightning away from Ragrock.

Kylo’s right beside you, makin’ just as much damn noise as you, his crooked teeth gleamin’ gold in the blazin’ Arizona sun. You ain’t never see him grin this big, as he shouts and jeers too, challengin’ the canyons and the desert, darin’ them to take this moment away from the both of you.

“I can’t fuckin’ believe you!” You laugh, voice nearly gettin’ lost in the wind, cheeks hurtin’ from the way you’re smilin’ so much, “Goddamn you’re so -- so -- stupid!”

Kylo laughs at that too, a deep rumblin’ sound that feels so much like thunder that you’re sure it’s shakin’ the earth. Or maybe that’s Sam and Agnes, the way they’re throwin’ their heads back and whinnying and stampin’ their hooves into the caked dirt below. Either way, it’s a good sound, one of them sounds that makes you ache in your bones; you can’t remember the last time you heard someone else laugh so genuinely.

“Yeah?” He finally decides to slow Sam to a halt, and you do the same, tuggin’ on Aggie’s reigns to get her to calm just a little bit, the horses powerful legs comin’ to a gentle trot, both you and Kylo gulpin’ down air.

“Yeah. Why the hell did you bring us through there knowin’ there was bad blood?” You reach into the saddle bag and pull out a canteen, measurin’ a careful sip or two of the fresh river water, before decidin’ to pass the jug over to Kylo himself.

Gratefully, he takes the same size sip as you, and you think that’s mighty chivalrous of him once again, on account of he’s a much bigger person than you, and should clearly need more water. Still, you don’t protest when he hands the canteen back to you, the lid screwed on nice and tight to avoid spillin’.

“It was the only place I could think of that’s close enough.” He shrugs, and you frown ever so slightly at that, knowin’ that really, as long as you stay close to the Colorado River, you’ll have just about anything you need.

Well, almost, anyway.

“Close enough for what?” Your curiosity gets the better of you, especially when he starts rummagin’ around in his own saddle-bag for somethin’. You lean over, tryin’ to be nosy and get a peek inside, but he only clicks his tongue against the roof of his mouth, and you duck your head, embarrassed at bein’ caught.

“For this,” Kylo doesn’t make you wait though, pullin’ out a couple boxes of bullets, but much more importantly, “And these.”

When Kylo pulls out the burlap sack filled with coins, your eyes widen. Right there in his fist has to be over five hundred dollars in gold and silver, more money than you’ve ever seen in one place save for the banks you burn. It makes your mouth go dry, and you wonder how he got a hold of it all, if he took it from the cash register by force, or if he stole it discreetly.

“Holy shit, no wonder you were takin’ so damn long.” You urge Aggie a little closer to get a better look, darin’ to stick your hand in the bag and scoop up a handful of the coins. They were heavy, heavy and real.

“I figured you wouldn’t be opposed.” Kylo speaks quietly as your hands let the coins fall between your fingers, clinking together back in the sack. He gives you the sack then, lets the weight of it rest in your hands, clearin’ his voice, “We’ll need it for Ruby City.”

Without a thought, you push it back into his hand. He was the one who had stolen it, it belonged to him. Yes you were out of money, your own coin purse completely empty, but...but you had more pride than that, to accept someone else’s hard earned coin. Even if he had earned it wrongly, it was still his.

Besides, you reckon as you shake your head when he tries to give it back once again, Kylo was right -- it’s less suspicious to travel with a man, and if you’re traveling together, he better be the one to handle the money.

Kylo seems to read your thoughts, and he just nods, before taking a couple coins out and handing them to you, fifty bucks weighin’ on your palm.

“Just take the fuckin’ money.” He says with a small smile. “I won’t hear any ‘no’, it’s yours too, for helpin’ me by distractin’ the townfolk.”

You sigh, and reluctantly put the coins in your own small purse. For the first time in a while, the fabric is bulged out and heavy. Kylo puts the burlap sack back in his saddle-bag, and you resolve to ignore its existence until you need him to pay for a room at an inn somewhere.

“Should’ve warned me that you knew the damn bartender.” You scold him then, a little disgruntled that he had kept that information from you. If you were going to be a distraction, you would’ve liked to know exactly who it was you’re distractin’. “Should’ve told me y’all hated each other.”

You don’t tell Kylo that you were flirtin’ with that Armitage, certain that he wouldn’t like it. He sure as hell didn’t like it when Amos was gettin’ a little too friendly with you, anyway, and he was just a stranger. To your surprise though, Kylo scoffs out a laugh, and fishes out his old cigarette from the inside of his boot, lightin’ it with a match and puffin’ smoke through his nose.

“Hate?” He’s got humor in his voice as he urges Sam forward, needin’ to get back towards the water’s edge before the sun sank too low in the sky, “Nah, Hux and I go way back. He’s a good friend.”

You level him a dirty glare at that, if only he had told you he coulda’ saved you a world of panic! You think about the way that Armitage shot out his own windows, the way that Kylo managed to murder Armitage’s brother without any guns of his own, and all the damn fallout that came from it.

“Didn’t seem to be actin’ like a good friend when he was aimin’ his shotgun at your face.” You point out, thinkin’ to yourself, men are so goddamn strange.

Kylo laughs again, and you find yourself growin’ dangerously used to the sound, so you just sigh and shake your head. He smokes and smokes, both of your horses leadin’ you closer to the water, havin’ galloped away from it ever so slightly.

“He likes when I come rollin’ through, trust me. He always complains about how quiet his lil’ town of Ragrock gets, likes to give the folks somethin’ to gossip about every now and again.” Kylo explains, patton’ Sam’s neck and flashin’ you a gold-tipped smile.

“So he really wasn’t going to kill us then?” You raise an eyebrow at him.

“Oh no he probably would’ve if I let him.” Kylo answers quickly, “‘Specially after what I did to Brian. But he’ll be fine with it in a couple weeks once folks tell him I wasn’t the one that started nothin’.”

You stare at him for a little while, and he can feel the weight of your gaze on him, but he only gives you a crooked smile and a wink. You weren’t so sure what that wink meant, but if you had to guess, it could really only mean trouble.

“You’re somethin’ else, you know that?” You lick across your teeth to prevent yourself from smilin’ and givin’ him the satisfaction of knowing that he entertains you. The grin he gives you tells you he knows it anyway.

“Nothin’ that you can’t handle though, I reckon.” Counterin’ with a slight smile, Kylo ducks his head and blushes, and that alone is enough to make you tap your heels against Aggie’s hide, to get her to go gallopin’ down the canyons again.

-----------------------

Some hours later, when the world around you starts to cool off from the settin’ of the sun, you and Kylo set up camp near the river. He had gone ahead and scouted the spot out, made sure there weren’t any folks who had already laid claim to that particular stretch of the bend, no one that could go cousin’ any trouble.

There was more than enough money now, to buy new stocks of food whenever y’all got to the next stop along the route, but that didn’t mean that you were about to let Kylo blow through the supply. So instead, you ask he hunt you down another rabbit for dinner, which he does in less than a half hour, impressin’ you once again.

It’s quiet, out there by the river. The sky has faded to a gentle purple, the silvery moon high in the sky. You’ve got a fire made, nothin’ too big or roarin’, just tall enough to heat up the cast-iron pot that you’ve got hangin’ over it by an iron stake. That rabbit is stewin’ in the pot, along with some water, beans, cut up carrots and a little bit of rice. You stir the pot, listenin’ to the sound of the river as it trickles past.

The sweet sound of a harmonica sounds then, and your gaze snaps up to see Kylo with the instrument against his lips. His eyes are closed, and he’s breathin’ nice and even, the high tune of a melody makin’ your throat choke up. It was a tune you knew all too well, once upon a time, a long time ago.

You stir the stew, chewin’ on the side of your cheek, until somethin’ in you compels you to sing. Your voice is a little rusty, but it doesn’t deter Kylo one bit, in fact, when he catches wind of you singin’ along to his tune, he plays a little louder, a little clearer, switchin’ to the harmony as you take over the melody to the sad cowboy song that you once used to teach yourself,

"O bury me not on the lone prairie."

These words came low and mournfully

From the pallid lips of the youth who lay

On his dying bed at the close of day.

He had wasted and pined 'til o'er his brow

Death's shades were slowly gathering now

He thought of home and loved ones nigh,

As the cowboys gathered to see him die.

"O bury me not on the lone prairie

Where coyotes howl and the wind blows free

In a narrow grave just six by three—

O bury me not on the lone prairie"

"It matters not, I've been told,

Where the body lies when the heart grows cold

Yet grant, o grant, this wish to me

O bury me not on the lone prairie."

Kylo sets down his harmonica then, and you blink away a light mistiness in your eye. It ain’t good to dwell on the past, you know, but sometimes, times like these, you can’t help but think ‘bout it. Kylo’s blinkin’ away somethin’ too, you notice, so as you stir the stew and determine the rabbit and vegetable and rice are all as cooked as they need to be, you ladle a big bowl for you and for this man who has become the closest thing to a companion you’ve ever had in your life, and you take it over to him.

He doesn’t move, doesn’t speak, not for a while. You simply sit down next to him, as close to him as you’ve gotten since that time in the river, and hand him the bowl and spoon. He accepts it gratefully, his own gaze cast into the fire, and not for the first time, you wonder what’s goin’ on in his head.

After a couple bites of the stew, you rest your head on his shoulder. It’s a tentative motion, a hesitant one. Kylo holds his breath, you can feel it in the way he tenses ever so slightly, but he doesn’t tell you to move, and that’s as good of an invitation to stay as any, you reckon.

“You can’t go lookin’ at me like that, by the by.” Breaking the silence, you slurp down a spoonful of stew yourself, lookin’ into the comforting vision of the flames which flicker and flare gently in front of you.

“Hm?”

“If we’re meant to be cousins,” You explain, voice soft and kind, knowin’ that you’ve been too hard on him these past couple days. “You can’t be givin’ me those eyes of yours. Folks might see through the ruse.”

Kylo surprises you by shruggin’ with his other shoulder, his cheeks crinklin’ into a smile. His dimples crease, and he chews on his lip a little, keepin’ his eyes down as he blushes.

“Folks marry their cousins all the time, it wouldn’t be so strange.” Kylo nearly whispers, almost like he’s afraid to speak the words, rushes quickly to try and change the subject as soon as he’s said it, “Hell, my mother almost married her own damn brother on accident -- but that’s a long and complicated story.”

“Oh so we’re married now.” You smile, feelin’ the heat rise to your own cheeks. It’s less of a question and more of a statement, the way you say it, and you find that against your own better judgement, you like the way it sounds. You like the idea of it, and that makes butterflies spark up in your stomach, a feelin’ you ain’t so used to.

“We could be.” Kylo doesn’t dare look at you, idly stirring his bowl, “We could pretend, anyway.”

You think for a second about what that might be like -- but then you shake your head a little and sigh, “I made a promise I’d never be a meek housewife.”

“Ain’t no one here callin’ you meek.” Kylo reassures you, and now it’s your turn to duck your head, to rest it against his shoulder a little more. Your heart beats wildly in your chest, you wonder if he can hear it out there in the quiet of night.

“Be my cousin, for just a little while longer.” You whisper, a silent plea to just give you some more time, “Until we make it to Ruby City.”

“I can’t get a good read on you.” Kylo hums, and you’re relieved to hear that he’s not got an angry or disappointed edge to his tone.

He really does respect you, you realize all of a sudden. Maybe it’s foolish to come to that conclusion so soon, so quickly after you’ve met him, but you can’t help but come to it nonetheless. He’s done nothin’ but respect you this whole time, and you don’t know what to do about that. It’s never happened before.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” You ask, a hint of a smile on your lips.

“It means that you’re the most mysterious damn woman I’ve ever met.” He replies easily, a smile on his own.

“I have to be.” Shrugging, you eat another bite of the stew, wishin’ you had some spices to throw in it. You hope Kylo doesn’t think it’s too bland -- before growin’ bashful again, at the thought that you want him to enjoy your cookin’.

“Why’s that?”

“Because the more people that know about me, the less safe I am.”

“I told you -- ”

“I know, you ain’t gonna hurt me, I know.” You interrupt him, before sighing, wondering if you were really going to do this, if you were really going to tell him. “That’s not what I meant.”

Kylo senses a shift in the air, a change in the atmosphere, and his teasing playful smile melts into something a little more somber, more serious. He watches you, and waits for what you have to say, and you decide that what the hell -- if you couldn’t tell Kylo, you couldn’t tell anyone at all.

“I didn’t always used to be an outlaw, you know.” Setting down your bowl of stew, you fidget with the hem of your blue dress’ skirt, and look into the fire, your memory transporting you to a place and time that felt like a million years ago. “There was a time, a long time ago, that I was a school teacher, in a tiny town in the middle of nowhere Utah...”

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You were young, when you started teachin’ at the school. It had always been your favorite place when you were growin’ up, and when the teacher herself got married and moved away, you jumped at the vacancy at once. This was the only way a young woman like yourself could earn a living with her clothes on, you knew that, and though you were barely older than the students that came to your classes, you took your job seriously.

It had been a bright sunny morning in Spring the day you turned sixteen, when the bells tolled for all the school children to come rushing to your door. Standing outside the single room schoolhouse, you had a cheerful smile on your face as you welcomed the students that you had come to love and care for, as they bounded up the few steps and into the wooden building. Ranging in age from as young as five, to as old as twelve, two dozen students took to their seats, fresh faced and recently washed, hair combed for their lessons.

“Good mornin’ class!” You walk to the front of the room once the bell finishes tolling, picking up a piece of chalk and writing out the first line to a popular sea shanty turned folk song, your delicate cursive spelling, ‘O Bury Me Not On The Lone Prairie.’

“Good morning Miss (L/N)!” The class responds in happy unison. One of your students, a young girl named Wendy quickly gets out of her seat to place an apple on your desk before hurrying back.

You smile at her, at all of them, having grown so fond of this mis-matched group of kids that have been placed in your care for the weekdays.

“I trust y’all had a good weekend?” You ask them, met with a chorus of overlapping affirmations, and you chuckle at their response to immediately wantin’ to tell you all about everything they did on their days off. “Good, I’m glad. Now if you would buddy up and please take out your textbook, we’ll pick up where we left off on Friday.”

The McGuffey reader was your go-to book to teach the children with, it had everything you needed -- reading, writing, and arithmetic that was easy enough to understand by even the littlest of your students. It was broken down into repetition, phonetics, and even had lines to trace the letters and numbers, but more than that, it was the book you yourself had learned to read by, so you were familiar enough with it.

“Who would like to be the first to read what I’ve got written up on the board?” You ask, once they’ve all opened their books to the appropriate page, a handful of eager students at once clamoring to volunteer.

And so, like any other day, the morning turned to afternoon, and the afternoon turned to evening. When the bells rang to dismiss the class, the children groaned, knowing that meant they had to go home where their family would likely put them to work in the field or in the kitchen for an hour before supper.

“Thank you for another wonderful day children, y’all be good for your parents now, you hear?” You try to encourage them to cheer up, even if it did warm your heart that they liked learning from you so much. “Oh, Rickie? Could you come here for a minute? You’re not in trouble, I promise.”

Sitting at your desk for a moment, you saw the earring that you had stashed in your drawer from the evening prior, and you fish it out as the ten year old skips over to you, his mousy brown hair flopping around as he does. You smile, thinkin’ that he might do to ask for a trim when he gets home.

“Yes ma’am?” Rickie stands before the desk, and you hand him the earring, his eyes going wide as he recognizes it.

“Could you do me a big favor and deliver this to your Mama? She must’ve dropped it here last night and I’m sure she’s goin’ crazy lookin’ for it.” You smile, and he nods happily.

“She sure is! Earned myself a smack upside the head I did, when she thought I snatched it from her dresser!” Rickie laughs, clearly glad to have been vindicated.

“Well I’m sure she’ll be sorry when you bring it back to her, let her know I was the one who had it, not you.” You smile back warmly at him, but he’s already runnin’ out of the schoolhouse, callin’ another thanks and a goodbye behind him as he goes.

Only a moment or two before the last of your students are gone, is there a knock on the door.

He doesn’t wait for an answer before coming in anyway, and you look up with a frown to see who would be so rude as to invite themselves, until you recognize the sheriff and put a forced smile upon your face.

“Hello sheriff, how are you this fine evenin’?” You present yourself as politely as possible, as the man’s spurs clink while those heavy boots of his walk across your floors, trackin’ mud in from the outside with little care.

You didn’t like him, the sheriff. Didn’t like the way you caught him starin’ at you sometimes, didn’t like the way you caught him starin’ at the girls in your class. He was one of the oldest fellas in town, maybe three times your age. He’s starin’ at you now, eyein’ you up and down in a way that makes your skin crawl.

“I’m doin’ well honey, thank you.” The sheriff chews on some tobacco, a habit you can’t stand, before pointin’ out the door behind him and askin’ with a stern voice, “That boy wasn’t givin’ you any trouble, was he?”

“Rickie? No of course not, he’s a good kid.” You’re quick to reply, not wantin’ to cause any trouble for the young farmboy. You and the sheriff look at each other for a moment or two, before you grow more and more uncomfortable, busyin’ your hands with the worksheets that’ve been left on your desk to grade. You clear your throat, “Is -- has somethin’ happened?”

“Naw, I just wanted to come by and see ya before your night class starts.” The sheriff’s spurs clink clink clink over to the desk where he sits himself down, right on the wooden table-top.

“Well, here I am. Can I offer you somethin’ to drink? Coffee?” You try your best to be polite, hoping that one of your night students -- adults from the town who never got to go to school when they were young -- might show up and come to your rescue.

“Not tonight, thank you.” He replies, making you sigh out with relief against your better judgement. He doesn’t notice, instead you can feel his gaze on your chest, “But, if you’re free this friday evenin’, I’d love to take you up on that offer.”

“Oh...I see.” Bile rising up in the back of your throat, you shake your head and try to reject him as politely as possible, voice clipped yet firm as you move from around the desk to the chalk-board where you erase the children’s lesson and prepare for the adult’s. “Sheriff, I’m sorry but, I’m not quite interested in seein’ anyone at present.”

“And why’s that?” He doesn’t leave you alone, and you begin to panic with the way he’s steppin’ closer to you, knowin’ that if he traps you against the board, there won’t be a clear path to escape.

“Well it ain’t allowed for a woman to be datin’ while she’s a schoolteacher.” You explain, your voice starting to wobble.

Something about that makes him chuckle, somethin’ sinister, his blackened teeth from all that damn tobacco too close to your face when he grins.

“Must be awfully lonely,” Sheriff runs his hand up your arm, “Missin’ the comfort of a man at night.”

“It’s not.” Your body shudders in revolt, and you try to side step him, blood pounding in your ears, eyes wide in distress as you feel sweat bead up and trickle down the back of your thigh, “I appreciate your concern but -- ”

“Let me just get one kiss then.” He doesn’t let you go that easily, grabbing your arm harshly and dragging you over to one of the desks where he pushes you with a rough shove. His hand grips your cheek too hard, forcing your mouth to pucker as you fight him.

“Sheriff, I said no -- please get away from me -- I don’t -- don’t touch me!!” You knee him hard straight in the groin, your panicked scream alerting the adults who had thankfully, miraculously, decided to show up for evening class early.

“Miss (L/N)!” A couple of cattle ranchers kick the door open and run to your side, tugging you away from the sheriff who laughs loudly. You smell the stench of alcohol on him, realizing he’s drunk as all hell, and cling to the strong rancher, tears threatening to spill over your eyes.

“Don’t you ever fucking touch our teacher again!” One of the ranchers, a nice man named Francisco, holds you tightly, protectively. You always liked Francisco, he treated you like a daughter he never got to have. The other, Jedidiah, stands firmly next to you, so ready to lunge at the sheriff that you can’t help but feel immense gratitude towards them.

“Everythin’s just fine son, run along now.” The sheriff chuckles, but neither Francisco nor Jedidiah move a muscle.

“Sheriff I think you need to leave.” Mustering up as much of your courage as possible, you speak clearly, willing your voice not to shake as the safety of Francisco’s arms give you strength, “Class begins soon, I’m sorry.”

The ranchers stare the sheriff down, and he stares back, before noddin’ with a sick understandin’ that you reckon means this won’t be the last you see of him. Spittin’ his tobacco onto the floor, that same floor he sullied with the mud under his boots after the children had so lovingly cleaned it with you, the sheriff turned on his heel and left, pausin’ at the doorway for a moment to send you a dark, threatenin’ chuckle, “You will be.”

“Are you alright Miss (L/N)? Did he hurt you?” Jedidiah takes his cap off and kneels in front of you, tryin’ to appear as non-threatenin’ as possible. Francisco releases his hold on you, and checks you for any marks or signs of stress, but you just let out a shudderin’ breath and shake your head. You’re not sure which question that’s meant to answer, but they don’t press you.

“Who do we call when the sheriff’s the one acting out?” Francisco wonders aloud, and you feel like there’s lead in your belly, because he’s right.

The only way you’d likely be able to avoid the sheriff and his wrath would be to leave town altogether, and well, you couldn’t do that. Who would keep after the students then?

There wasn’t any trouble during the lesson that evening, much to your satisfaction. The later it got in the night, the more you felt relieved, surely if the sheriff was going to cause trouble, he would’ve done so by now. Your students can tell that there’s something off about you though, a few of them approachin’ you after the class was done, wonderin’ if there was anythin’ they could do.

In hindsight, you wonder how different your life would’ve been, had you asked to stay with one of them for the evening, or had you asked one of them to stay with you.

The chokin’ woke you up, before anythin’ else. Smoke, thick black plumes of it pouring out of the windows, the doors. Smoke in your lungs that had your body joltin’ up and out of the little bed up in the attic where you lived above the schoolhouse, had you rollin’ onto the floor in a panic.

“No!” You shout, as the heat of red orange yellow flames begins to lick up the walls, eatin’ away at the wood structure of the building, the whole thing two steps from bein’ a blazin’ bonfire out in the field, “Oh god, oh god no!”

Frantic, you run, mind going blank, trying to focus on grabbin’ the important things, only the important things; a photo of your family, the money out of the dresser, a copy of your favorite book. That was it, all you had that you could think to grab, before trying for the door.

The handle burns, and you scream, shaking the pain away from the blisteringly hot doorknob. You’re fucked, oh you’re so fucked, you think as you back up enough to barrel your way through the door, the wood shattering and splintering. The fire reached all the way up to the attic, there was nowhere you could escape. You could jump out the window, but you’d break your neck landin’ on the hard ground. Outside, someone yells, revelin’ in the way that you scream.

“If I can’t have you, ain’t nobody gets to have you, hear that? You hear that bitch?” The sheriff cackles tauntingly, and the fear of death drips icy cold down your back, compels you to run as fast as you can down the wooden rickety stairs, into the blaze.

If you can just get out, if only you can get out of this building, maybe you’ll survive, maybe you --“No!”

One of the stairs has shattered beneath your feet, your foot stomping straight through it, trapped. You cough and hack up the smoke, it’s stinging your eyes, it’s in your lungs, soot in your mouth, you can’t see, oh god it’s so hot, the flames are surrounding you, and your foot is stuck through the stairs.

“Please, please come on you’re strong enough for this, you have to be strong enough for this, come on.” You sob, willing yourself, yanking your foot out in harsh movements as the laughter screeches around you in a drunken stupor.

Eventually, in all your efforts, the structure of the stairs give away entirely, and you try to grab onto something as the floor falls beneath your feet, sending you crashing down into the classroom below. The fire’s taken everything here; the wallpaper, the tables and chairs, even the shiny apple that Wendy sat on your desk, all reduced to ash, cracking and spitting in the flames.

You’ve hit your head from the fall, you can’t move. Somethin’s pinned your legs, you can’t feel nothin’. At least there ain’t any smoke down here, all of it risin’ up up up through the building. The smoke pushes the bells, make them toll. You wonder if they’re callin’ the Reaper, tears slippin’ down your cheeks.

“All the books, oh the poor children.” You whisper, thinkin’ of them all, watchin’ as the textbooks singe to nothingness, knowin’ that soon your body will follow, “Who’s going to teach the children?”

-----------------------

Kylo’s arm is around you, you realize, out there in the present. He’s stock-still, face gone pale, somber. He’s crying, you realize, jaw clenched tight, the muscle in his cheek flexing from the force of it. You’re crying too, wetness on your face. You watch as a tear plips into the rabbit stew, and you’re not entirely sure if it’s one of yours, or Kylo’s.

“The rest of the town came to my rescue, once the flames got so bright you could see ‘em from across the fields. They thought I was dead, when they found me.” You clear your throat, rememberin’ the details of the story that you had only found out after the fact, “I was covered in soot, breathed too much of it in, I wasn’t wakin’ up. I later found out that the sheriff didn’t let them give me a funeral, just told them to stick me in a coffin and gave me a shallow grave.”

Kylo remains quiet, but the arm around you tightens. You’re reminded of Francisco then, how he had protected you. You wonder where he is, what he’s doing. If he ever got to have a daughter.

“I was glad for that part at least, it wasn’t too hard to dig my way back out when I woke up. I must’ve only been there for a couple hours, the dirt wasn’t packed tight or nothin’, thankfully.” You sigh, not knowing when to stop, now knowin’ how to do any of this, how to be vulnerable like this. You ain’t had to be vulnerable in a long, long time.

“Must’ve been out of my mind, I had never thought about killin’ anyone before, you know. I was more angry about the loss of the school than I was for my own life, if you can believe. I hunted him down, the sheriff. He thought I was a ghost, and he hid from me. I found him in the end, doused him in kerosene and lit the sonofabitch on fire right on his front porch.”

You lean your head on Kylo’s shoulder, and ever so gently, he rests his cheek against you back.

“I was sixteen then, and “I’ve been burnin’ shit down to the ground ever since.” You whisper, voice almost lost by the trickle of the river as it flows down to Colorado.

“I’m sorry.” Kylo says, snuffling into your hair a little bit, holdin’ you close, a silent promise.

“It ain’t your fault.” You reply, fightin’ that sour feelin’ in the back of your throat, nudging your face a little closer into his neck.

“If I had been there, I would’ve helped you.” He says, even though you both know that there ain’t no changin’ the past.

“You’re here now.” You pull back enough to look at him, really look at him right in the eyes.

“Yeah, I am.” He nods.

You wonder, sometimes how life might’ve been different, but after all is said and done, this is the life you’ve got.

Kylo lies down then, one arm extended out from his body, an offer.

You don’t think twice about it, when you lay down next to him, your head usin’ that arm as a pillow. It wraps around your shoulder, tuggin’ you to Kylo’s chest, and for the first time in a long time, when you sleep, you don’t dream.

"I've always wished to be laid when I died

In a little churchyard on the green hillside

By my father's grave, there let me be,

O bury me not on the lone prairie."

"I wish to lie where a mother's prayer

And a sister's tear will mingle there.

Where friends can come and weep o'er me.

O bury me not on the lone prairie."

"For there's another whose tears will shed.

For the one who lies in a prairie bed.

It breaks me heart to think of her now,

She has curled these locks, she has kissed this brow."

"O bury me not..." And his voice failed there.

But they took no heed to his dying prayer.

In a narrow grave, just six by three

They buried him there on the lone prairie.

And the cowboys now as they roam the plain,

For they marked the spot where his bones were lain,

Fling a handful o' roses o'er his grave

With a prayer to God his soul to save.

-----------------------------------------------------------------------------

Taggin' some Kylo lovin' friends!

@mochabucky @sacklerscumrag @artsymaddie @bitchydecisions @direnightshade @reyloaddict55 @thembohux @kylorenswhxre @sunflowersinthesnow @babayagakeanu @safarigirlsp @steeevienicks @materialisthicc @hswritingrecs @rosi3ba3z @chapterhappygirl @schopenhauerdeathsquad @loverofallthings @groovetoob @bxnnywriting @angel-bxby3 @smallgirlbigpersonality @lovelyyy-luna @2000andwhat @raddo1975 @cornmousequeen @metsienmenninkainen @caillea @painttheskylineforme @holding-on-to-starwars @kylo-ren-is-alive @caitlin-was-here @icarusinthesea @princessflip @goddessofsprings @mrs-gucci @baubub @bucky-j-barnes @mindyoshiii @beachwoodmonet @darkhairedmenrule @eagerforhoney @nekonaomitard @einmal-im-traum @justlenastuff @0nihiime

#kylo ren x reader #kylo ren/reader #kylo ren fanfic #kylo ren fanfiction #adam driver fanfic #adcu #my writing #biting dust #historical au #western au #outlaw!kylo ren #outlaw!reader

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pressography-blog1 · 7 years

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Guidelines for The usage of a Double-Barrel Shotgun for Domestic Defense

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Guidelines for The usage of a Double-Barrel Shotgun for Domestic Defense

In case you read Shooting Illustrated often, you’re in all likelihood now not the type who’ll accept making do with anything shotgun you happen to very own, even if it’s not ideal for Home Protection. However many Americans are. The reality is, any gun in the Domestic is better than none for self-Defense, and lots of the one’s guns are vintage sporting shotguns like unmarried-shots and double barrels. So, whilst you can no longer glean an awful lot from this newsletter In case you already own a Remington 870, a Benelli or a Molot VEPR-12, perhaps you may bypass this info for your father, buddy or hen-looking buddy who owns an old double barrel But doesn’t seem to be overly involved with understanding how he’ll simply use it in the course of a Home invasion. (I was this man.)

Domestic Defense

Guideline Definition

Not lengthy earlier than my first three-gun match (for which I used to be woefully unprepared), I rolled my eyes on the concept of tactical shotgun reloading. Give me a break! Being a hunter my complete life, I may want to shoot 3 instances at passing ducks and reload a fourth shell and hearth it before they had been out of variety. I will reload blindfolded, with gloves, in a sleet storm. “Just Supply me a pocketful of shells, and that I’ll be exceptional,” I thought. However, I used to be incorrect. Stress reasons you to fumble shells, you’re now not going to be sporting a Taking pictures vest inside the nighttime and, especially, geese seldom return fireplace. If the alternative man is firing at you, fishing a shell out of a jangling pocket of shells—and reducing the gun to do so—should get you killed.

Clint Smith, of Thunder Ranch, is one of u. S .’s maximum respected firearm instructors. One purpose I love him is due to the fact he’s now not a tactical gun snob. He preaches, “Run the gun to procure.”

In case you’ve were given a double barrel, this means wrapping the fingers and thumb of the guiding hand across the metallic of the barrels as a long way towards the muzzle as relaxed, since the purpose is not to swing with a bird, But to maintain the barrels down to get off an accurate 2d shot quick. Don’t fear about bypassing the fore-quit completely; the goal is to get an effective grip on the barrels so you can manipulate this bucking horse by means of keeping its head down.

Tactical reloading of a double barrel approach preserving the gun in the shoulder pocket in the Capturing function even as sliding the movement lever with your cause hand thumb, then finding two shells out of your provider, closing the movement The usage of leverage from each hand and firing once more. You want to exercise this to build smoothness and velocity. A few weapons that function computerized ejectors may additionally require leverage to open the gun as opposed to Simply gravity, and in that case, you’ll need to determine out a short manner to do so whilst transferring the gun from the Taking pictures function as little as feasible.

If the gun has extractors most effective, there’s a risk you could simply open the action, then jerk the gun backward and stop it unexpectedly to motive the shells to come out of the chambers—if the chambers aren’t too tight (dry lube allows). It’s an exquisite method. Otherwise, you’ll pluck them out with your trigger hand. See if you could do this two at a time. But if it has automated ejectors, the shooter should recognize if those empty hulls will fly over the head as it’s set up at the inventory, or if they’ll strike him in the attention or forehead. If the latter, care must be used to roll the gun to the fact because the action is opened.

Does the antique shotgun have an automated safety, or is it manual? Are the maximum open chokes set up in the gun if it has detachable choke tubes? Will the old fowling piece get up to a full charge of current 00 buckshot? Does it print its sample in which it’s aimed and supply a first rate pattern at combat distances?

These are all matters that the common “I’ll Simply grasp the double barrel and forestall the attacker” guy ought to realize prior to definitely Using any such gun to defend his Domestic. Remind him that when the 2 pictures are fired, the shotgun in his hands turns into an instead terrible club if he hasn’t the means or abilities to reload it in a rush.

That said, the antique Wells Fargo coach gun does have several advantages. One, its twin barrels may be loaded with buckshot in a single and birdshot in the other, so the person has the option of Taking pictures either load as wanted, either by pulling the appropriate cause (if it’s a double cause version) or Using the barrel selector switch. The second one gain is its simplicity. Even those circle of relatives members who refuse to make investments the time to learn how to run a semi-vehicle can fast understand the double’s operating process, that’s: pull the trigger, push the lever and stuff the barrels with two fresh masses.

The very last and largest gain is the reason expert hunters in Africa most often use double guns for following up wounded sport: the 2 photographs from a double barrel are the fastest and maximum assured shots of any gun. Unless a trigger spring breaks or the shell is a dud—each ridiculously uncommon occurrences—the shooter is really assured shots as quick as he can pull the cause. Semi-vehicles can jam and pumps require a half of-2d. When a leopard or a horrific guy costs at breath-smelling distances, this Reality is vast.

If one owns a double barrel, is comfy with it and desires to make it his or her Home-Defense gun of choice, there are a few changes that could enhance its effectiveness. Buy a butt sleeve for it that holds extra shells. I like the simple, cheaper elastic type from Blackhawk as it doesn’t increase the cheek-weld position just like the thicker, leather-based kind. Also, don’t forget to mount a flashlight beneath its barrels. In the end, use a touch of white (or glow-in-the-dark) nail polish to make the front brass bead stand out. Manifestly, make certain the gun is smooth and lubed—However now not soaking wet with oil.

whilst it may now not be my first desire for a committed shotgun for Home Defense, plenty of human beings rely on such hands to protect their homes. If all a property owner has is a double barrel, it may be an impressive protective arm—furnished he or she knows a way to run it.

Home Protection

Home Protection is often said as the rational for a first-time gun buy via the inexperienced shooter. I ought to admit that I am not a professional on Home Protection, However, I suppose we will make a common sense evaluation of this form of decision.

Domestic Happiness Definition

The first query we ought to don’t forget is whether or not the purchase of a firearm for Home Protection is the right decision for you. The answer to this lies in your very own personal feelings approximately how ways you are inclined to visit guard your own home and family. This can look like a simple question, However, what it boils right down to is whether or not or not you are willing to kill a person in Defense of your home and own family. If The answer is not a particular yes, then you haven’t any business proudly owning a gun for Domestic Defense. In case you factor that gun at a person you had better be geared up and willing to shoot. The gun itself can be sufficient to scare off the intruder, However, you can not depend on that. If it doesn’t, and you do not shoot, you then have Just armed your assailant. In case you aren’t willing to kill a person to shield your house and circle of relatives, then you need to bear in mind different options for Home Defense together with a very good security gadget.

In case you discover that you can solution The first question with a particular sure, then the subsequent questions contain the sort of firearm you select for Domestic Protection and the quantity of time you’re willing to spend turning into quite proficient with it. The primary time client regularly has A few trepidation approximately firearms. It is why they do not already own one. Because of this, they often end up shopping a small-caliber handgun for Domestic Protection. They’re smooth to shop in a night time stand. They don’t kick too badly, and They’re now not too loud. They’re Additionally the worst selection a person could make for a protective firearm. Handguns are the maximum tough firearms to learn how to shoot appropriately, and the stopping strength of the smaller calibers (.38 and down) is negligible at great. In addition to this, the trouble of over penetration almost necessitates the use of frangible projectiles for Domestic Defense.

Stable projectiles, including hollow factors, will move properly thru sheet rock and stucco walls. Each time you fireplace a Strong bullet interior a house or rental you chance injuring or killing a person in every other room, condo or residence. Even a .22 rim heart will go through a wall. most knowledgeable people agree that the first-class firearm for Domestic Defense is a 12 gauge shotgun, ideally a pump. The masses have to be #2 shot or larger (the smaller the number the larger the shot).

How a great deal time it takes to come to be gifted enough with your firearm for Home Defense relies upon at the sort of firearm chosen. Large quality handguns are the most difficult to discover ways to shoot appropriately. They may be loud and kick considerably. Remember that Taking pictures numerous hundred rounds at a selection will now not necessarily make you a proficient shooter in a demanding scenario. Your adrenaline isn’t going to be pumping on the Shooting range.

We’ve got all heard of buck fever. It is an awful lot tougher to hit your target whilst you’re excited. Similarly, ranges internal your home are likely to be better measured in ft than yards. Strive to stroll approximately a mile and then Taking pictures as it should be at the same time as gasping for breath. A shotgun can be easier to discover ways to shoot properly sufficient for this, due to the fact you do not need to be as correct. There is a cause why They’re referred to as scatter weapons. Shotgun hundreds are also now not as possibly to penetrate partitions at the same time as keeping lethal force.

Defense News

The selection to buy a firearm for Domestic Defense is a serious one which deserves a lot of soul-looking and idea. I without a doubt don’t universally propose it. If you may stay with the viable results of Using a firearm for Home Defense make certain to train yourself and teach yourself to avoid becoming a part of a larger trouble. teach yourself on the right dealing with and care of your firearm, and educate yourself about firearm safety. Then, and simplest then, can you responsibly depend on a firearm the protection of your property and circle of relatives.

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