#Best Western saddle

[westernsaddleforsale]

Western Horse Saddle For Sale Fast and Free Shipping

Introduction

The best way to find the perfect horse saddle for your needs is to start by checking out our wide selection and comparing prices. We have something for every budget!

Additionally, the Western saddle is designed to distribute the weight of the rider over a larger area of the horse's back, making it more comfortable for the horse to carry the rider for extended periods of time. The saddle features a wide, flat seat, often padded with sheepskin or foam, and a large, sturdy tree (the frame of the saddle) to distribute weight evenly. The stirrups are also designed to provide stability and support to the rider's feet and legs, allowing them to maintain their balance over rough terrain or during sudden movements by the horse.

There are many different styles of Western saddle, each designed for a specific purpose. Some common styles include the ranch saddle, the roping saddle, the barrel racing saddle, and the trail riding saddle. Each of these styles has its own unique features and characteristics, tailored to the needs of the rider and the horse.

Overall, the Western Horse saddle is an important part of American equestrian culture, and continues to be used by riders of all skill levels for a variety of purposes, from ranch work to trail riding to rodeo competitions. Its design and construction reflect centuries of tradition and innovation, and it remains a functional and comfortable tool for riders and horses alike.

Saddle Size: 16.5"

The 16.5" is the standard size for a western saddle. This is the most popular size for horseback riding in the United States, and it has been since the 1800s when cowboys began using this type of saddle.

Material: Leather

Leather is a durable material, it’s easy to maintain and comfortable to ride in. Leather is also a good choice for a saddle because it can withstand the weight of your horse without breaking or cracking.

Brand: Custom

Custom saddles are made by saddle makers. These are some of the best saddle makers in the world and they make their own brand of saddles. They will customize your saddle to fit your needs, so if you have any questions about what kind of padding or design you need for your horse, they can help you out!

Model: Western Horse Saddle

Model: Western Horse Saddle

My Horse Saddle was originally designed to be an all-purpose saddle that could handle any type of horse from small ponies up to large draft horses with ease, so it ended up being very popular among riders looking for versatility in their riding gear!

Color: Brown

Brown is the most common color for western horse saddles. It's a neutral color that will match any horse, so you can use it for your next purchase. If you want to match your saddle to your horse's color or if you don't want to spend much money on a new one, brown is an excellent choice!

Construction

In addition to tooling, the leather may be dyed or painted with intricate designs or personalized with the owner's initials or brand. The horn of the saddle may also be wrapped with rawhide, leather, or a decorative material such as braided horsehair.

The skirts of the saddle, which cover the horse's sides, can also be decorated or tooled, and may be cut in a variety of styles depending on the intended use of the saddle. For example, a roping saddle may have longer, heavier skirts to protect the horse from the rope, while a barrel racing saddle may have shorter, more streamlined skirts to allow for greater freedom of movement.

The rigging of the Western saddle refers to the system of straps and rings used to secure the saddle to the horse. There are several types of rigging, including the traditional "double rigging," which uses two sets of straps and rings to attach the cinch to the saddle tree. Other types of rigging include the "single rigging," which uses only one set of straps and rings, and the "in-skirt rigging," which hides the rigging within the skirts of the saddle for a more streamlined appearance.

Overall, the design and construction of a Western saddle is a highly specialized and skilled craft, requiring expertise in materials, tooling, and rigging. A well-made Western saddle can last for decades, providing both comfort and security to the rider and allowing the horse to perform at its best.

Buy Online Western Horse Saddle For Sale

Buy Online Western Horse Saddle For Sale

Fast and Free Shipping

Saddle Size: 16.5"

Material: Leather

Brand: Custom

Model: Western Horse Saddle

6 Color: Brown

Conclusion

We are proud to offer you the best soft and durable western horse saddle on the market. This saddle is perfect for any type of ride and is sure to make you feel comfortable while doing it!

Read Also: 

Western Horse Saddle For Sale

Western Saddle For Sale

Western Horse Saddles

[sazaartack]

Choosing the Right Western Horse Saddles

A well-fitting saddle confirms better performance and safety for both horse and rider. Pair it with a matching western saddle tack set for ideal support and style. Select durable materials like leather for durability, and make sure the saddle fits the horse's back properly.

[theprissythumbelina]

So you want to write about horses.

Part 2 now out!

Or you're writing and horses show up. Or its a pre-industrial fantasy and your characters have to get somewhere. Or you have a faint idea of your MC's love interest showing up on a white stallion.

Whatever the cause, you're writing, and a horse appears. But you know nothing about horses. I can help.

This is a horse. Horses come in many sizes.

^ Big Jake, a Belgian Draft horse, and a roughly 5 foot woman for scale.

1 hand = 4 inches = 10.16 cm

Once a horse is smaller than about 14.2hh, it is generally considered a pony. In the modern day, ponies are not considered suitable for adult riders due to weight and height issues. Some pony breeds, such as Welsh, Fjords, ect. are known for being sturdy, and can more easily carry adult sized humans. Miniature horses should never be ridden by adults.

^The only suitable 'riding' a miniature horse should do

The above graphic mentions that horses are measured from the top of the withers, not the top of the head. But, what are withers?

The withers are where the horse's shoulders meet the spine, and the neck becomes the back. Withers are incredibly important for saddle placement, as a badly placed saddle in this area can prevent a horse from moving its legs properly, cause a large amount of pain, and even damage a horse's spine. Speaking of spines, this is a horse skeleton, with the withers pointed out.

Horses have four legs. Horses cannot have any fewer than four legs. They are obligate quadrupeds. This is, in part, due to their weight, as well as the construction of their legs and hooves. This is to say, that while cats, dogs, and other animals can be amputees, a horse, short of some incredible magic solution, cannot. Even a broken leg bone will cause a huge amount of problems, as all of the weight that leg would usually hold must be shifted to the other feet, and this causes a condition called laminitis, where the tissue that holds together the hoof and the toe bone becomes inflamed, and begins to separate. Once this happens, the hoof tissue dies from lack of blood, and the bone begins to rotate. This is extremely painful for the horse, and so often the best solution for a horse with a broken leg is to be spared that pain. Famous American racehorse Barbaro experienced a complex broken bone, which began to heal fine, but complications from laminitis in two of his other legs caused him to be put down. This is why media will almost always show a horse with a broken or injured leg being 'taken care of'.

^Barbaro, in his prime. Even the best veterinary medicine couldn't save him.

Now, racehorses like Barbaro are moving at the fastest speed and the fastest gait of the horse, the gallop. The patterns that horses move their feet are referred to as gaits, with most horses having four, with some breeds having five or more.

The first gait and the slowest is the walk. In the walk, all four feet move independently, which leads it to be called a four-beat gait, as the footfalls make a sort of drumbeat on the ground.

The next gait is the trot, a two beat gait with diagonal pairs of legs moving together.

^Diagonal pairs marked in red and blue

The trot is a very bouncy experience for the rider, and can be uncomfortable. Some riders will rise and fall with a pair of diagonal legs, called a posting trot, some will stand in their stirrups, called a two-point or jump position, and some will sit the trot, which requires a lot of core strength (seriously, if you want a strong core, screw the gym)

The third gait is the canter, a three-beat gait with a single diagonal pair. This gait is ridden sitting, and feels a lot like going over waves on a jetski. There is a rise, a scoop, and a fall feeling. The canter is also called a lope in Western riding, they are the same gait.

^diagonal pair marked in red

A gallop is sometimes considered a variation on canter, as it is similar save for the legs actually moving in a four-beat pattern. As you can see with the image of Barbaro, all four of his feet are moving in different patterns, at different times, even though the gallop is really a four beat version of the canter. Riders in the gallop rise off the horse's back into a raised position, which allows the horse to use the full length of its spine and musculature to get as much reach and speed as possible. It feels like riding on top of a train barreling down the tracks, at least until your horse takes an unexpected turn and the ground is suddenly the only thing you're riding.

^ I've been there. The trick is to push away and hit the ground rolling, it hurts less that way. And don't land on your head.

That's all for this post. I'll have more when I feel like it, and send me questions if you want to know more about specific things or need a writing question answered

Reblogs welcome and encouraged

@jacqueswriteblrlibrary for wider reach

[spicymancer]

So just wanted you to know, "yellow" is a common slur against Asian Americans and so Huang Feng, being a Bruce Lee (whos an Asian man) clone and all could raise some eyebrows to your intentions. And before i get accused of white knighting, i am Asian

Thanks for reaching out! This is honestly something that might be important to discuss and I appreciate your attempt at broaching the subject delicately. More after the jump.

So to start. I am also Asian. Specifically Chinese American.

As an American born Chinese, I have a weird relationship with my Asian heritage. I have a bad accent when I speak Chinese and most of my upbringing and cultural understanding is very American and western-centric. So I have certain biases at play here that I fully acknowledge. My experience is not universal. But these characters are drawn from that experience.

Huang Feng is a reference to Bruce Lee's performance as Kato in the Green Hornet. Dà Huángfēng being a Chinese term for a hornet.

The character is also narratively implied to be a secret moonlighting identity for the Yellow Ranger in my made-up sentai team. (Who, due to my own decision to always refer to the characters by their Ranger color, is literally just called Yellow by the other members of the cast.)

This is also a reference. Specifically to one of my greatest inspirations, Thuy Trang (Rest in Peace), who played the original Mighty Morphin Yellow Ranger. She was one of the first "Cool Asian Characters" that I encountered in media targeted at me as a child, problematic color choice aside. I sincerely adored her and her giant robot Saber-Toothed Tiger.

To be honest I have a complicated relationship with "Asian Themed" characters in media. So often saddled with cliché stereotypes: Martial Arts, dumplings, nunchucks, etc etc.

But the thing is, even as I roll my eyes whenever I see the Fighting Game character that is The Chinese One who wears a rice hat and a qipao. Or when one is literally just Bruce Lee. I do also immediately main that character. It's a bit of a guilty pleasure. Taking what representation I can get with mixed feelings. Similar to my enjoyment of sexy anime girl art even though it's all rooted in pretty uncomfortable sexist and objectifying aesthetics. A lot of my work comes from a place of exploring my own sexuality/identity. These characters are, partly, my own attempt to explore Asian themes and ideas for myself.

I would love to say that I'm trying to "reclaim" the term or something but I'm just some internet artist drawing cute anime girls and monster smut. For me, playing with these clichés is just another way of being self-indulgent.

Not really defending these creative choices so much as explaining my perspective on them. I totally understand if all this turns folks off! I fully respect those who don't vibe with my work and wish them all the best. It's a big internet and I'm sure they can find something super great to enjoy elsewhere!

Anyway, sorry for the long rambly post. Despite the fact that I'm posting this on Tumblr, I am not super mentally equipped to engage in Discourse, so forgive me if I don't respond to the tags on this.

So I'll just leave y'all with a neat article by Kat Chow discussing the history and usage of the color Yellow in regards to Asian Identity.

[erosia-rhodes]

Speculation on Mizu’s heritage

Blue Eye Samurai on Netflix is one of the best things I’ve seen all year. As I’ve been rewatching it, I couldn’t help but speculate on Mizu’s heritage, and I wanted to share my theory so we can all laugh at how wrong I was in a few years. (I am notoriously bad at guessing plot twists. I was totally wrong about how Wandavision and Loki season 1 would end.)

Spoilers and speculation behind the jump.

Short version: Mizu’s mother was a white woman and her father was the Shogun. The Shogun’s wife, Lady Itoh, put the bounty on Mizu’s life because she was proof that the Shogun broke his own laws.

Who Would Want to Kill a Baby?

We know that there has been a bounty on Mizu’s head since she was a baby. There are only three reasons I can think of for putting a hit out on a child who’s just been born and couldn’t have personally wronged anyone yet:

1) To deny them an inheritance.

2) To eliminate proof of an affair.

3) To eliminate proof of a crime.

The woman that claims to be Mizu’s mother is Japanese, so Mizu assumes her father must be white. But once Fowler reveals that Mizu’s “mother” was actually her maid, it opens up the possibility that Mizu’s mother was white and her father was Japanese.

We know that someone is willing to a pay a lot of money to kill Mizu, but the maid also ran off with enough money to take care of Mizu for several years, so at least one person in this mess is wealthy. We also know that someone still wants Mizu dead when she's an adult because men come to kill her when her husband rats her out, so she’s still a threat to someone else’s interests at that time.

If the Shogun slept with a white woman and fathered a mix-raced child as a result, that would fulfill all three reasons to put a bounty on a baby. Killing her would remove any chance that a bastard might try to blackmail her way into an inheritance, it would remove proof that the Shogun had an affair, and most importantly, it would destroy evidence that he violated his own laws against Western influence by sleeping with a white woman.

But the True Culprit is…

But I don’t think the Shogun put the bounty on Mizu’s life. I think it was the Shogun’s wife, Lady Itoh, for several reasons:

1) Lady Itoh is willing to kill people who learn that her husband broke his own laws.

When the nobles are trying to escape the fire in the finale, Lady Itoh makes her sons lock the door behind them and sentence the other Lords to death because they witnessed the Shogun’s shame, the revelation that he broke his own laws by dealing with Fowler, a white man. She’s demonstrated that she’s willing to kill people to destroy proof of her husband’s violations, so she’d do the same to a mixed-race baby he fathered. It would also explain why Mizu’s maid never claimed the bounty herself; she would have been targeted for death too because she knew about the Shogun’s crime. She probably took whatever money was in the house when the killers came for Mizu, and went on the run as much to save her own life as Mizu's.

2) The woman’s a sadist.

Lady Itoh does everything she can to make Akemi’s life hell once she marries into the family. She saddles her with bitchy attendants and serves her disgusting food at the banquet, and finishes it off with the cooked remains of the bird Akemi tried to free. Then she sends her two more birds the next day, claiming they’re breakfast and lunch. I have no trouble believing this woman would put a hit on a baby!

3) She’s a hardliner against Western influence

After the fire, Lady Itoh orders her sons to destroy 2000 guns which they could have used in the future against their enemies because she’d so fiercely against Western influence. I wouldn’t be surprised if she was the one who came up with the law banning white people and talked her husband into enacting it. That would explain why the Shogun was willing to violate the law, because he didn’t completely believe in it and only enacted it to get his wife off his back.

It Fits a Common Theme of Revenge Stories

Another reason I think Lady Itoh is the ultimate villain is because it fits the common theme that revenge is futile. Revenge usually destroys the person seeking it just as much as anyone they go after. There is a famous quote from Confucius that says, "Before you embark on a journey of revenge, dig two graves." The implication is that the second one is for yourself.

If it turns out that Mizu has been going after the only four men in the country who couldn’t be her father, it would demonstrate how misguided revenge quests are. She’s spent her whole life pouring hatred into the wrong mission.

It would also be a painful twist to know that Mizu was in the same room with Lady Itoh in the finale, but she was focused on killing Fowler instead of realizing that her true enemy was fleeing out the back door with everyone else.

How It Will All Sort Out

I predict that Mizu will eventually learn the truth about her parentage and ultimately target Lady Itoh for death, not just for revenge, but so she can permanently remove the bounty on her head and live her life freely as a woman.

Akemi might end up assisting Mizu since Lady Itoh is also her enemy. Akemi will probably spend season two battling Lady Itoh for control of the household, and thus the country. If Akemi can put her husband in place as the Shogun, she could remove the bounty on Mizu's head.

If Taigan ends up working as a castle guard, this might put him in conflict with Mizu and Akemi if they target Lady Itoh since he would be honor bound to protect her.

It will be interesting to see how it all sorts out!

ETA: I misspelled Lady Itoh's name, sorry! (According to the subtitles it's Itoh, not Ito) I think I fixed every instance.

[corroded-hellfire]

Scout's Honor - Eddie Munson x Reader

Collaboration with my dearest @munson-blurbs

An As You Wish story

Summary: The annual Father-Daughter Girl Scout Square Dance comes around but Eddie and Steve are saddled with some car trouble.

Note: Everyone needs to go thank Bug for this incredibly adorable idea!

Words: 2.1k

[As You Wish masterlist]

Men. 

Can’t live with them, can’t…convince them not to go fishing on the day of their daughters’ Girl Scouts events. 

Eddie and Steve had promised you and Nancy that they would be home in time to take Eliza and Mia to the annual square dance. 

“We’ll get an early start,” they’d said, ignoring Eliza’s insistence that she won’t go with her father if he reeks of fish. He’d just laughed, kissed her cheek, and reiterated that he would shower before the dance. 

Maybe you’re naive for believing him. And yet, when the phone rang and Eddie’s sheepish voice explains that Steve’s car broke down—codeword for ‘we ran out of gas’—you’re wholly unsurprised. 

“I always made fun of Wayne for fishing.” Eddie muses, the payphone crackling as he exhales. “Called it an old man activity. This is what I get.”

You grit your teeth, hand clenched in a fist. “Just…get home,” you hiss, hanging up the receiver and massaging your temples. 

Who could have ever foreseen such an outcome?

While you’re stewing over the men’s incompetence, Mia remains levelheaded—just like her mother—and proposes a solution. “What if Luke and Ryan take us?”

Her suggestion is almost certainly rooted in her crush on your younger son, but it proves to be a worthwhile idea, nonetheless. Eliza’s face lights up, and before you know it, your five-year-old is dragging her brothers from their room. 

“Please?” She pouts sweetly, batting her doe eyes up at them. “Daddy and Uncle Steve can’t make it, and we can’t go all alone.” She lays it on thick, knowing full well she doesn’t have to—the boys would do just about anything for her. 

Ryan and Luke raid Eddie’s dresser drawers for flannels, finding the ones that he had nabbed from Wayne’s trailer. The girls don cowgirl hats, excitedly giggling as they climb into the back of the minivan. It’s still strange for you to see Ryan behind the wheel, but your heart swells with pride as you watch him double-check Eliza’s booster seat before pulling out of the driveway. 

At seventeen years old, Eddie Munson spent his Saturday nights selling cheap weed at high school parties—many of them, ironically, thrown by “King” Steve Harrington. 

At seventeen years old, Ryan Munson is spending his Saturday night taking his little sister and her best friend to the Girl Scouts square dance. 

“Everyone buckled?” He calls back, already knowing that they are. Still, he waits until he receives a chorus of yeses before he drives off. 

Luke turns around from the passenger seat. “Now, do we have to make a perfect square?” He keeps a serious expression, much to Ryan’s amusement. “Like, what if it’s a bit oval-y? Do we get kicked out? Do you two get banished from the Girl Scouts?”

Eliza and Mia are both used to his nonsense, and they burst into a fit of giggles. Ryan cracks a smile of his own, eyes trained on the road. 

Precious cargo and all that. 

When they arrive at the old VFW hall, the girls immediately pull them over to their group of friends. It’s a sea of young girls and their dads—and some moms—but nary a big brother in sight except for the two Munson boys. 

Ryan barely has time to feel out of place. The emcee, a middle-aged woman with bright pink lipstick and a too-wide smile, grabs the mic. 

“Welcome to our Father-Daughter Square Dance!” The room erupts into applause, quieting down only to hear about how this fundraiser supports the Girl Scouts of Indiana. The scouts repeat their pledge, which is met with more cheers, and then a western tune bleats over the old sound system. 

Eliza grabs Ryan’s hand as the emcee calls out instructions. Mia is a bit shyer with Luke, but they still manage all of the steps without stomping on the other’s toes. 

“Liza, I’m sorry Dad couldn’t make it,” Ryan says between songs. 

Eliza gives him a small smile. “That’s okay. It’s kinda cooler to bring my big brother.”

He grins. Just wait until his dad hears that. 

As everyone is getting into position for the next dance, a new song comes on that has more banjo than Luke has ever heard in his life. 

“Oh, yeah. We’re definitely in Indiana,” he says.

Mia chuckles as she peeks up at Luke from beneath the brim of her straw cowgirl hat. A blue ribbon on one of her red pigtail braids is loose so Luke reaches down to fix it for the little girl. Mia’s freckled face blooms as red as her hair. Luke pretends not to notice, not wanting to embarrass her. The big crush on Luke became obvious when she was three, and now at ten, it’s still hanging around. The fifteen-year-old Munson boy thinks it’s flattering and only ever teases her if she starts it first. 

“Ready?” Luke asks, offering Mia his hand.

“Ready!”

“But I didn't realize any of this until I was standing alone. In a barn... wife-less. Now, you can imagine my disappointment when it suddenly dawned on me that the woman I love is about to be kicked out of the country. So, Margaret. Marry me. Because I'd like to date you.”

Both you and Nancy hold your wine glasses, neither moving a muscle as you watch Ryan Reynolds catch up to Sandra Bullock in a New York City office building. An empty pint of mint chocolate chip ice cream sits between you on the couch, two green-smudged silver spoons resting inside. 

With the men out fishing, Ryan and Luke out with the two girls, and Natalie watching the rest of the kids over at the Harrington house, your place became the ultimate Mom’s Night In for you and Nancy. A chance to drink a little, gossip a little, have some snacks and watch some romcoms. 

Your peace has finally come to an end, however, when the front door bursts open and two men who reek of murky water, bug spray, and gasoline come barging in. 

“Jesus, Steve,” Nancy says, face pinching up at the foul odor wafting from your husbands. 

You wave a hand in front of your face as if that will make the smell dissipate any faster. 

“How were the fish?” you ask, turning your head away to give your nostrils a fighting chance.

“We caught a grand total of zero,” Steve says with a sigh, his black fishing boots looking comically misplaced on him. Neither of the men look natural in fishing gear. But when a guy from work offered Eddie the use of his boat for the day, he found he couldn’t turn it down. 

“Did you bring the fishing poles?” Nancy asks, sarcasm lining the amusement on her face.

Both men give her an annoyed side eye before Eddie looks around and takes a step towards you.

“Where are the girls?” he asks. 

“Ryan and Luke took them to the dance,” you tell him. “They should be back soon.”

Steve grimaces and claps a heavy hand down on Eddie’s shoulder.

“Eliza’s gonna kill you.”

Eddie raises his eyebrows and spins to meet his friend’s eye.

“And Mia won’t kill you?”

Steve grins. “Not if she got to dance with Luke.” This is the only time the man has ever been thankful for Mia’s crush on the Munson teen. 

Front door still open from when the men barged in, Ryan, Luke, Eliza, and Mia walk inside, laughing and talking over one another. Ryan is giving Eliza a piggyback ride and Luke has Mia’s too-small cowgirl hat perched on top of his head. The moment Eliza’s wide brown eyes spot her father, she demands answers. 

“Daddy, where were you?”

Ryan gently lets her down and she stomps over in her beige cowgirl boots, stopping right in front of Eddie. 

“Liza, I’m so sorry,” Eddie pleads. “Our car broke down. We tried everything we could to get back in time—”

Tears build up in Eliza’s eyes and Eddie feels his heart constrict in his chest. It might as well be Eliza’s little fist squeezing it.

“You were s’post to go with me!”

Eddie sighs and runs a ringed, smelly hand over his face. “I know. And I promise I’ll go next time. But I’m glad you got to bring your brothers. 

“Did you have fun at least?” Steve asks from behind him. 

Mia nods emphatically and both you and Nancy have to bite your lips to keep from smiling. 

Eliza nods in agreement, although not as enthusiastically as her friend. “Yeah. And Ryan is a good dancer.”

Luke smirks, and if Eddie were looking at him, he’d see the devious glint in his eye. “Not as good as Dad, I’m sure.”

Loud snickers come from you, Nancy, and Steve. Eddie’s jaw drops open as he looks around the room. 

“I can dance!”

“Yeah, Dad?” Ryan asks.

“Yeah!”

“Lucky for you, we’re all right here to witness it,” Luke says with a shrug. 

Eddie scoffs and shakes his head. “There’s no music. And I don’t really think my Metallica is easy to groove to.”

“We’ve got my Billy Joel—” you start.

“Or my *NSYNC!” Mia adds. 

“No,” Eddie says. “Thank you girls, but no.”

Smirk only growing larger, Luke pats his father on the shoulder. “Lucky for you, we’ve got just what you need.”

Eddie raises an eyebrow as he watches his son take a CD out of a Target bag he was conveniently hiding behind his back. 

“How was fishing, by the way?” Luke asks as he wrestles with the plastic engulfing the case.

“Pointless,” Steve says.

“Your uncle didn’t bring enough bait,” Eddie added. Steve is about to refute but Luke speaks before he gets the chance.

“But you would have, Dad? Does that make you a master baiter?” 

Ryan is the only one who is unable to contain his laughter. The joke goes over the girls’ heads, but you give your son a soft glare anyway. Never mind that you found it hilarious, just as you know the other adults did as well, but sometimes you’ve got to be the parent. 

Luke shrugs it off and pops the finally-freed CD into the stereo and the sound of a bow sawing over fiddle strings fills the room. Your second-oldest nods his head to Eliza.

“Go ahead, Lize. Show the old man how it’s done.”

“There’s not enough room to square dance in here,” Eddie says.

Without even so much as glancing at one another, you and Nancy get off of the couch and push it back, making plenty more space in the living room. The two of you smirk at one another and Nancy crosses her arms over her chest.

“Y’know, I don’t think it’s fair that you guys get to reap the benefits of your daughters being Girl Scouts without putting in the work.”

A grin grows on your face as you see where Nancy is going with this. 

“Yeah,” you agree, “maybe you don’t need more Samoas this year.”

Eddie’s face falls, and he looks at Steve, who shrugs in defeat. Gotta hit the guys where it hurts: food. 

“All right, show us the moves,” Steve says.

Mia grins, a bounce in her step as she takes Eliza’s smaller hand and walks to the middle of the floor. “Okay, me and Liza will be partners. Just watch us.”

Steve furrows his eyebrows and looks between the two girls, one with now-messy twin red braids, and the other with a light brown cowgirl hat atop two curly pigtails. 

“Wait, if you two are dancing together, who are Eddie and I dancing with?” he asks. 

Eliza giggles. “Each other.”

“Nope,” Eddie replies. “No way.”

With an over dramatic sigh, you shrug your shoulders at your husband. “No dancing, no Samoas.”

“Damn those little coconut fuckers,” Eddie mumbles under his breath. “All right, big boy. But I get to be the guy.”

“Sure, we’ll play pretend,” Steve quips back. It’ll be a miracle if they both make it through the first dance alive.

Eliza and Mia begin to go through the motions, showing their fathers what to do. Everyone is laughing as they do-si-do and hook arms to swing each other around. 

“Did I earn my cookies yet?” Eddie asks once the next song ends.

“That’s up to your daughter,” you tell him with a shrug. 

Eddie looks at Eliza expectantly, the big puppy dog eyes that he passed down to her working their magic. 

“Almost, Daddy. You gotta dance with me first.”

“Now that, I can do.”

[zepskies]

The Honorable Choice - Part 2

Pairing: Dean Winchester x OFC 

Summary: June 1872. Captain Dean Winchester of the U.S. Cavalry is tasked with one job: break a wild mustang. He just didn’t expect the woman who infiltrates his camp, intent on freeing her tribe’s horse.

AN: “Getting to know you, getting to know all about you…” ⬅️ If you’ve seen The King & I, then you’ll probably be singing that line in your head like I do.

Disclaimer: I’ve done extensive research for this one, both on the American Indian Lakota tribe, and on American history during this time in the late 1800s (AKA: the Old West, during the American Indian Wars and the Sioux Wars). Of course, one of my main goals is to avoid inaccuracies, both historical and cultural.

Jacklesverse Bingo24 Prompt: @jacklesversebingo Western AU

Song Inspo: The Spirit Soundtrack

Word Count: 3.1K

Tags/Warnings: Angst, protective Dean, historical tidbits, fluff

🐎 Series Masterlist || Bingo Masterlist

🎙️ Listen to the podfic version here!

Part 2: Death & Sacrifice

Dean falls out of his saddle with a yell, landing hard in the grass. The impact knocks the air out of his chest and the hat off his head, not to mention the pain that rattles down his back.

“Son of a bitch,” he wheezes, while trying to get back up.

The woman jumps down from the mustang’s back and all but leaps on Dean. Straddling his waist and grabbing a fistful of his collar, she lets out a battle cry and raises a small knife at him. It’s probably no more than two inches long.

Dean may be on the ground with a smarting forehead, but he’s still got the upper hand. He grabs her knife-wielding arm and whips out his pistol from his belt. Her eyes widen, and she stills above him. The gun lies between them, aimed for her chest. They’re both breathing hard.

Dean has a problem.

Looking into her eyes, soulful and brown, the slope of her nose and her full lips, parted with shock… 

He just can’t do it.

His finger eases off the trigger of his gun, and he lowers it to the ground beside him.

“I told you,” he says. “I’m not gonna hurt you.”

Her head tilts as she stares at his gun, then at him. She relaxes somewhat, and she backs off of him, sliding from his lap down to the grass beside him. Her closed fist with the knife comes to rest at her side. She gives him a look of wary bewilderment.

“You are a strange man,” she says.

Dean has to laugh a little, smiling at her afterward.

“I guess so,” he replies.

Her brows furrow. “You killed one of your own…for me?”

He nods, and his smile falls with a weary sigh. The hard part about that is he doesn’t feel much guilt about what he’s done. At the same time, he does, and the conflict churns in his stomach. He knew what kind of man Roman was. He was the kind of soldier that could’ve filled Colonel Sanderson’s shoes one day. A fellow soldier under Dean’s command...

And a sack of shit in human clothes.

Dean leans back on his hands in the grass and slides his legs out long. His stare falls to the earth between his boots. The ground is soft underneath him. Maybe it rained this morning. 

“Yeah, that’s gonna make it tough when I go back,” he says. “At best, that’s a court martial. At worst…”

The Lakota woman frowns, her dark brows nearly meeting in the middle as she considers him. He wonders what she sees when she looks at him.

“Tell you what,” Dean said. “Give yourself and your horse a rest tonight. I’ll go back and tell them I lost you in the canyon.”

Her eyes widen further in surprise. He can’t blame her for it. He’s surprising himself every time he opens his mouth.

“Will they kill you?” she asks.

Dean shrugs. “Nah, I’ll be fine.”

She levels him with a firmer look, one that demands the truth.

His nonchalance wanes, and he sighs.

“They might,” he says.

She shakes her head. She seems to deliberate over something, but eventually she comes to a decision. Just when she opens her mouth to speak, a gunshot rings out and hits the ground not far from their feet. A warning.

The sound of hooves thundering on the earth reach them before they look up. Two horses gallop towards them in the distance, their riders wearing blue uniforms.

They both tense up, but Dean is the first one to move. He grabs her arm and helps her stand along with him. They scramble back and lead the horses by their reins further into the trees. They find a denser patch and a raised hill to crouch down and hide behind.

The mustang is too tired to go very far, but Baby is already making anxious sounds, protective of her rider.

“Shhh,” Dean whispers, and runs a soothing hand over her side. He leads her to lay down with her legs tucked underneath her.

The Lakota manages to do the same with the mustang after whispering to him softly in her language. There’s a trust between them, Dean realizes. They have a connection that seems to mirror his own with his horse. He doesn’t know how he didn’t see it before.

“Captain!” Benny calls out.

Dean grimaces, but he stays quiet. He turns to the woman and holds a finger over his lips. She stares back at him in apprehension. He begins to creep slowly around the hill, but she grabs onto his wrist. For a second, she looks just as surprised as him by the reflexive action. Then, she shakes her head at him.

Don’t go out there, her eyes say.

Dean smiles, and he gives her a reassuring wink. He gently removes her hand and gestures at her to stay where she is. He army crawls up the side of the hill. It gives him a vantage point to watch his men, who approach just a few feet down below. 

“Captain Winchester!” Cas calls next.

“We don’t want to have to come and get you, Dean. Come on,” Benny says. He does sound reluctant, for his part. His voice grows more somber when he says, “Colonel’s given us orders to bring you and the girl back…dead or alive.”

Dean knows the position he’s put his own men in. He doesn’t blame them for following the Colonel’s orders. He just hopes they can forgive him for what he’s about to do.

He leaps off the edge of the hill with a yell and brings Benny with him to the ground. He sweeps Cas’s legs out from underneath him, then tosses a punch that lands on the corner of Benny’s chin. He kicks Benny’s gun away, and wrestles Cas until his pistol falls from his hand. The three men scrap and trade blows, until Dean is the only one left standing. His men are groaning on the dusty ground, slowly picking themselves up.

Dean’s heaving for breath as well as he leans back against the side of the hill. Despite that momentary victory, he knows what they all know: that this fight isn’t going to end until either they’re dead, or he’s dead.

“Where’s the girl, Dean?” Benny says. He implores him to see sense. “We take her back with us, we can smooth all this over with the Colonel. All of it, even Roman.” 

Dean lets out a deep breath, but he shakes his head.

“Can’t do that, Benny,” he says. “I’m sorry.”

There’s a question circling in his friend’s eyes, but after a beat, Benny seems to know the answer to it. He picks up his gun from the ground. Just like Dean once did, the Lieutenant now has a choice to make.

He shares a heavy look with Cas. The two of them nod, before they focus back on Dean.

Benny’s hand falls, and he stows his gun.

“You died today,” Benny says. “We found your body somewhere in the canyon. Your horse too.”

Dean nods, with something of a smile. He supposes faking his death is the only option now. He rips the badge off his uniform jacket and tosses it to Benny.

“There’s your proof,” he says.

Dean shares a grim nod of respect with Cas while Benny examines the torn patch denoting a captain’s rank.

“Take care of each other,” Dean says.

Benny’s head raises, and he meets Dean with a somber gaze.

“Goodbye, brother.”

Dean doesn’t return to her until the men are out of sight through the trees. She’s still hiding along with the resting horses, waiting for him. That alone surprises him. It would bring a small smile to his face, if the weight of that goodbye didn’t feel so heavy on his shoulders.

He reaches out a hand for her. It takes her a moment to consider it, but she accepts his offer.

He helps her to her feet, after which, she quickly pulls her hand back. She’s wary of his touch, her face guarded when she looks up at him. Dean supposes he can’t blame her, even if it does strike a nerve. After what he just did for her…

His face becomes stoic, and he turns away to grab his hat from the dusty ground. “We should probably head out.”

She nods and calls to her horse to encourage him to his feet. Despite himself, Dean can't help but be curious. How did this girl manage to tame that wild beast?

“Does he have a name?” he asks.

“Mato,” she replies.

“Mato,” Dean echoes. “Does that mean something? You know, in your language.”

She eyes him wryly, brushing her hand over Mato’s hide.

“It means angry, like a bear,” she says.

Dean snorts. “Yeah, good name.”

He remembers his bruised side (and ego) from when the mustang threw him off his back.

Dean watches her with another realization as she gracefully mounts the horse. Baby has gotten up to her feet as well, already nudging the back of his arm with her snout. He rubs her nose in affection.

Then he turns to climb up onto her back, settling his feet into the stirrups and loosely grabbing the reins. He follows his companion’s lead farther into the forest, but he guides his horse to fall into step beside hers.

“Will you tell me your name now?” he asks. “Think we’ve been through enough together at this point, don’t you think?”

She considers it with a tilt of her head. She looks over at him with a small smile.

“Kimmímila,” she says. The syllables roll off her tongue effortlessly.

Dean raises his brows. “Kim…Kimmeela.”

She shakes her head at him, her lips pursing.

“Kimmímila.”

Lord help him, but he tries his best. His brows furrow.

“Kim…mila,” he attempts. She guides Mato closer and grabs Dean by his cheeks with one hand.

“Kimmí.”

“Kimmí,” he repeats with his cheeks squished. His face is starting to warm up, and not altogether in embarrassment.

“Mila,” she says with a nod.

“Mila,” Dean says. “Kimmímila.”

He’s treated to her smile, warm and true. She releases him, her gaze flitting over his face. Then she keeps riding. Dean grins to himself.

“Think I’m gonna call you Mila,” he says. Make it easier on myself.

She even laughs, a honeyed sound. “Yes, my father does too.”

“What does it mean? Your name.”

“In your language?” she says, in a tone that teases him back. She becomes thoughtful as she searches for the word. “It means…butterfly.”

“Really?” Dean remarks. She doesn’t strike him as a butterfly.

More like a lioness, he thinks, only somewhat holding back his grin.

She gives him some side-eye, despite her amusement.

“You think it does not suit me,” she observes.

“Well, I didn't say that—”

“I don’t think so either,” she admits. “There are many things that don’t suit me.”

Dean chuckles. He can imagine that.

“But my mother had a dream before I was born,” Mila says. “She saw beautiful wings, and said I would have a free mind. When I grew, and wanted to spend my days with horses more than cooking and sewing things, she didn’t call me free. She called me stubborn.” Her face begins to fall. “Maybe too stubborn.”

Dean offers her a rueful, sympathetic look. “Yeah, I get it. My brother always said I was damn hardheaded,” he says. “…Maybe we’ve got more in common than we thought, huh?”

Mila’s smile returns, however slightly.

“You have a brother?” she asks.

“Oh, yeah. He’s a lawyer, so he’s more needed back home,” Dean replies.

Damn. He really does miss his bookish little brother.

He explains to her about his family, his brother and mother who still live in Lawrence, and how he joined the army, in part to honor his father.

“What happened to him?” she asks.

“He died…in some cornfield near Sharpsburg, Maryland, fighting the Confederacy,” he replies, heaving a breath.

"Con...federacy?" she questions.

"The South," Dean explains. "See, most of our southern states thought they should be their own country, letting slaves plow their fields and mind their kids. I may have lived on a farm, but my father always paid his workers. He fought for the Union."

"So you fought among yourselves, over land that did not belong to you," Mila points out.

Dean falls silent. After a little while, he concedes her point with an incline of his head.

"Fair enough," he says, glancing over at her. “I think my dad thought the fighting would end with the war, but, uh...it never really ends, does it?”

Her expression of curiosity fades, turning more solemn.

“No,” she agrees. “…I am sorry for your father.”

Dean's a little surprised to hear that from her, but he nods his thanks. They continue to talk as the sun begins to set in the west. When it dips behind the canyon, they stop to make camp for the night, and he helps her catch a rabbit to roast on the fire they build together.

That night over the meal, she slowly opens up to him. He learns that she’s an only child, though she has a sibling-like bond with her older cousin, Šóta. She spends most of her days planting or harvesting their crops, depending on the season, as well as sewing, painting, helping the elders of her tribe with tasks, and helping her mother and aunt cook.

When the rabbit is gone, she unbinds her long, thick hair and untangles it while she speaks. She explains that the Lakota are just one of many tribes. There are six other bands of Sioux who live in this region. Along with the Dakota and the Nakota, they are the “Seven Council Fires” who have made the Great Plains their home for generations.

She tells him about the way her tribe lives, caring for one another, giving the land back as much as they take, and letting it rest. The men hunt and protect the village from the outside, but the women protect the inside, their way of life.

Most of all, Mila tells him, she loves caring for the horses. She goes out and rides whenever she can duck out of her mother’s watchful eye.

Dean enjoys listening to her stories. He likes what he learns about her, but also, he just likes the sound of her voice, smooth and steady, almost calming. He thinks she might like the sound of his too, the way she’s smiled at him, laughed with him, glanced at him when she thinks he’s not looking.

She still picks a spot as far away from him as she can to sleep though. She keeps the fire pit in between them. He even catches sight of her knife, hidden in the hand she tucks underneath her cheek. Evidently, she doesn’t fully trust him just yet.

It annoys him at first, considering how many times he’s saved her already. How much he’s sacrificed just to get them this far…

Until he remembers how they met. He remembers the disdain and anger in her brown eyes, then the mistrust, and the fear hidden underneath. He thinks of every experience she’s likely had so far with the U.S. Military, and anyone else who looks like him.

Dean settles down on the ground and stares up at the innumerable stars in a raven sky. He’s exhausted, but his thoughts don’t let him rest for a while. 

At the very least, the way she looks at him now is softer than that first day.

In the morning, Mila watches the strange man wake.

He blinks and rubs his bleary eyes, yawning, groaning at the sun’s brightness like a child. She hides her smile by bowing her head over the apple she’s cutting with her knife. The orchards span wide across the forest, and soon he’ll find two yellow-red apples beside his head.

His brows raise at them, then he looks up at Mila sitting with her legs crossed behind the small fire pit. The wood there is just ash and blackened remains now, but it still carries the smell of burning.

“Morning,” he greets.

She nods back at him and pretends not to watch when he sits up with a groan, stretching and bending his arms high behind his head. He removed his uniform jacket to sleep. It allows her to see every dip of male muscle that his plain white shirt clings to, even in the long sleeves.

Her gaze furtively runs over the broad shoulders, the tapered waist, then back up to his half-bearded face, defined by a strong jaw and dark brows. The sun catches on his brown hair and teases the ends of it golden.

She would never admit it, but he’s not unpleasant to look at. 

Last night, she declined his offer to travel with her until she reaches her tribe safely, but he was insistent. Again, strange.

So here she is, with him. Here they are. 

Dean turns to see the horses grazing nearby. Mato no longer has the saddle and bridle his men put on him. He looks rested and at ease. He even whinnies at Baby, tossing his head a little. She answers him and flicks her tail. They continue eating together.

Dean smiles, then grabs an apple. He raises it to her in thanks before he takes a large bite. Its juices run down the corner of his mouth, and he wipes at it with the back of his hand. Mila can’t help but be drawn to the sight.

She tears her eyes away when he looks over at her.

“We have a long way to go. Three days, if the weather is good,” she says, continuing to carve pieces of her apple to eat. “We will know we are close when we reach the river.”

Dean nods in understanding. With a grunt, he gets to his feet and takes another bite out of his breakfast. She doesn’t expect the way he approaches her with a hand outstretched. She looks up at it, then at his expectant face.

“Come on. Let’s hit the road then,” he says.

Mila considers his offer for another moment. He seems to be making this a habit. Amused, she wonders if this is just kindness, or if the women of his people aren’t allowed to stand without a man’s help.

She pockets her knife, swipes her braided hair over her shoulder, and slips her hand into his, allowing him to help her to her feet. When she gets there, he’s closer than he should be.

A breath gets trapped in her throat as she once again looks between his warm hand closed over her smaller one, and his face. In the small space between them, there is a different kind of tension than before. Mila can’t tell what the man is thinking when he looks at her like that, but she doesn’t like it.

And at the same time, she does.

She takes back her hand, and she goes to the horses. She firmly ignores how her heart gallops, even as she rubs at her chest like it’s an ache that can be soothed.

She doesn’t hear Dean’s unsteady breath, nor does she see the way his green eyes follow her.

AN: *rubs hands together* Well, here they are! It's all starting to come together. What did you think of Dean's decision?

Coming up next, we have the final part: some action, some fluff, and some potentially perilous situations for Mila and Dean...

Next Time:

“Yeah, about that…I’m thinking your tribe doesn’t take very well to outsiders,” he says. “White men in particular.”

Mila presses her lips together. He can tell she’s been thinking the same thing, but she turns to him with a determined set to her features.

“I will protect you,” she says.

Dean frowns. He doesn’t like the sound of that. On one hand, it warms him that she seems to really mean it. On the other hand, he doesn’t want to know what it’ll take for her to protect him.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” he asks.

She turns her face away and doesn’t seem to want to answer at first.

“Mila…”

“The Chief is my uncle,” she says at last. “He will listen to me.”

Dean blinks. Well, that changes things…maybe.

▶️ Keep Reading: PART 3 (Finale!)

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[strangererotica]

EXPLICIT CONTENT | MINORS DNI

• Cowboy!Steve Harrington x Reader •

• Old West AU •

Summary: You’re a prostitute in a small 1800’s Western town. It’s terribly hot, and ‘business,’ is as dry as the weather. So far, the most interesting part of your day has been the unfortunate discovery of a hole in your boot. But the arrival of a handsome stranger in town shakes things up considerably…and leaves an impression on you that won’t be forgotten anytime soon…

🥀 PART ONE

You sit down heavily on the saloon porch, pushing back sticky strands of hair from your forehead. The heat is sweltering, unseasonably warm for late Spring. Your eyes sweep over the dusty street, assessing the men passing in front of you. Your goal is to make eye contact, and hold it long enough to lure them closer…to notice the way you extend your leg, letting some skin peek out from under your gown, ‘just for them.’ It’s subtle enough that the sheriff can’t accuse you of lewd and unlawful behavior, but suggestive enough to remind the men in town what you have to offer. These men are your potential clients, after all, and it’s never too early to give them a bit of a show.

A hot wind whistles through the buildings lining the road, wooden beams creaking above you. Despite your best efforts at wooing townsmen into the saloon, the street seems to have cleared itself of people. A mangy stray dog picks at a bone outside the inn across the street. A few tumbleweeds roll past you. The breeze kicks bits of dirt onto your boots, and to your dismay, you realize there’s a hole in your right shoe.

You remove it and inspect the damage, running your finger along the tear. The sound of hooves thrumming against the ground grabs your interest. A man approaches on horse, his frame a dark sillouhette against the sun. As he moves closer, you begin to make out his features. He’s handsome, this stranger. You haven’t seen anyone like him in town; you’re sure of it. Having become familiar with the faces (and cocks) of most men in town, you’d have remembered his, if you’d seen him before.

He guides his horse to a stop in front of the saloon, dark hazel eyes raking over you, an approving grin turning his lips. He swings a leg over the saddle, dismounting his horse, securing it to a post with rope. There’s an intensity in his presence you can’t define. He comes across as intimidating, yet down to earth at the same time. You find yourself feeling uncharacteristically shy, bashfully glancing down to avoid his gaze.

“Somethin’ on the ground caught your eye, darlin’?” he asks, through a sleepy Texas drawl. You smile up at the stranger, taking in his handsome features. Chestnut hair lays in a slight wave, tapering at the nape of his neck. His nose and jawline are well defined, sharp in just the right places and soft where they need to be. His hands rest on his hips as he observes you from beneath the brim of a tan cowboy hat.

He points a slender finger at the damaged boot in your hand. “Looks like that boot of yours needs mendin’ ,” he comments. Your cheeks go red, feeling silly for sitting there with a shoe in your hand and your bare, dusty foot on display from under your petticoat.

He senses your embarrassment, and finds it adorable. “Y’don’t have to be nervous, darlin,” he teases. “I don’t bite.” The stranger winks down at you. “Not much, anyway…”

When you don’t immediately respond, he adds “Your Ma teach you not to talk to strangers? Well that’s easily fixed, I reckon.” He tips the brim of his hat towards you in a gentlemanly gesture. “Name’s Steve,” he says. “There. Not a stranger anymore. And you are?”

“(Y/N),” you reply, shielding your eyes from the sun with your hand. “You’re not from around here, are you?”

Steve shakes his head. “No ma’am,” he replies. “Just passin’ through on my way to the coast. There’s gold out there, I’ve heard.”

You’ve heard similarly, from countless other men spending a single night in town on their way out west. Men who all share the same goal, of reaching California and finding their fortune there. Despite meeting and sleeping with so many men like Steve, there’s something different about him. He’s obviously incredibly attractive; but good looks aside, you feel a sincerity from him that seems…genuine. It will be your pleasure to help this traveler relax and unwind, to allow him the use of your body in exchange for a small fee.

“Are you thirsty, cowboy?” you ask. Steve nods his head, “Yes ma’am,” and follows your lead through the saloon doors, removing his hat as he walks inside. You move toward the bar to fetch Steve a drink. He doesn’t miss the way your ass rubs slightly against his thigh as you slide behind the bar, reaching for a glass. “Whiskey,” Steve says. “And I won’t be needin’ a glass, sweetheart.” He places more than enough money for a shot on the bar, explaining “I’ll take the whole bottle. And the rest is for the uh…” The devilish grin he flashes has you feeling weak. “…For the other services I’m assuming this establishment provides…?”

Steve leans over the bar, watching you reach for a tall brown bottle on the top shelf. His eyes drink in the shape of your body in the dress you’re wearing, the way it clings to the curve of your hips. You turn to face Steve, handing the whiskey over to him; but he stops you. “Just bring the bottle with us, darlin,” Steve says. “You seem like the type who can handle her whiskey-.” He flashes that devastating grin at you once more. “-Among other things…”

🥀 PART TWO

In an upstairs room, the one you use to service clients, Steve is sprawled back on your bed, stripped to his jeans. He’s watching you undress, the way your fingers tease the front laces of your gown undone. He strokes the raised outline of his cock through his jeans, the wet stain of precum darkening the denim. Steve clicks his tongue, calling you over to his lap. You’ve seen a hundred different men in this exact same spot; this should be business as usual for you, but it’s not. You want to fuck Steve; he wouldn’t have needed to pay you a single cent.

He threads his fingers through your hair and guides your mouth to his crotch, grinding against your lips. The scent of Steve fills you, a masculine musk of leather, tobacco and sweat. He lifts your chin to his briefly, seizing you tongue between his lips. Steve’s mouth tastes like whiskey and cigarettes; but he’d prefer his tongue taste like you. With his hand on the back of your neck, Steve guides you to the bed. You’ve traded places now, with you on your back and Steve kneeling in between your thighs. His hands disappear beneath your petticoat, groping his way up to the fattest part of your thighs. Here, he pauses to savor the woman he’s about to taste, the way her flushed skin feels inside his hands.

As his fingertips brush feather-soft against your lips, Steve feels how wet you already are. His cock aches to feel that slickness all over it, to fuck the tight little cunt that’s making such a pretty mess for him. He pushes your petticoat and dress up around your waist, holding the fabric back with one hand while leaving the other free to explore you. The sight of your glistening pussy nearly takes Steve’s breath away. He’s not sure he’s ever seen a prettier one; labia plump with arousal and slippery with cum, the tiny hole between them that puckers like a kiss every time Steve teases his finger around it.

He looks up from between your thighs, his expression hungry. His eyes hold contact with yours as he sinks his lips over your pussy. You instinctively roll your hips, pushing your cunt into Steve’s mouth. He rocks his head slowly side to side, smearing your cum across his lips. The stubble peppering Steve’s face tickles your pussy like delicate kisses, the soft grit perfect for grinding against. He extends his tongue to dip inside your pussy, letting you fuck yourself with it. You roll your hips in a circular motion, coating Steve’s tongue in your creamy arousal. He feels the contractions begin inside you, the way your moist walls flutter around his tongue as your orgasm begins.

You grip Steve’s hair in your hands, dancing on his mouth as he tastes your release washing over his tongue. After you finish, Steve tosses you back against the bed. He climbs up between your legs and pulls down the waist of his jeans. An impressively thick, ruddy cock and heavy balls hang between Steve’s legs, his wet tip brushing your stomach as he positions himself on top of you. He strokes himself over you a moment, enjoying the way your eyes widen at the sight of his cock standing thick and firm above you. “Don’t be scared, darlin,” Steve murmurs confidently. “It’ll fit; I promise…”

He guides his cock lower, rubbing the plump tip over your clit in circles, making you whimper. Steve chuckles, “Y’want it that bad, do ya?” and slides his tip to your entrance. Spreading you open as he sinks inside you, Steve’s jaw falls slack as the soft, slick walls of your pussy envelop him. He exhales deeply as he fills you up, grunting as your pussy spreads to accommodate him. Steve’s stomach and chest press flush to yours, his coarse body hair tickling your breasts.

You wrap your legs around his waist, encouraging him even deeper, silently urging Steve to thrust. Instead, he stills his hips and lingers, taking time to explore the texture of your body, to savor the unique feel of your wet velvet hugging his cock. Steve rocks his hips slowly side to side, eyes drifting closed as he basks in the pulpy warmth of your cunt. You need him to thrust, the muscles at your center desperate to be stroked. Wriggling your hips beneath him makes Steve groan, your eyes watering with need as you can’t help but beg. “Please,” you squeak softly, canting your hips up to meet his. “Please fuck me…”

The roguish glimmer in Steve’s eyes is sinful; your pussy clenches around him in response. “What was that, sugar?” he asks, lips curved into a grin. “Couldn’t quite hear you-.” Suddenly, Steve plunges his hips forward in one rough, beautiful thrust. You cry out in a mixture of surprise and pleasure, your fingernails digging crescent shapes into Steve’s back. His breath fans hot against your forehead as he chuckles, teasing you. “D’that feel nice?” he coos, watching your features contort in utter bliss. “Want me to do it again?”

And he does. Once, twice, three times, till he’s drilling your cunt at a brutal pace. Your knees squeeze around Steve’s sides, bearing down as he belts your pussy in a way you’ve never had. The sunlight is starting to fade, thinning the light in the room through a small window. It casts amber on your body and Steve’s as they rut together, two shadows blending into one on the wall behind you. His hands prowl up and down your body, groping the fat of your hips like he’s committing them to memory. Your nipples stiffen against Steve’s palms as he kneads your breasts, manipulating the supple flesh in his hands like dough. He burrows his lips in the curve of your shoulder, sucking light bruises up your neck and finding your lips. The muscles at your center pulse and flutter around Steve, your cunt thirsty for his release. He whimpers against your lips, his painfully-hard cock throbbing as your pussy milks him for every drop he’s worth.

Steve grips you by the hair and tugs your head backward, sweat and spit landing on your face as he watches your features contort in ecstasy, another climax overtaking you. Your whole body convulses beneath his, a heat blooming between your bodies at the place they’re connected, radiating from you to Steve. His lips crash over yours, the taste of whiskey long forgotten, replaced by the headier drug of sex. Steve growls into your mouth, a primal sound of dominance, claiming you. The rhythm of his hips becomes messy, frenetic, as Steve’s orgasm consumes him. His thrusts falter, his body stilling inside yours as his cock pulses streams of semen against your walls. Steve’s seed is warm and abundant, squishing audibly inside your pussy. He’s fucked you so well, every nerve inside you is teeming, buzzing; you can feel Steve’s cum gurgling inside you, a warm, contended hum radiating up to your womb…

🥀 PART THREE

Crickets sing outside your window, moonlight cascading into the room. You watch Steve wetting his hands in a basin under the mirror, splashing water over his face, pulling it through his hair. He’ll be leaving soon, and unlike most of the men you provide services for, you know you’ll miss Steve.

He turns toward you, that damned gorgeous smile on his face even more disarming when he’s naked from the waist up. “Gonna miss me, darlin?” he asks, as if reading your mind. He lifts the whiskey bottle from the dresser and brings it to the bed where you’re still reclining. Swirling the remaining liquid, Steve asks if you’d like to share the last drink. He glances at the window. “Here’s to finding my riches out there-” Steve says, raising the bottle in a toast. His voice softens, his eyes on you. “-And to the riches I leave behind…”

You swallow, a lump of emotion in your throat you’re not accustomed to feeling. Steve puts the bottle to his lips, taking a large sip and holding the liquid on his tongue. His hand finds the back of your neck, guiding you into a kiss. Parting his lips, Steve shares the last of the whiskey between his mouth and yours, a gesture so intimate, you feel your body respond to him again. Steve releases your neck, stroking your hair before rising from the bed. He pulls on his shirt and vest, buckling his belt and holstering his gun. Steve removes more cash from his pocket and places it on the dresser. “Buy somethin’ to remember me by,” he says with a wink, tipping his hat before turning for the stairs.

As the sound of Steve’s footsteps fade, you move to the window to watch him leave. He unties and mounts his horse. Steve rubs the horse’s mane and takes hold of the reigns, before glancing one last time up at the window. He smiles when he sees you; Steve was hoping you’d be there, to see him off. He clicks his tongue and presses a heel against the horse’s side, encouraging it to move. You watch Steve ride down the dusty, deserted street that leads out of town, listening to the sound of his horse’s hooves till they’ve disappeared. You know that with every horse you hear from now on, you’ll wonder if it’s Steve’s. And you’ll never stop hoping that it is. 🥀

[killerkillerkillher]

Save a Horse, Ride a Sorcerer

Summary: You're a stable hand that helps care for the town horses. You're also romantically involved with most wanted man in the country.

Inclusivity tags: Reader uses he/him pronouns, refers to themself as a man, and has a penis. Some religious references, but Reader beliefs remain undefined.

Cw: Nothing crazy. No sex (this time) but is referenced. Takes place between 1850-1870 USA. You get lots of kisses. First person but NOT an oc, I promise with all my heart <3 mdni!!!

"I won' dat boy strung up and hung, ya' hear me? I say—I said, did you hear me?"

I sit on the inn proach, watching the sheriff wind up a posé of young and blood hungry men. In the deputy's hand is a wanted sign, a well created sketch of this state's most wanted criminal on the forefront of it. The name Satoru Gojo : Wanted Die or Alive is written below it with a heavy reward posted underneath.

Ten grand. A fellow like me could do a hellava lot of things with money like that. Man must have wronged Rockefeller himself to have a fortune that size on his head.

"Folk said he's was due west around midnight. We leave now and we can catch 'em in the town over come sun down." The sheriff's horse shakes its head out, eyes finding me before his human's do. "I trust you'll care for my horses, boy?"

I pull my cigarette from my lip, smoke making the corners of my eyes sting as the white rolls along my face. I toss a half assed salute his way, and he takes it for me being intoxicated and bitter, which is a fine enough response in his book. He takes his party of young and impressionables—they're all broke, jobless, looking to make a name for themselves just as we all are—and rides out of town due west.

When they're a good distance away, I finally stand and slug my way to the stables. The summer heat is killer, a sweat breaking out on my hairline when all I'm doing is walking, and I only get some reprieve when I slide into the stables. The place smells like hot animal, dry grass, piss. I do my best to shovel the horse shit, to turn the dirt and keep the hay fresh, but the stable hand before me was a poor worker and that smell had already clung to the walls long before I had any say. I make my way past the donkeys and the sweet mama mare that came in with a pretty girl on her back a week previous. No, I head for the stall in the far back that's padded up with hay and extra leather supplies.

Tugging open the door, I kick around the hay until my foot hits something softer that an old saddle. Instead of reaching in for it, I pull my leg back and kick it harder. It jumps, groaning in pain as a head of fluffy white hair pokes from the feed. The dastardly criminal, the arrogant bastard, the wickedly handsome, the Satoru Gojo wakes up from a drunken stuper, raising his torso up as he rubs it in pain.

The man has caused me more trouble than he's worth at this point. Hiding him like I do could get me strung up by my toes right beside him if we were caught because the sheriff and every other authority out there wouldn't want to hear from me that I couldn't help myself. Satoru has charm that no one man has any right to have, and he's a walking sin, one that no human has could do justice based on his wanted poster sketches.

They say the devil wanders the earth trying to lure men into sin with promises too sweet, and it's sad to say that if he were anything like Satoru, I would have followed him tripping and stumbling.

"Get up, outlaw." I lean against the stall door, watching him blink away last night's alcoholic haze. For a man as feared as he is, he sure is a light weight. It took one and a half beers to get him flushed in the face, and four to get him tripping over himself. Said something about western drinks hitting harder than the shit from his country, but I wasn't really in the mind to listen to him past that.

"What time is it?" He grunts in a heavy accent, wincing at the light that filters into the stall. He pats around the hay blindly until he finds a set of tinted spectacles to slide onto his nose. "My head... fuck." He massages the dip of his nose.

I look at my pocket watch. "Just bout 2, but I forgot to wind my watch this morning, so give or take a' hour." I wind it as we speak. "Came ta wake you 'cause the sheriff deputy justin' left to head to Bucksteel. You leave now and you could hit the river near Hacienda Nueva by tonight."

"And you?" Satoru hums, an easy smile falling on his flushed lips as he picked straw from his hair—it's funny how easy he shakes off the hangover. He blinks those eyes up at me—pretty blue things that I swear God made by taking pieces of the sky and sticking them right into his irises—like he wants something. Something I certainly can't give.

"Wh'about me? I'm not the one with a fortune on my head. I ain' got a need to run like you do, outlaw." I pull a long drag from my cigarette before pointing at him. "Just get yer ass up and move along before I get in trouble too."

He pushes himself up to his feet, gracefully masking a stumble as he closes the distance between us. I follow his movements, not budging as he slide his arms around my shoulders. I've got to anchor my head back a tad, lips brushing his as he scratches at the base of my scalp. If it were anyone else, I'd tell them to get the hell off me, the summer heat being the biggest cockblock nature could hand us. But it's not. I'd sweat until I melted into a puddle for the taste of Satoru's skin, the feel of his lips, brush of his fingers on my back.

"The road would be better if you were on it with me, you know." He mummers, slipping small chastise kisses between his words. I take the cigarette from my lips and blow the smoke down. He hates the smell of it. I drop it and stomp it out.

"'m sure." With a hand on his nape, I pull him into a proper kiss, lips meshing like they're meant to fit together. Satoru may hate the smell, but he sure loves the taste that burnt tobacco leaves on my tongue. He sucks it into his mouth before mashing our taste buds together. It's sloppy, it's heated, and a string of spit keeps us tied between every breath.

His hands wander, grabbing at my shoulders, the hard earned muscles of my arms, the softer bits of me along my sides. All of it, he's hungry for, and I can't say I'm much better. My hands gravitate to his chest, groping his pecs as the flat of my palm pushes at his nipples.

Like a fire work, it's all hot burning action, sparks glowing and making shivers run through me. But then it's gone, just the same. I make myself pull away—it hurts to ignore Satoru's confused "Ah?" as his tongue still hangs out his mouth, dripping with our mixed saliva with those half lidded eyes—hands sliding down to his waist with plans to stay there.

"Ya gotta go, 'Toru." I urge. If he doesn't, I might just forego my restraint and bend him over against the wall right this moment. Now that would really get us in trouble.

"And here I was hoping for another taste of last night." He pouts.

He'd somehow gotten me into the bar when he rode into town last evening sporting a pack full of cash and an empty stomach. He'd bought half the town drinks, to which would get any man to ignore his bounty if you drowned them in enough liquor. He'd been sweet, throwing me glances and mouthing less than appropriate things across the room as sky had turned dark. His luck would have it that the woman serving my table thought she'd been the one on the receiving end of his flirts. That'd sparked the two of them flirting, which not only stepped on my nerves but her father's too. Daddy sheriff didn't like his daughter blushing pink and pretty for the fiendish foreigner outlaw, leading me having to cover for his ass again. He ended his night sleeping in a horse stable while the sheriff and his men searched for him, maybe or maybe not after receiving a jealous dick down from myself.

I never considered myself the jealous type before, but a man has his limits. Though, it's probably a futile effort. Like pirate has a woman at every port, I'm sure I'm just sending him away to another bed warmer over in Hacienda Nueva.

"Come on now," he tugs as the sleeves of my shirt. "Do I have go and talk to what's-her-face to get you all worked up again?"

"Ya mean Lottie?" I laugh, pressing my forehead to his. "You talked to her half the night and can' even remember her name?"

"Someone fucked me so hard I forgot it." He grins back. I grip his sides harder, and he takes that as a sign to lean back in for a kiss. I peck his lips, then lift him by the waist and move him out the stall.

"A'right, lover boy. Yer losin' daylight."

"I'm losing you." He sounds upset, tone edged with a genuine ring that it rarely carries. It's hard to tell with him sometimes. I've heard him use that tone in the past just before shooting someone in the back when they decided to give him grace. There's no telling when he might turn on me after sounding so soft.

"'m not going anywhere." I huff, pulling his gelding from its stall. It's nostrils flair before it bumps its head to mine in greeting. I pat it's cheek, feeling it's newly sleek coat. The poor thing needed a sponge bath after he came with cakes of mud in his fur and his hooves in a dangerous state. Gojo is lucky I know how to handle a horse, or his would be far worse off. "And if I do, it won' be far. You'd find me."

Satoru stays quiet as I secure a saddle into the gelding's back and brush its hair from its face. I can feel his eyes on my back, then his hands around my waist before he's slotting himself against me. Huffing a sigh, I gently loosen his grip so I can turn in his hold.

"Yer thoughts 're loud, outlaw. I can hear 'em from out h're." I cup his cheek. He's got skin softer than its got any right to be, so soft I'm sure sweet Lottie would be jealous. Thumb running along his jutted out lips, I kiss it to make it slip back into place. "None of that. Quicker you go, quicker you'll be back." I assure him.

He frowns, but nods anyway, and starts to fish something from one of his saddle bags. An envelope is suddenly between us and pressed to my chest.

"For you." That frown softens. I take it and flip it open. If I didn't stop myself, half the town would have heard me hollering from the sight of a thin stack of money shoved inside. The bills are crisp and straight like they came right from the mint, or like they'd been ironed into uniform neatness. This is the most money I've ever seen in one place.

"What the hell is this, Gojo?" I hiss, shoving the envelope back to his chest. The outlaw rolls his eyes before laughing.

"Only you would get mad at a gift like that." He hums fondly, pressing a kiss to my nose. I wrinkle it, cheeks heating up at the unusual sweet treatment. "Won't you let me take care a ya'?"

"People don' "take care" of men like me. You'd do better giving this to that bar girl's daddy and begging for his forgiveness."

"Let me be the first then." He kisses my nose again, my cheek, under my ear. I doubt it's pleasant. I'm caked in sweat and dirt and tobacco stink, but he kisses me like I'm something sweeter than life and he'd do anything not to stop. It's not treatment I get often. Most look at me and see grit, all rough desert rock and room temperature whisky coated afternoons. Few ride through here wanting me, and fewer still want anything more than a warm man in their bed. Satoru continues to prove himself an ugly duck by not looking at me the same.

"If I can't pamper you on the road, I'll do it here." He hums against me neck. "When I find you next, you better be in a better town than this one, stud." He finally pulls away with a wistful smile. "Where should I find ya'?"

"I said 'm not—"

"Humor me. If I come back in a month and see you ain' here, where would you be?"

I roll my jaw, thinking over whether it's really worth telling him. Of course it is. Who wouldn't want someone out there pining for them, for the next time they'll meet.

"The west. Rumors have it there's a few gold mines popping up and word hasn't reached the east coast yet. You look for me and you'll find me in a mining town. Webber's Creek'll be yer bes' bet."

"I got it." He pecks my lips one more time before slipping his foot into a stirrup and pulling himself up by the saddle horn. I pat his thigh, and guide him to the back of the stables and out the back door. "Next time I find you, I'll have enough money to buy you that cabin and farm you wanted."

"And the three piece suit too?" I muse. He talks like the envelope in my pocket couldn't do just that.

"That too. We can stay the winter there and hide from the world." He's smiling big at that thought, and I'm ashamed to say I am too. "Maybe get a dog."

"You've got big dreams, Satoru." I still as the sun beats down on us, squinting out at the desert plains. Gojo gazes at me from atop his horse with those sparkling sky blues, and bends at the hip to lift my chin. I push up on my toes and meet him mid way in an quick, heart wretchening kiss.

"Your dreams are my dreams, stud." He whispers against my lips. My heart skips and falls, slipping down into my gut where is kicks and wriggles happily. This is a story that'll end in heartbreak, I know it. I shouldn't get so worked over a man that could be shot dead by tomorrow, and the only way I'd find out would be from the absence of his wanted posters on the saloon news board. He's bad for me, will make me sick in the end. But those honeyed words of his are just enough to keep me stuck.

"Sweet talker." I laugh, though my humor really isn't in it. Shoving him back, I take a step away. We keep near each other like that and we'll get attached at the mouth again, never to say goodbye. "Get on now, I'm getting tired of saying it."

"Sure thing." He slips off his spectacles and tugs his bandana up from his neck to cover his eyes. He tugs a wide rim black hat from his saddle pack next and secures it on his head.

"I'll be seeing you," He grins. I lean back against the stable and fish my pack of cigarettes from my pocket. I wave at him with the box in hand and unlit tobacco in my mouth.

"Either in Webber's Creek or hell, outlaw."

I stand there, watching him grab his reins and stir his gelding up and out of town. He doesn't turn back—never does—and I don't look away until he's a tiny speck getting washed away in the blurring waves of heat.

Finally, I take that envelope inside with me, and with an old brittle donkey looking over my shoulder, count out exactly how much he gave me.

Five hundred dollars, lined up in a thin, glossy row of one hundred dollar bills. It's more than I've made in the 9 years I've spent traveling, and I'm sure if I showed this to my ruddy cheeked sixteen year old self, he'd faint. Satoru meant it when he said he wanted me out of this dead-end town, because if anyone here found I was carrying cash like this, they'd beat and rob me on the spot. Now I really have to leave, maybe find a bank that can break all of this down into smaller bills for me.

I sigh and look over my shoulder at Daisy the donkey. "How far you reckon you could take me on those legs of yours?" The old girl blinks slowly, clueless.

I'll have to go and steal a horse then since there's no ranch within a few miles of here. My palm rubs into my eye until I'm seeing colours. Give it to Satoru for turning a series of flings into an entire new journey for me. He's got me whipped past saving, and I can't help but think again that Satoru Gojo is far more trouble than what he's worth.

An: chapter 2 is written and will star Nanami, Yuuji, and a secret third person. Will publish... eventually...

[vkelleyart]

✨Mark your calendars!✨ The cover art reveal for my debut historical romantasy WHEN THE TIDES HELD THE MOON has a date! Meet me back here for the announcement on August 13th! 🧜🏼‍♂️💙🗽

It’s been a minute since I’ve been active on Tumblr, but I’m going to do my best to get back in the saddle this August! TIDES is breaking some new(-ish) ground in traditional Western publishing by being a fully illustrated novel for adult audiences, and I am so excited to share more about it with you in the coming weeks!

In the meantime, if you have questions about the book—or just want to squee with me—leave me a comment or an ask!

See you on the 13th! 🌊🧜🏼‍♂️💙🗽🎢🎊🎟️🎡🌛

[sazaartack]

Why Consider a Used Western Saddle for Your Riding Needs?

A used western saddle can be a cost-effective selection for riders looking for quality without breaking the bank. Several pre-owned saddles are well-maintained and offer outstanding durability and ease. When shopping, look for trustworthy sellers and review the conditions carefully. Hold the appeal and value of used western horse saddles for your next journey!

[ck-sims]

CK's Mustang Template (v.1.1)

*spirit stallion of the cimarron soundtrack plays on full blast*

Notes:

Created via overlaying reference pictures and WIP CAS shots, so the conformation is as close as possible within Sims 4 & slider capabilities

UPDATE (19/10/24): Contains two versions! One at the default EA horse height, and one adjusted to be ~15hh as per PW&Walnut Hill's height slider.

I've done my best to ensure that this template doesn't clip with any of SchrodCat's Western saddles, but there might be a little bit of clipping somewhere

May clip with Schrodcat's Dressage/Round/Square Pads

Optionally, you can add Walnut Hill's Sloped Croup overlay for that slanted bum look

Has a slight cleft lip, which is unfortunately not fixable until Morphmaker is updated

Required CC:

WalnutHill_BodyOverrideV3

WalnutHill_HeadOverrideV3

Walnuthill_HoofOverride

WalnutHill_RealisticHorseEyes2

All of Walnut Hill's Horse Sliders

Obj's Subtle Feathering

-- DOWNLOAD --

[fantasy-anatomy-analyst]

What do you think about incorporating paleoart into fantasy design? Personally I love it, I think that prehistoric creatures are great inspiration for all kinds of creatures. We have so much variety in extinct animals. I really love when people incorporate how dinosaurs look into dragon designs.

Do you have any examples of media or artists that do this? I would love more inspiration to draw from. But it's weirdly difficult to find examples of!

it's probably not what you had in mind, but genuinely the Dinotopia books do it best.

(image description: a vibrant and realistic painting of people parading through a city with dinosaurs. the main focus is a triceratops with golden horn caps and a red cloth draped over its back. end description)

this is literally just a fantasy setting full of dinosaurs. and to be fair, the dinosaur designs are now outdated compared to the modern understanding of how they might have looked. but the reason I think it works very well as fantasy design is because of how much it meshes into the world. you can look at any Dinotopia illustration and see how the dinosaurs are as deeply integrated into the world and cultures as the clothing people wear or the architecture around them. this is a fantasy world that asked dozens of questions about how people would use dinosaurs, how dinosaurs would fit in a bustling city, how a saddle for a brontosaurus would work, etc etc, and then went and answered all of those questions! and that, to me, is the most effective way to do fantasy worldbuilding.

so, sorry, it's not quite the same as pointing at a movie or book and saying "this dragon design uses stegosaurus tail spikes really well" lol. but genuinely, this is top tier. I would love to see an updated Dinotopia that uses more accurate dinosaur designs.

and yes, prehistoric animals, especially the big dinosaurs, are amazing inspiration and reference for dragons. We need more pterosaur dragons! this planet had actual giant flying reptiles and everyone is sleeping on them in favor of the crocodilian-horse-bat standard western dragon design, which i still adore but come on. we can branch out. we can do better.

anyway the tldr is this: you can make anything work in fantasy if you ask enough questions and then give them answers. the best fantasy designs are the best because they fit into the world they're made for and give it more life and truly affect the setting and story!

[dollsofthewest]

AG Cowgirl Outfits

Following in the footsteps of @enby-dollhouse and @doll-collecting-aerialist, who did posts on the variety of ballerina and tennis outfits respectively, I wanted to do my take on a section of AG outfits I love: cowgirls! Saddle up and let's head out!

Rootin', Tootin' Cowgirl (1998)

Okay, so maybe this is the outfit that inspired me to do this post in the first place. This is adorable. It's rootin'. It's tootin'. I love the bright blue color. It's advertised as a Halloween costume, but doubles just fine as a fancy rodeo outfit. I do like the idea that you can be the sheriff, or the bandit, or both at the same time! And lest we forget to mention that black cat trick-r-treat bucket!!

Molly's Dude Ranch Outfit (2004)

Is anybody doing it like Miss Molly? This outfit was not connected with any book but released as part of a "Summer Fun" collection. I like to imagine Molly went to a dude ranch near Yellowstone National Park, or maybe somewhere along her Route 66 Adventure. It's cute and pretty authentic to rodeo shows. Also, look at her little canteen!

Nicki's Ranch Outfit (2007)

Most cowgirls don't wear the fancy rodeo costumes like a lot of people think: those are for the shows and fairs! During her daily work, Nicki wears her own pink version of modern jeans, chaps, and boots. And of course her staw hat to protect her from the sun.

Rustic Ranch Outfit (2008)

Another practical outfit; it may look impractical to wear a skirt but I've seen girls who prefer it, if they are riding side-saddle. The vest is kind've plain, but it comes with a horse-themed scrapbook and a (faux) leather Western Hat.

Western Riding Outfit (2010)

Definitely a casual pick for our cowgirl. Fit for farm or school, everybody knows exactly what animal is this American Girl's favorite. Like Nicki, this girl wears a straw hat, but she'll need sunblock if she's going to ride all day with those short sleeves and skirt!

Western Plaid Outfit (2014)

I like to think of this as Abercrombie Horse Girl. I'm not sure how practical that dress is for horse riding, and I'm a bit worried about those loose band around her boots. Still, this girl has something not previously seen, even with Nicki, and that's the very important helmet! Always wear a helmet while horse riding!!

Pretty Pink Riding Outfit (2014)

Sold at the same time as the previous one, so you could choose which outfit you wanted with your life-saving helmet. This girl is wearing what I liked to call Gucci Horse Girl.

Blue-Ribbon Riding Outfit (1998)

I forgot this one so I'm adding it here to show you what I would consider an Ideal Horse Riding outfit. Helmet: check! Proper boots: check! The coat even comes with functional pockets and inner thigh padding. She certainly gets the blue ribbon from me for best dressed!

Maryellen's Cowgirl Outfit (2022)

Ah, a return to classics! This is about as stereotypical "cowgirl" as you can get. As far as I'm aware, this is meant to be her Halloween costume, which tracks with how popular cowgirls & cowboys were during the 1950s. Lookin' cute, Miss Maryellen!

Lila's Horseback Riding Outfit (2024)

I think when Glen Campbell sang "Rhinestone Cowboy" he wasn't talking about this. Still, maybe this is what horse girls these days wear? It's a shame to see a modern girl without a helmet, but you can't deny this fits Miss Lila's style to a tee!

What is your favorite AG cowgirl/horse-riding outfit? What would you like to see made in the future?

[mainlyjustthesims]

Western saddle TS3

*converted by me *EQHD compatible *low poly *non recolorable you free to make it recolorable *16 swatches *HQ textures 2k

!!NOTE!! the saddle might clip trough the belly part of the horse if its a chubby / big horse other then that the saddle looks fine and i tried to fix it as best as i can!

TOU:

Dont claim as your own work! Dont unload behind paywalls! Dont take credit for it when recolouring it Dont reupload!

CREDITS:

All credits go to EA and Maxis for the mesh and textures! Originally from The Sims 4 Horse Ranch

GET IT HERE

[devilsrph]

† 𝙲𝙾𝚆𝙱𝙾𝚈 𝙿𝙷𝙸𝙻𝙾𝚂𝙾𝙿𝙷𝚈 sentence starters ... featuring 60 sentence starters with some nice bit of western wisdom on the side. please use as purposed, do not replicate or alter for any reason. this is likely one part of many. enjoy!

“ a man’s gotta know when to ride and when to stay. ” “ this life don’t owe you nothin’. you earn it. ” “ a promise ain't as good as a handshake. ” “ a gun’s only as dangerous as the man holdin’ it. ” “ out here, it ain’t about what you take. it’s what you leave behind. ” “ never draw unless you intend to shoot. ” “ trust is harder to earn than gold, and far easier to lose. ” “ a man’s past follows him like a hound. ” “ in the end, we all answer to the same dirt. ” “ the only law out here is what you make of it. ” “ a man’s only as good as his word. ” “ the trail don’t ride itself. ” “ never rush a horse or a decision. ” “ hard times don’t last, but hard men do. ” “ there’s no shame in starting over. ” “ the earth don’t care about your troubles. ” “ water’s worth more than gold in a dry season. ” “ a quiet man sees more than a loud one. ” “ ride slow, and you’ll get there faster. ” “ a kind word can mend fences better than a hammer. ” “ luck favors the prepared. ” “ the sun don’t wait for nobody. ” “ the hard times teach patience, and they teach pain. ” “ sometimes, the bravest thing is to walk away. ” “ there ain't a gun out there more dangerous than the man wielding it. ” “ don’t trust a man who won’t look you in the eye. ” “ every storm runs out of rain. ” “ revenge is best left to the fools. ” “ a man with nothin’ to lose is a man to fear. ” “ the desert has no mercy, and neither should you. ” “ you can’t outrun your past. ” “ home ain’t a place — it’s what waits for you. ” “ the biggest risk is not takin’ one. ” “ not all treasure is buried in the ground. ” “ there’s always someone faster. ” “ a horse knows the rider’s heart. ” “ the sun rises for sinners and saints all the same. ” “ a fence keeps out trouble — until it doesn’t. ” “ courage is being scared and saddling up anyway. ” “ even a cactus blooms if you give it time. ” “ a man’s shadow follows him everywhere. ” “ out here, trust is worth more than silver. ” “ the wind carries whispers, but never secrets. ” “ a fire can warm you or burn you. depends how close you get. ” “ don’t dig a well too shallow, or a grave too deep. ” “ every sunset is a reminder that nothing lasts forever. ” “ an empty saddle tells a story. ” “ you can mend a fence, but not a broken trust. ” “ never judge a man by his hat. ” “ out here, you make your own luck. ” “ a good dog is better company than most people. ” “ the river knows its way — follow it. ” “ you shouldn't spit into the wind. ” “ a sharp knife and a clear mind go a long way. ” “ the horizon is closer than you think. ” “ sometimes the quiet nights are the ones you remember most. ” “ every man has a story. ” “ don’t pick a fight you ain’t ready to finish. ” “ sometimes, you gotta ride alone. ” “ the road home is the longest one. ”