#Black and Ranching in colorado

[reasoningdaily]

KKTV: Arrest papers for Colorado ranchers who believe they are victims of racism made public

EL PASO COUNTY, Colo. (KKTV) - For several weeks, KKTV 11 News viewers have been sharing videos from social media showcasing a man in El Paso County claiming he is being terrorized.

Viewers have also been sharing an article from the “Ark Republic” titled “Get out. ‘I stood naked with my shotgun.’ Black ranchers say white residents terrorize their Colorado farm to push them off of their land.” The online article details allegations tied to Courtney and Nicole Mallery. The Mallerys reportedly run a 1,000-acre ranch in El Paso County, according to the online publication. KKTV 11 News has reached out to the author of the article and the organization; you can read their response to the national attention in our previous coverage by clicking here. KKTV obtained arrest papers that are likely connected to the incident involving the shotgun, they can be read at the bottom of this article. The response from the sheriff’s office to the online articles is also at the bottom of this article or is available by clicking here.

According to jail records, Courtney Wayne Mallery was booked into the El Paso County Jail Monday afternoon. A video posted to Instagram on Monday by “blackfarmlandownersmatter” shows Mallery being taken into custody. According to online court records, Mallery is suspected of stalking, causing emotional distress. You can read arrest papers obtained by KKTV 11 News tied to this incident at the bottom of this article.

A temporary protection order was granted by a judge against Mallery for one of his neighbors Tuesday morning. KKTV 11 News was at the jail when Mallery was in the process of being released on bond Tuesday night just after 7:45. The Mallerys spoke to KKTV 11 News briefly about their situation and we will be sharing what they had to say in future coverage, likely Friday night.

In the arrest papers below, Courtney Mallery is accused of stalking, causing emotional distress. The charge is a felony. 11 News spoke with the victim in that case and we plan on sharing her side of the story in future coverage, likely Friday night. The Mallerys believe they are the target of racism in El Paso County.

There is a record of Nicole Mallery’s past incidents. In one El Paso County case involving Nicole Mallery, she was accused of assaulting a police officer. According to online court records, Nicole pleaded guilty on July 15, 2022 to assaulting a peace officer.

In a separate case, Nicole was accused of menacing, a weapons charge and false reporting. According to online records, the menacing and weapons charge were dismissed while Nicole pleaded guilty to false reporting, providing false identification. She had been arrested on April 21, 2021 and pleaded guilty on June 15 of 2022. The case was reopened Dec. 20, 2022.

This is a very complex story and KKTV 11 News is choosing not to report all of the information we have gathered at once. Expect updates on KKTV.COM as well as during our newscasts. The coverage gained national attention following the articles by The Ark Republic. For more on what the Mallerys had to say:

Click here for part one “Get out. Black Colorado ranchers face domestic terrorism by local whites who they say are trying to steal their land”

Click here for part two “Get out. ‘I stood naked with my shotgun.’ Black ranchers say white residents terrorize their Colorado farm to push them off of their land”

For more from the El Paso County Sheriff’s Office denying the allegations:

Click here for the response from the sheriff’s office on the coverage by the Ark Republic.

ALL OF THE DOCUMENTS BELOW ARE PUBLIC RECORDS AND CAN BE OBTAINED BY MEMBERS OF THE PUBLIC.

AFFIDAVIT FOR COURTNEY MALLERY, STALKING CASE:

AFFIDAVIT FOR INCIDENT INVOLVING NICOLE MALLERY AND A SHOTGUN:

AFFIDAVIT FOR NICOLE MALLERY INVOLVING ASSAULT OF A PEACE OFFICER:

Arrest papers for Colorado ranchers who believe they are victims of racism made public

[wachinyeya]

‘Ferrari in a junkyard’: Mules sold at auction are rare, endangered horses

https://washingtonpost.com/climate-environment/2024/08/09/przewalskis-horses-rescued-dna-shrek-fiona/

Hannah Huckabay regularly combs livestock auctions online for horses she can rehabilitate and train at her Colorado ranch. But when she saw a video in February of a mule for sale in Kansas, she could hardly believe what she was seeing.

The stocky animal’s short black mane shot straight up like a mohawk, and its white belly stood out against its tan coat. As it nervously paced in its corral, Huckabay said it bore a striking resemblance to Przewalski’s horse, a critically endangered species she’d learned about while studying equine science.

“I was like, ‘There is no way. That is not a mule,’” Huckabay recalled thinking. “That’s a purebred Przewalski.”

Such a find would be incredibly rare. Once extinct in the wild, around 2,500 Przewalski’s horses remained worldwide as of 2022. They’re native to Mongolia and in June, seven were reintroduced to nearby Kazakhstan as part of an effort to return them to their natural habitats. They are the only truly wild horse remaining (mustangs are feral horses).

But scientists say Huckabay’s hunch appears to be correct. Hair samples from the animal Huckabay purchased - along with a second horse recently surrendered at a Utah sanctuary - were sent to Texas A&M University’s animal genetics lab. Both appear to be Przewalski’s horses, said Rytis Juras, the genetics lab’s director who tested both samples.

The hair test looks for genetic markers associated with different horse breeds to determine an animal’s likely ancestry. Unequivocally confirming that the horses are purebred Przewalski’s and not hybrids would require advanced blood tests that are expensive and would mean sedating the equines.

The blood tests look at the number of chromosomes in a horse’s cells - 66 in a purebred Przewalski, versus 64 in a common horse or 62 in a donkey. An even more advanced version could sequence the horse’s entire genome.

But Juras and two other scientists who reviewed the findings said the hair-test results are reliable.

“If I would have gotten it from a zoo … that would be one thing,” Juras said of receiving the samples. But two random tests with Przewalski’s results were “surprising and a little bit disturbing,” he said. “This is weird.”

How the horse Huckabay found - and the second in Utah - ended up in livestock auctions is a mystery, said Christopher Faulk, a professor of animal science at the University of Minnesota who has studied Przewalski’s horse genetics and also reviewed the DNA results.

“Someone had to have known what they were, they don’t just appear out of anywhere,” Faulk told The Post. “Especially to have been disposed of in that way is even weirder,” he said, since livestock that aren’t purchased at auction can end up in slaughterhouses.

“That’s like finding a Ferrari in a junkyard,” he added.

Huckabay bought the animal for $1,375 in February and, after three weeks in quarantine, the ragged and underweight animal sold as a mule arrived at her ranch outside Denver.

Seeing its features in-person left her even more convinced it was a Przewalski’s horse, she said. With a large clunky head and stiff black mane, her daughter said the horse was so ugly, he was cute, Huckabay recalled. They named him Shrek, after DreamWorks’s beloved ogre.

After almost two months of helping Shrek acclimate, Huckabay’s daughter stumbled upon a video posted on June 9 from a sanctuary in Utah.

“Did we just have a Przewalski mare surrendered?!” the caption read.

Kelsey and Gunnar Bjorklund - who own the Lazy B Equine Rescue and Sanctuary in Utah - suspected their mare was also a Przewalski. But they had no idea there was a second possible Przewalski, saved from another auction.

The Bjorklunds’ horse was brought to their facility after being purchased for $35 in January at an auction in Utah, where she was advertised as a mule.

“It takes more money to get your nails done,” Kelsey said, adding that her previous owner decided to surrender the mare after she flunked out of a professional training program.

When the horse arrived and was unloaded from the trailer, “we were just in shock,” Gunnar said. It was clear the animal wasn’t a mule or a mustang, he said.

“Anyone getting possible Przewalski vibes!?” the Bjorklunds posted. “A true wild, endangered species of equine‼️ How cool would that be!”

In response to seeing the Bjorklunds’ viral video, Huckabay’s daughter posted her own videos of Shrek two days later. One got over 11 million views.

After coming across Shrek’s video, it was easy for the Bjorklunds to settle on a name for their mystery horse - Fiona, the princess-heroine from the Shrek movies.

The rescuers were stunned that two possible Przewalski’s horses could have surfaced almost simultaneously. The Endangered Species Act allows private ownership of endangered animals, but only with a permit, and under strict stipulations. The law prohibits the possession of illegally obtained endangered animals or their transport across state lines without permits.

The U.S. Fish and Wildlife Service declined to comment on whether officials are investigating the horses’ chain of custody.

Some livestock auctions have occasionally served as hubs for illicit trade in exotic animal species.

Because most Przewalski’s horses descend from only about a dozen surviving individuals, scientists closely manage breeding genetics for diversity. Compared to the feral mustang, Przewalski’s are more resilient, said Dolores Reed, a biologist who helps oversee a small herd of the endangered horses at the Smithsonian’s National Zoo and Conservation Biology Institute. Przewalski’s horses are built for the Mongolian steppe’s harsh climate, she said, adding, “they’re very tough,” and can be unpredictable.

There are about 100 Przewalski’s horses in U.S. zoos, Reed said.

Shrek and Fiona are adjusting to their new environments, their owners said. After keeping his distance from people and trotting in circles in his pen while stressed, Shrek has relaxed and moved to a larger field. He has bonded with two gentle mares and while he won’t accept treats from people’s hands, he loves when apples and carrots are left in his feed bucket, Huckabay said.

“He’s very piggy,” she said.

In Utah, Fiona has put on weight and made friends with a miniature mule and a quarter horse filly at the Bjorklunds’ sanctuary.

The rescuers wonder what would’ve happened if Shrek and Fiona hadn’t been saved. The endangered animals might’ve been sent to slaughter “and nobody would have known about it,” Gunnar said.

Huckabay and the Bjorklunds plan to care for the horses as long as needed, but said they’d prefer to see their rescued Przewalski’s move to a professional conservation program.

Shrek is happy on the ranch, but Huckabay said she’d rather see him with “a herd of his own.”

“That would be the best-case scenario,” she said.

[cowboydisaster]

* ˚ ✦ Compass * ˚ ✦

chapter one: La Belle Fleur Sauvage

pairing: arthur morgan x f! reader

word count: 7.9k

summary: modern au; Living out your dreams on a ranch in Colorado; Arthur finally proposes.

a/n: This is a little gift for @margowritesthings. I originally wrote this for you a year ago, but I've rewritten it for you for this christmas. xx

Arthur is nervous, his palms clammy as he pulls a Carharrt t-shirt over his head. The dark hardwood floor is cold against his bare feet as he slowly pulls his clothes on, layering up to defend against the harsh weather. You sleep comfortably in his bed, unaware of Arthur's absence from your side. He slowly approaches, pressing a chaste kiss to your forehead. You smile in your sleep. 

"Gonna be a good day, darlin'.” He murmurs, pulling the white, fluffy blanket up over your shoulders before stepping out of the room, trying to keep his footsteps quiet.

The coffee machine beeps twice, notifying Arthur that the morning pick me up is finished. Two mugs sit by the machine, as always. But today Arthur doesn't grab his usual, opting instead for a travel mug. It's an old one. One that he'd gotten from some random bank event a while ago, "Strauss Financing" it read. 

He'd used that bank to get a loan for the house and the barn. God– nearly ten years ago now, Arthur realizes. 

The coffee is black and hot, steaming as it's poured into the mug. Arthur leaves the pot on for you before opening the door, and whistling in the direction of the bedroom. He can hear Copper jumping down off the bed, and then he rounds the corner, trotting towards Arthur and out the door. 

"Hey there boy!" Arthur laughs and gives Copper a few pats. He's had the old vizsla about as long as he's had the ranch. Copper follows Arthur outside, happily trotting after the man. Everything outside is coated in a dusting of white. It's the kind of snow that looks like diamonds, where ice clings to the trees and rooftops, but the sun shines down, making everything sparkle. 

When Arthur gets about a hundred feet from the house, with Copper circling around him, he stops and turns around. The log cabin stands proud before him, even after all these years. Arthur had built the place with his bare hands, just him and Copper. 

The Colorado mountains stand proud behind the house, hues of purple and blue painting  their cliffs, the morning rays of sunlight reflecting off of the snow on their peaks.  When he looks at the slowly aging wood of the house, and the warm glow of the porch lights he can't help but smile. It's not the house itself that he is so fond of, it is what you have made the house– a home. 

When the walls were bare, and the house was empty, save for the few pieces of furniture that Arthur could afford, it was incredibly lonely. He tended to the animals and worked on the ranch all day to avoid sitting alone in the house. He spent his evenings at the only bar in town, Pearson's Pub, drinking to forget and to ignore the empty house. 

Things got better once you moved to town, working as a bartender. You warmed the man's cold heart. You were like a breath of fresh air in this old town. You still are. You managed to take his frozen, barely beating heart and melt it in the grip of your soft hands. 

Arthur began to chat with you while you worked. After only a few interactions, he started coming in on the days he knew you would be there. 

Then, one day, he offered to cook you dinner, and you accepted. Now, you lie in his bed, cozy and happy while he plans for the future. Funny, how things work out like that. All those years when Arthur was young, he'd hoped for someone to love. As an adult, he was content with his solitude, until you came along, of course. Divine intervention, you are. 

Copper barks, stomping his paws in the snow, pulling Arthurs attention back to the present. The poor dog is probably cold. The nip in the air makes Arthur's cheeks and nose red, and his breath lingers in the air like a morning fog. 

The truck isn’t far, sitting halfway between the house and the barn. Arthur shoves his hands in his pockets, shaking some snow off of his hat as he makes his way towards the old rust bucket. Snow and ice fall from the door frame as Arthur swings it open, leaning in. 

He reaches across the steering wheel, jamming the key into the dash and turning it. He mutters a small prayer when the engine starts to stutter and hiss, but after a few seconds, it turns over. Once the engine is running, Arthur turns the heat the entire way up, setting the knob towards the windshield. 

“Should be right as rain, now, huh, boy?” Arthur smirks, stepping down from the truck, shutting the door. Copper barks, running into the wooden barn where Arthur is heading, stalking the chickens, as Arthur slides through the wooden door. 

He shakes the snow off of his hat, boots clicking on the floor as he grabs a few scoops of feed and dumps them into each horse's trough. Arthur greets each one, scratching behind their ears, patting their necks. He feeds, avoiding stepping on loose hens, until he reaches Boadicea's stall. A warm smile graces Arthur's face at the sight of the old chestnut mare. She brightens up at the man's arrival, and not just because of the feed he carries. Her head tosses as she whinnies for him..

“There's my girl." Arthur hums, dumping the feed, soothed by the sound of her chewing. Arthur scratches the underside of Boadicea's jaw, earning a slight whinny from the older mare. 

"S’a big day today, y'know." Arthur releases a shaky breath as he strokes the mare's neck. Boadicea lips at Arthur's jacket, searching for treats that he doesn't have. 

"I'm gonna ask her to marry me."

He huffs through his nostrils then, smiling as he pats the mare one last time. 

"You're gonna be a part of it. I'm countin' on you, girl." 

He then looks to the black quarter horse in the stall beside Boadicea. The horse has a star on his forehead, and a thick dark forelock that covers his eyes. When Arthur had gifted you the gelding, you'd named him Whiskey. It was both an homage to the bar where you met Arthur, and your preferred poison. 

"Hey there boy. You better be good for the lady today, ya hear?" 

He pats the horse who is hungrily lapping up his grain and then brings his wrist up to check his watch. The watch ticks quietly, showing the time as being 6:17am. 

Arthur decides that the truck has had plenty long enough to heat up as he makes his way out of the barn, pulling his jacket tighter around himself. Copper has gone off, probably chasing birds in the woods, or attempting to play with the cattle. Once he's done playing he will come into the barn for shelter, at least until you wake up and let him back in. 

Arthur's hands are tinted pink with cold as he opens the truck door, sliding in and shutting the cold out. The heat from inside the cab is nothing short of cathartic as it begins to thaw his frozen features, slowly melting away the ice and causing his nose to turn pale again. 

Arthur turns the radio up a bit, driving down the long road towards the city. He tries to avoid Denver as much as possible. The tall, leering buildings are suffocating, reminding him of a very dark time in his life. 

When Arthur's ma and pa died, he was placed into foster care. When he was twelve, he fought with the other kids, even beat a few nasty boys that were older than him. Arthur learned quickly that anger and aggression were the best ways to protect himself. 

He ran from every foster home he was placed into, never having anywhere to go, just running. Arthur slept outside many nights, surrounded by vermin– both rats and people. He was spat on, cursed at, and kicked down by many of the people he encountered. It wasn't until he was fifteen that he found shelter- a home. 

— — —

Arthur's feet pound against the pavement as he runs. The door remains open, swinging, as Arthur barrels down the driveway without shoes. The blacktop is rough on Arthur's feet, scraping and cutting into his heels as he scrambles, but he pushes through, determined to get away from the outskirts of Denver. 

He follows the driveway until it meets gravel, avoiding it by running through the grass, into the forest. Tears stream down his cheeks, rough gasps for breath mixed with raspy sobs erupting from his chest. 

Arthur bolts from yet another foster home– another abuser. He can barely see as the street lights get farther away, but he pushes on faster at the sounds of sirens. Sticks and rocks dig into the soles of his feet, but he continues, terrified. 

In his hand, Arthur clutches a small bag, carrying the few things that remain of Arthur's childhood: his momma's ring, and a photo of her when she was young. His knuckles are white in their grip.

Horror trickles up his spine, sickness twisting his guts and making him sick. Tears prick at his eyes, threatening to send him to the ground 

Did he just kill a man? 

Disgust bubbles up in Arthur's throat as he searches around in the dark forest, looking for somewhere to hide for the night. Not far in the distance is a building with a light on outside, it appears to be a barn. Arthur tries not to think about anything as he stumbles towards the barn, feeling like he may collapse at any second. His arms are wrapped around himself, and he shivers as he parts the barn doors, stepping inside, sheltered from the cold winds.

A few animals grumble at the intrusion, but Arthur can barely hear them. His vision is blurry, breaths coming in quick pants as he trips. He makes it a few steps to a pile of hay, mind fuzzy and body cold. Arthur is exhausted and unable to breathe.

Suddenly his feet are falling away from him and he collapses. The impact is made softer by the pile of hay, but it still knocks the wind out of him. Arthur stares at his blood stained hands as they clutch his mother's things. 

— 

There is a shuffle. A door? Footsteps? They stop. 

"My, my… What on earth do we have here?" A man says, his timbre deep enough to rattle the barn walls. Arthur's eyes flutter but he is not able to open them. 

"Christ, Dutch– the poor boy's covered in blood, he can't be more than sixteen." A second voice chimes in. 

Then Arthur is being hoisted into the air. He tries to fight, but slowly begins to lose consciousness again. 

"Well take him inside, have Bessie and Annabelle fix him up… Once he's awake, we'll find out who he is, and.. what he needs."

— — —

Arthur thinks back on that time with distaste as his truck rumbles loudly through the crowded streets of Denver. Things got better after he found Dutch and Hosea. He stayed with them, working on their ranch for many, many years, and once he turned twenty-five the two gentlemen gifted him one hundred acres, enough to start a small ranch of his own. 

Arthur sits at a red light, not far from his targeted destination. His fingertips tap the steering wheel impatiently as he thinks of that bag, his mothers contents inside. His stomach twists with anxiety. He hasn't been down this street in fifteen years. Muscle memory tightens his lungs as he pulls his truck along the street parking, brakes squealing before he pushes it into park. 

Arthur sighs, eyes glancing up to the ornate, tall buildings before him. It makes his stomach turn. All this money poured into concrete structures when kids are starving in the streets. 

He gets out the truck, straightening his shirt and jacket out of habit, before approaching the golden gate outside of the apartment building. 

It's not long before he's in the elevator.

Arthur goes to knock on the ornate door, knuckles hesitating for a moment before rapping on the wood twice. It's the only barrier between him and the penthouse. 

Arthur plans to make the trip as quick as possible. He’d vowed not to come here ever since the verbal assault had been thrown at him during an expensive dinner. He’d left in shambles, still young and naive. Arthur places his hands behind his back and pushes his shoulders back out of habit when the door swings open.

"Mary." Arthur acknowledges. 

Her voice is soft, her southern accent spilling from her lips, "Arthur?” She seems worried, shocked. Her eyes scan him quickly, identifying that he's not hurt, “Is everything okay? Dutch? Hosea?"

"Yes Mary, everyone's fine." 

Arthur takes note that Mary's father mustn't be home, and he instantly relaxes. His shoulders come down and his hands rest at his sides. 

“Come in.” Mary says, opening the door, gesturing to the white couch in the middle of the living room.

Arthur hesitates at the door, but complies when she starts leading the way. Nothing has changed in all the years that he's avoided this place. The carpet feels the same as he walks across it.  The couch dips under Arthur as it used to when he sits. 

Mary sits on a chair across from him. The couch he's sitting on is far more comfortable than the one at home, but he prefers the quiet oak house compared to this busy modern apartment. 

She looks to Arthur, her eyes curious. He hesitates, eyes unsure where to land– dancing between Mary's eyes and the floor. 

"I-” He starts speaking and then stops a few times, before taking a breath, getting the words out, “I've met a woman…” 

A pang hits Mary right in the chest, but she hides it well. 

“Happened a few years ago." Arthur speaks low and quiet, his timbre is deep as he explains. Mary remains quiet and allows him to continue, eyes drifting towards the windows, mind caught up in memories that threatens to pull her under.

"She's a fine woman Mary, and… Well, I'm gonna ask her to marry me." 

Arthur looks up to Mary then, her dark eyes contrasting his own. She has a puzzled look on her face as she replies, 

"Arthur, I'm happy for you, but I’m afraid I don't understand…? Did you come all this way just to tell me–”

“Mary…” Arthur whispers, cutting off her snowballing thoughts, redirecting her to the point that he is trying to get across without being harsh. Without demanding. 

She stops in her tracks then, realization dawning upon her, “Oh. I see.” She smiles, bittersweet. Arthur can see the regret in her eyes. He is quick to ease the tension, leaning forward, trying to soothe the old wounds that Mary has yet to heal. 

"I'm sorry, Mary, I am– that things didn't work out between you and I, but– it means a lot to me, and there's no other-”

Arthur is stopped in his tracks as Mary raises her hand to stop him, “It belongs to you, Arthur. She should have it, really.” Mary smiles sincerely. 

She loves Arthur, though she'll never admit it. She loves him enough to let him go, to let him be loved by someone he deserves. Mary doesn't know you, but she knows that since he came here, for this– you must be deserving of his love.

Mary places her pale hand up, signaling Arthur to wait as she stands and disappears into the doorway towards her room.

Arthur fiddles with his hands, emotion bubbling up as he waits. This is the final obstacle. Once he has his this item back he will be able to give you what you deserve, and if you accept, Arthur will be the happiest man alive. 

Mary rounds the corner, her lips pulling into a bittersweet smile, a few tears dripping down her cheeks. There is a small black box in her hand, extended out to Arthur.

His green eyes transfix on the box. The one he hasn’t seen in almost fifteen years. Arthur places his hands on his knees to push himself off of the couch, staring in disbelief at the old thing. 

It is carefully placed in his hands, and he slowly creaks the lid open, staring. It's a gold band, with a ruby placed in the center, and intricately placed diamonds on either side of the gemstone. It’s the one thing he has that ties the man he is now, to the happy young boy he used to be- when he was good. It was his momma's. One of the only things he has left of her. Arthur closes the box, tucking it away into his pocket. 

“Best of luck to you, Arthur.” Mary whispers, a sad smile on her lips. 

“Thank you, Mary.”

The ride home is quiet, for the first half anyway. As soon as Arthur is out of the city, back on dirt roads, he switches the old truck stereo on. A familiar song is playing, one that's been bringing him quite a bit of comfort in the past weeks. 

“Now I know the only compass that I need”

He smiles. One of his hands rests on the steering wheel, the other rests on his jean pocket. He palms at the box as he drives, making sure it doesn’t slip away. 

“Oh, is the one that leads back to you”

His voice is deep, rumbling in his chest as he taps his left foot against the floorboards of his truck. He thinks of you, riding your horse, smiling, of your hair in a messy bun and you in his too-big t-shirts. He thinks of how you love him, with a passion and a fervor. 

“Now I know the only compass that I need Oh, is the one that leads back to you”

He thinks of when you met for the first time, your fates tying together in ways you never could have imagined.

— — —

Arthur enters the old bar, same as he does most every night. It's the same bar he's been going to for fifteen years now. Contrary to some of the other fools here, he doesn’t always drink when he comes here. Sometimes, he just sits at one of the tables, drawing the scenery.

Arthur comes here to drown out the silence of the house, to get away from the loneliness that he refuses to admit is swallowing him whole.

Tonight, he walks around the tables that adorn the small place, straight up to the bar, sitting down in his usual seat. The place is busy tonight. Arthur assumes there's a game being played, or a rodeo on the tv, but he doesn’t ask. Plenty of patrons sit around the bar, most with women or men in their clutches. Laughter and the sound of glasses being slammed on the bar fill the air, and a neon light flickers on the wall.

Arthur is all too aware of the familiar atmosphere around him, and yet somehow, he misses the new bartender serving tonight. Typically Pearson himself is behind the bar, but tonight someone else is handing out drinks. 

Arthur knocks on the bar once, eyes watching the TV in front of him, a bulldogging competition. Suddenly, a form slides in front of him, blocking his view of the television. He adverts his attention to the person blocking his view, and his eyes go wide. 

You stand in front of him, smiling and whipping a bar towel over your shoulder. 

“What can I get for you, mister?” You ask, wiping your hands against each other. 

Your eyes twinkle like they're among stars, and Arthur is sure that he’s never seen a smile so bright. He doesn’t respond for a few seconds, basking in your beauty. Your hair is not tied up, and it falls down, cascading over your shoulders.

Your black long sleeved shirt is tight, clinging to your figure, but Arthur is caught up in your eyes. He shakes his head lightly before responding. 

“Yeah, uh… Sorry– just get me the strongest drink ya got. Make it neat.”

Arthur's typical order is a bourbon on ice, or a beer, but tonight he's going to need something stronger. Everyone knows everyone in this small town, but you're a new face, and Arthur can already feel the singe of the hot brand, burning you into his memory.

“Coming right up.” You raise a curious eyebrow, wondering about this man’s choice of drink. With your interest piqued, you grab a rocks glass and a bottle of patrón, pouring a few fingers of golden liquid into the glass, sliding it across the bar. 

“Have one for ya’self too.” Arthur tosses a bundle of cash onto the bar. 

“Thank you, mister.” You smile, pouring yourself the same drink. 

You eye the mysterious cowboy curiously, noticing the softness hidden behind his rough features. He is attractive, very attractive, with dirty blonde hair, and a five o’clock shadow that exaggerates the scars on his lip and chin. His eyes are hidden from you by a dark cowboy hat, until he peers up and you are met with the most strikingly beautiful, bright, blue-green eyes you've ever seen. 

You have to look down to hide the blush that creeps up on your cheeks from being caught in the act of staring. If he notices your gaze, he doesn’t say anything. Both of your crystal glasses are set on the bar as you lean onto it with your elbows. 

“You ain't from around here, are ya?” Arthur asks. You smirk. The ruckus from the bar seems to die down in your ears. Even your busy mind quietens as you focus on the peculiar man before you. 

“Is it that obvious?” You laugh, “No, I'm not from here, just moved.”

Arthur hums, content. There's an amused sparkle in his eyes. 

“How'd you know?” You ask, wondering what gave it away. What's making you an outsider? You moved here to get away, to blend in. Anxiety curls in your stomach at the thought of being found. 

“Well, miss, you’re far kinder, n’ far prettier than anyone in this old town… Don't help that everyone knows everyone here. We don't come by new faces much.”

Your anxiety quells, cheeks blushing a deep crimson, and after a moment, you raise your glass slightly, angling it towards his. 

“Well thank you kindly, mister.” You hum. 

“Arthur.” He corrects, clinking his glass against yours, swallowing down a swig of the burning liquid. You cock your head, not tracking at first. 

“My name's Arthur. Arthur Morgan.” He reiterates, and you smile. 

“Pleasure to meet you, Arthur Morgan.”

— — —

Your eyes flutter open slowly. The first thing that meets your eyes is the vase of purple flowers on your bedside table. The morning light hits them beautifully, reflecting off of their vase, refracting on the deep purple petals. 

A wave of realization dawns over you.

Sunlight? What time is it?? 

You sit straight up in bed, eyes immediately seeking the alarm clock on Arthur’s nightstand. It reads 9:25am and your heart leaps into your throat.

“Shit!”  You curse, swinging your legs out of bed, body barely covered by your cotton shorts and cami.

You feed the horses at 6am every day. Today your alarm mustn't have gone off.  You feel terribly, knowing that the horses must be starving. You frown, hair messily falling around your shoulders as you hurry to your dresser. 

A piece of paper sits on the mahogany, and you hesitate in your rush, placing your pointer finger on the paper and reading its contents. 

Fed the horses so you could sleep in. I had to run into town real quick. Should be back before lunch. Call if ya need anything, Sweetheart. Coffee is hot in the pot for you and Copper is outside. - A

The panic leaves your chest, replaced with warmth as you pocket the note, pulling your slippers on as you move towards the kitchen. 

Arthur is always doing this for you, taking on little tasks to remove some weight from your shoulders. Doing anything he can to ease your troubles. He knows that you've been crazy busy with work lately, as horse training always picks up in the winter, and he's been doing everything he can to help. 

You hum a tune as you round the corner, hand trailing along the smooth oak wall. Your slippers are soft and quiet against the floor as you enter the kitchen, eyes trained to where the black coffee pot rests on the counter top. 

You grab your clay mug, the one you'd made back when you were taking pottery classes, and you fill it with black coffee and a splash of cream.

Wrapping one arm around your torso, you move to the glass french doors in the kitchen, overlooking the barn and the pastures. You sip at your coffee, eyes slipping closed as the coffee wakes you up, the warm liquid heating down your cold bones. Your eyes trail over your farm, the brown and black cattle, starkly contrasting the snow. Snowflakes flutter past the glass as you watch the sun peeking behind a few pine trees in the yard. 

Copper runs through one of the pastures, throwing a stick up into the air and then grabbing it in his maw. You can’t help the smile that graces your lips. 

You head back towards your room, pulling out a pair of jeans. They hug your hips and waist, but leave room for your boots to lay under your pants at the hem. You pull on a long sleeved black shirt and your beige ranch coat before leaving your room and pulling your boots over your socks. 

With one last swig, you finish the last sip of your coffee and set it in the otherwise empty sink before opening the glass door and stepping out into the elements. 

You expect the cold to wind-whip your face, but it doesn’t. Instead, the sun shines down, adding some resistance to the cold weather. It causes the snow and ice to sparkle like diamonds as your boots crunch through the snow. 

You push the barn door aside, heart humming at the warm sound of nickering horses. 

“Alright. Who's up first?” You hum, looking to the chalkboard on the wall. It's outlined with feeding schedules, medication times and dosages, and your training schedule.

You find the designated box for today, seeing that today you'll be getting your work cut out for you. You're working with Doob, a seal brown thoroughbred, off the track, with more energy than he knows what to do with. His owners had brought him in for a bucking problem, one that you're already beginning to curb. 

You make your way down the aisle until you find his stall, promptly grabbing his dark green halter and slipping it over his head. 

“C'mon, boy.” You whisper, petting behind his ears, “You're just a big sweetheart, aren't you?” You chuckle as he nuzzles your palm. Of all the client horses, he's definitely carved a home in your heart. He’s a funny little horse, a character. You'll be a bit sad to send him back when you’re finished, but you know his owners will treat him right. 

A short walk through the snow leads you both to the round pen. You leave him loose in the small pen, and he immediately starts running. 

“Yeah, here we go.” You hum, cold biting your nose. You grab a green lasso from the fence post, moving him up with it, pushing him forward as he runs around the pen.

“Good boy.” You call, “Easy does it.” 

Doob gets his energy out, running to his heart's content, wind flying through his long black mane. You just let him run, only correcting when he tosses a buck or kicks. After a long while of working, he eventually becomes tired out.

“That's a good boy, whoa now.” You cue, and he stops on a dime, turning towards you, walking into the center of the circle. Your head turns at the sound of a rumbling truck, and your eyes brighten at the familiar sight of Arthur coming down the lane. 

“Good job, Doob. That's all for today. You go on and play now.” You smile, handing a treat out to the thoroughbred. He takes it happily before you remove his halter, letting him out into the pasture with the other client horses. He'll surely run off more steam out there. 

A few snowflakes are stuck in your hair, and your nose is already turning red as Arthur steps down from his truck. You make your way to him, ignoring the chill in your bones, and leaning towards the warmth before you. 

“Hey, baby.” You smile as he turns to you, shutting the door to his truck. Arthur smiles back, his hands extending as he grabs your waist, pulling you in for a kiss. Your lips are cold compared to his, and he runs his hand up and down your arms to warm you up. 

“Shit darlin’, you’re froze. I was gonna ask if ya wanted to go for a ride but-” 

His eyes go wide as you jump a little, gripping at his coat with your cold hands, interrupting him.

“No, I wanna go for a ride! I'm not too cold, I've got more clothes in the barn.” 

He chuckles, his warm breath creating a fog in the air as he hugs you tightly. You've never turned down a trail ride, not in all the time you've known him. 

“Alright, why don’t you start tackin’ up the horses. I gotta run in the house quick. I'll grab some food too. We can have a picnic.” His deep voice rumbles against your ear as he holds you in his embrace. 

“Okay, I'll grab the horses. Oh- grab the chocolate, okay? The good kind. There's some in the cupboard above the sink.”  

Arthur chuckles, “Sure thing, darlin’.” 

You go to pull away from Arthur, but before you're fully released from his grasp, he gently pulls you back by the chin, catching you in another kiss. He hums against your lips, and you relax into him, allowing him into your mouth. He chases after the taste of you.

After a few seconds, another light peck– or two– you pull away from each other. When your eyes slowly flutter upwards, you see intense emotion in Arthur's eyes. Love. 

Arthur loves you, and he always makes sure to display it, but he's being extra affectionate today, which has your eyebrow raising in curiosity. 

“Why are you lookin’ at me like that?” you chuckle, hands resting on the thick blue fabric of his wool coat. You look up at him with those sparkling eyes, and he falls in love with you all over again. The snow has made your nose pink and cold, and Arthur leans down to kiss it.

“Cause I love you,” Arthur pulls away, “Now, go tack up those horses. I'll grab us a snack.” you peel away from him then, shaking your head. 

One whistle for Copper, and the orange flash is running down from the pasture. Then, he's at your feet, whining happily. The snow crunches and creaks against your boots as you lean to pet the dog, and you both look at Arthur’s back as he opens the door to the house. 

“Your daddy’s actin’ weird today.” You whisper, curiously eyeing the blue coat that moves through the door. Copper barks, as if he is trying to explain, but Arthur had sworn the dog to secrecy. 

You pet Copper before standing up and brushing the snow off of your knees. When you step into the barn,you’re immediately surrounded by the soothing smell of oats and hay. The warm scents envelop you, and wrap you up like the warmth of the barn. 

By the time you have both Boadicea and Whiskey fully tacked up, Arthur is walking through the front barn doors. He pushes the door open wide enough for your horses to step through. 

“So where are we ridin’ to today? Maybe we could trail down to the creek? It's beautiful this time of year.” You ask, pulling yourself up into the saddle. The cold leather sends a chill down your spine as you rub at your thigh in an attempt to make warmth.

Arthur shakes his head lightly as he climbs up into the saddle, “Actually I was thinkin’ we’d go on up to the overlook today…”  

The overlook? You hum. Typically you and Arthur only go to the overlook for special occasions. The last time you'd gone up there was about a year ago. It's a special place. 

You both had said your first admissions of love there, let the words pour down into the plains below. Your first kiss with Arthur was at the overlook. 

But the overlook doesn’t just house good memories. You and Arthur had split up, briefly, a few years ago. The separation took place there. It’s a place of much love and heartache, it's you and Arthur’s spot. 

“Okay, sure… It’s been quite a while since we’ve been up there.” You respond quietly, curiously. Anxiety swirls in your stomach, but you push it down. 

You and Arthur trot beside one another, carried by your mounts. The air is chilly, but your heart is toasty warm as you and Arthur chat, laughing and smiling as you go. The ride to Horseshoe Overlook is a long one, and you make the most of the time as you and Arthur ride through the bright snow. 

“I'll race ya cross’ this hill up here.” Arthur drawls, his lips ticking up in a smile as he looks at you from under the brim of his hat. 

You eye the hill in front of you. It's open, probably over one hundred yards. The snow isn’t deep over the grass and it doesn’t appear to be slippery. Adrenaline seeps through your veins as you eye it, swirling and pumping through your heart, flicking the hairs on your neck up like static electricity.

“Alright then…” You adjust yourself on Whiskey, preparing to run.

“Get ready…get set–” You are cut off as the wind whips your hair and Boadicea starts charging forward. Your jaw drops and you watch Arthur barrel ahead of you. Quickly, you spur Whiskey and kiss and cluck to move him forward. 

“You cheated!!” You scream loudly, trumping the sound of pounding hooves. 

Determination sets in your bones then, and you lean forward, spurring the horse forward with every ounce of might in your body. Whiskey shoots forward until he is running side by side with Arthur’s mare.

“I don't play dirty, mister!” You yell in Arthur’s direction. Hooves are pounding loudly against the snow. The two horses are breathing heavily, each determined to win their own races. You see Arthur laugh, but he stops when you spur Whiskey, charging forward. 

Arthur curses as you shoot ahead of him and Bo. Whiskey's hooves kick up snow as he passes, sending it flying into Arthur's face. It slows him down, giving you the advantage. 

You and Whiskey run hard until you reach the top of the hill, and Whiskey slides into a deep stop right before reaching the tree line. After ten seconds, Arthur and Boadicea are at the top as well, stopping hard and breathing heavily. 

“Dammit woman, you can ride, I'll give ya that.” Arthur pants, face wind-whipped as you ride up beside him and lean over your saddle to kiss him. 

His lips are cold, as are yours, but the kiss is still alight with warmth. You grip onto the collar of his shirt, not releasing when your lips pull away from one another. If anything, your grip tightens on his collar as you eye him.

“I know.” You smirk, winking at Arthur as you pull away and canter your horse away from him, and towards the entrance to the overhang.

He watches you canter on, shaking his head. 

“You are somethin’.” He jests, trotting after you.

When the trees break, you nearly gasp. Though you have been here a handful of times, it always steals your breath away. You can see the house and barn in the distance, separated from you by miles and miles of white snow. Evergreens stand tall, dusted white, with a few herds of elk at their trunks. You can see for miles, past the house and to the tall blue mountains far in the distance. 

“So beautiful.” You murmur, eyes bright with wonder. 

“Sure is…” Arthur whispers, eyes not on the landscape, but on you. 

You hop down from Whiskey, patting him for his good work, and offering him the same treats that you'd offered Doob earlier. You always keep a few extra in your pocket. 

You walk towards the cliff, keeping a safe distance from the drop. Your eyes flutter over the rolling hills and plains before you. Everything seems so quiet up here. Troubles seem so far away. Unique snowflakes slowly drop from the sky, dusting your hair and coat with white diamonds. 

Boots crunch in the snow behind you, stopping just a foot from your back. You smile, but don't turn around when Arthur's chest presses against your back. One of his hands wraps around your middle while the other, unbeknownst to you, rests on the small black box in his coat pocket. 

The serenity of the overlook envelopes your senses as you breathe in deeply. The cold air carries notes of pine and sap, familiar scents that comfort you.

“Love you, y'know.” Arthur hums, leaning down, pulling your hair away from your neck, kissing the soft skin under your ear. Blood rushes to your cheeks, and you turn in his embrace, chest to chest. 

“You’re actin’ strange, Arthur. Are you feelin’ okay?” You chuckle. 

Arthur exhales sharply, otherwise ignoring your question. Instead, he pulls you up onto your tiptoes, your boots on top of his as he kisses you. 

You melt under his touch, kissing Arthur feels like your muscles relaxing after a long day’s work, like rain after a drought. Kissing Arthur feels like coming home. He's been kissing you all day, unable to pull himself away from you. 

You pull away only for a quick breath before your lips meet again. You wrap your arms around the back of his neck, straining on your toes to remain in contact with his lips. Arthur pulls away with a bite to your lip, smiling when he sees how yours are plump and swollen. 

The wind brushes Arthur’s hair into his face as he backs up, pulling you by your hand. He has placed a thick wool blanket on the snow for you two to sit on. You plop down on the blanket beside Arthur, your head resting on his shoulder. Your head rests on his shoulder. Heat radiates from the man, and you are glad for the extra protection from the cold.

“So what snacks did you bring, baby?” you ask, curiously peaking into the bag that Arthur has laid on the blanket. 

“Alcohol.” He says plainly. You laugh, smacking Arthur in the arm as he chuckles. 

“And your chocolates.”

“Arthur!” You chide as he hands you a bottle of golden liquid. You peer at the label. 

It's patrón. You quirk a brow at the drink of choice. Arthur rarely buys the expensive tequila. Curiously, you pull the round cork out from the neck of the bottle and take a small swig. The alcohol burns its way down your throat, warming you from the inside. 

You don't mind the burn, watching as a pair of pronghorn bucks fight in the hills below you. Their hooves slip in the snow as they each attempt to win their battle. Your hands numbly grip the neck of the bottle as you pass it back to Arthur. 

You huff before you speak, “I can’t believe we’re here Arthur. After everything we’ve been through we can just… live now…” You pull your knees up, curling more into his chest. Your past hangs over you, haunting you like a dark cloud. Bit by bit, Arthur has been helping you to push it away, to heal and move on. Today is a good reminder of that progress. 

His hands place the tequila in yours, and you down a swig.

“S’ like your readin’ my mind, sweetheart.”

You smile up at Arthur then, placing your hand on his stubble.

“Y’know this is the first place you told me you loved me…” Arthur says, low and quiet. You smile, the good memories filling your heart as Arthur continues,

“Also the first place I kissed ya…  a lot ‘a memories up here.” 

Your stomach flutters at his words, your brain is flooded with warm memories of Arthur and you in the overlook. 

“C'mere.” Arthur whispers, smiling, taking a shaky breath. Your eyebrows furrow together. but as he stands and extends his hand, you take it. Arthur pulls you up, hands in his own. 

The overlook is beautiful in front of you, serene and perfect. A moment he'd capture with a camera if he had one with. Whiskey and Boadicea watch on from the treeline, ears perked up. They know what's about to happen. Arthur's been telling them about it every day for months. 

“I love you.” Arthur whispers, deep and serious. His eyes soften, and your heart begins to pump loudly in your ears. A delicious red flushes into your cheeks.

“I love you too, Arthur… but why are you.. what's going on?” Your voice is higher than usual, eyes sparkling bright with wonder, reflecting the sun and the white snow.

It isn’t unusual for Arthur to admit his feelings to you, but there are too many factors for this to be a coincidence. Arthur was ‘shopping in town’ all morning, but had come home empty handed. He brought you out to your special spot, bought you your favorite expensive tequila– and is treating you with such delicacy, and love, that butterflies flutter in your stomach. 

Arthur huffs, letting out a humorous chuckle and looking up to the sky, projecting a short prayer, before he holds your hands a little tighter and begins.

“I love you more than I ever thought possible.” He looks away from you for a split second, staring at the ground, before anchoring himself in your eyes again, and continuing, “I didn’t think my life was goin’ nowhere before I met you… I gave up in my twenties, said I wasn’t gettin’ attached to anyone.” Arthur admits, and you frown. You know about his past. You've talked about it, and now you're trying to show him how much he deserves to be loved. 

“I stood by that for a long time…” Arthur's lips crack into a beautiful smile, a chuckle falling over them, “And then you stumbled along.” A single tear drips down his cheek, and landing in the snow below. Your eyes are threatening to overflow with tears of your own.  

“Arthur…?” You whisper, voice cracking. He squeezes your hands reassuringly. 

“You showed me what it felt like to be loved. And love ain't somethin’ I've felt in many a years.” Arthur pauses, gathering his words. A few tears trail down your cheeks, and Arthur’s thumb wipes them away.

“You make me want so much more outta life. You make me wanna wake up every day and work on this ranch, take care of these animals. You make me want a family. I wanna wake up n’ watch our kids playin’ from the window.” 

“But what I want most in life? More than anything…?” A pause ensues, his loving, green eyes locked onto yours, “I want to be with you, every day, for the rest of my life.” 

Arthur thinks back to the song he had been listening to earlier on the way home from the city.

“As long as my compass keeps pointin’ to you, I’ll be where I belong… I’ll be home.”

Tears flow freely from your eyes, and you gasp as Arthur reaches into his pocket, kneeling down on one knee in the snow. 

He looks up at you, one hand still intertwined with yours, the other extending out the black box. Arthur snaps the ring box open, presenting a stunning gold ring to you. The band is adorned with a ruby, and several small diamonds decorate the sides of the gem. Your hands come up to your mouth, as Arthur looks up to you, smiling. 

“This was my Momma's…” Arthur explains, and your eyes flicker down to his, “You’ve already made me the happiest man alive… and I wanna spend the rest of my life with you… So, would you do me the honor–”  Arthur chokes up, “Would you marry me?” 

He looks into your teary eyes, holding the ring box a little higher as he asks the question. You wipe the tears away from your eyes, sight locking onto the scene, wishing you could etch it into your memory forever.

Your head frantically nods, tears flowing down your cheeks as you cry tears of joy, “Yes, Oh, Arthur–of course. Yes, yes!” 

Arthur smiles the brightest that you’ve ever seen, standing before you and slipping his mother’s ring onto your ring finger. The band fits you perfectly, and you marvel at it for a second before Arthur’s arms wrap around your waist. He lifts you up into the air, and you wrap your legs around his waist, laughing and crying, overcome with a happiness unlike any other. Your heart leaps with love and passion for the man in front of you.

His lips crash against your, wet tears dripping down your face as you kiss him. Your hands entangle into the hair at the back of Arthur’s neck as you both kiss, pulling apart only to breathe or to laugh. The kiss is deep, bodies singing with love, energy overflowing from the both of you. He keeps kissing you, over and over again, never wanting to leave the taste of your lips. 

You pull apart, foreheads pressing against eachother's, his hands on your thighs, keeping you off the ground. 

“I love you so much darlin’.”

“I love you too.” You whisper against him, the happiest you have ever been. 

The ring rests on your finger as you kiss Arthur again, senselessly. The band of rubies and diamonds holds promises of a future, of a marriage  and a life with him.

As the wind rustles through your hair, carrying your joy so far down the mountains that it can be felt radiating even miles away, you can’t think of anything you could ever want more than that promise.

taglist: @margofiore @mrsarthurmorgan7 @woman-with-no-name @tillith @luvliewriting @pine4pple-b0i @photo1030 @dudsparrow @holyratrimony @twola

[gardenfullofsage]

Cherries

Flip Zimmerman x Fem!Reader

Reader has a hard time, getting over her attraction towards Flip. A date gone South, however would finally aid her into getting what she wants.

word count: 2,357 words

Warning(s) Smut smut smut, a bit of misogyny, Mentions of a black eye. I don't own this Gif

(edited)

‘’He’s 13 years your senior.’’ ‘’ Wouldn’t you like someone older?’’ ‘’You’ll grow out if this phase.’’

‘’He’s not into young girls.’’ Blah blah blah

Your friend tries so hard to drill her words into your head.

No matter how hard you try you can’t fight the attraction you have for him. He’s so much older, handsome, broad, rough, and experienced. Not like the other lanky town boys, who can’t wait to rub one out.

This is your third time calling his desk today. Call it desperation maybe, you’re hoping he’s there this time. Your previous calls went straight to voicemail.

‘’ Flip, speaking.’’ Is all you hear from the other line. You jolt your heart beating in two different parts. ‘’H-hey yes I’d like to report a theft.’’ You shakily speak, kicking yourself for stuttering. You feel him shift on the other side of the phone. ‘’Ma’am this is the division of intelligence, I think you got the wrong desk. Hold on while I transfer your call to the, main desk.’’ You don’t get to say anything else before you’re put on hold.

You slam your phone on the counter harshly. Gritting your teeth.

‘’I hate him’’ You mutter.

This is starting to get pathetic really. Maybe Sophie is right. Maybe this is just a phase.

Sophie planned yet another date for you, this time a boy she met in the mall. If you didn’t know better you’d think she was planning your murder.

You were only 3 weeks into the summer. The Colorado heat beating down your neck. Your short flowy dress does zero justice. You made your way around town finally reaching the dinner.

The dinner however was empty. Fleetwood Mac playing softly in the background as you looked for your ‘date.’ Your eyes settled on a red head. His eyes never leaving your legs, you cursed yourself for even listening to Sophie.

‘’I hate her’’ you muttered for the tenth time today.

‘’Hey, Y/N right?’’ said the red head as he made his way over to you. You plastered on a fake smile as you nodded. He came in for a hug though, his hand stayed on your waist.

‘’The names Jack, Sophie’s says a lot about you.’’ He says his hand inching close to your bum. You squirm uncomfortably. You move around him and make your way to the booth he was sitting at.

Jack wasn’t too far behind. Instead of sitting at the booth directly across from you, he sits next to you. You keep as close to the wall as you can, but you feel him inch closer.

‘’Good afternoon, welcome to Sally's, what can I get for ya’.’’ The waitress finally made her appearance. You take this opportunity and shove the arm he placed on your shoulder previously, off of you. You feign innocence as you look over the menu.

‘’I’ll get the cheeseburger with curly fries on the side, oh and a Vanilla milkshake.’’ You say handing her the menu.

‘’Actually, she’ll take the ranch salad, and a water. Get me a beer and a steak with the anchovies on the side.’’ Jake says, handing her the menu.

You scoff, but before you can speak up the waitress is already gone.

‘’Sorry, I don’t like my girls… what’s the word fat.’’ He says, a stupid smile plastered on his face.

You stare at his face blankly clenching your fist, fighting the urge to smack the stupid smirk off his raunchy face.

‘’I don’t like my boys smelly.’’ You say forcing your way out of the booth.

He angrily gripped your wrist and forced you back into your seat.

His grip bruising as you grimace.

‘’I like my women obedient.’’ He remarks his breath fanning across your face. You try to fight his grip off of you, the booth granting you a disadvantage. ‘’I should teach you a lesson, hm?’’ He says as you continue to fight your way out of his grip.

You don’t know if anyone cares to help, or they're simply too scared.

‘’Get. Off. Of. Me. You piece of shit.’’ At this point you just resort to kicking.

His grip loosens a bit as he grunts in pain. You use this to your advantage and run out of the dinner. He’s hot on your tail.

You run across the street flailing your arms around like a mad woman.

‘’Get back over here, you’re only making it worse for yourself.’’ You hear him yell.

Your hearts pounding in your ears, you’re panting heavily. You run into a nearby gas station slamming the door closed.

The customers in the shop, staring at you wide eyed.

You duck behind an aisle as you hear the door slam open. You’re too focused on the footsteps coming in the shop, you fail to notice the heavy ones coming from behind you.

A rough tap on your shoulder has you nearly entering into cardiac arrest.

Your eyes widen as you make eye contact with Flip.

You don’t know if your heart is beating out of fear or arousal. You can’t tell anymore.

You stare at each other for a bit, before you feel Jack come up from behind.

‘’Hey man, sorry my woman, she's just out of control.’’ Jack says cackling softly.

He goes to reach for your arm, you pull back bumping into Flips chest.

‘’I’m not your woman, back up you fucking weirdo.’’ Jacks friendly smile quickly turned evil.

‘’Honey, you’re making this really difficult, Come here now!’’ You flinch at his tone, you remain still; feet digging onto the tiled floor.

The once full gas station soon became empty. Just You, Flip, and this crazy redneck.

Flip clears his throat from behind you, you keep your eyes on Jack, as his gaze goes over your head staring at Flip.

‘’I’m not much of a woman reader, but I’m pretty sure she means back off.’’ You can’t see him but, you imagine the cold look he must have on his face.

‘’What the fuck do you know, back off and mind your business shit face.’’ At this point you believe Jack’s just digging his grave.

You feel Flip move around you, roughly putting you behind him.

You get lost in your head while you stare at Flips back remembering and reminiscing, the time you first met.

He had arrested you for ruining your next-door neighbor's garden.

She had it coming, she was a racist.

He was forcing you, well trying to force you into his truck.

You threatened to claw his eyes out. Your denim skirt rising with every kick you gave.

He was rough, as picked you up and pinned you on the hood of his car.

‘’You can try sweetheart, let's see how fast I’ll have you on the ground.’’ You felt his hard on pressing into your backside. You whimpered at the threat. Squirming at the hold he had on your wrists.

You prayed and hoped they would bruise.

He chuckled darkly, as his large hand moved your hair to the side. You could smell black coffee and cigarette on his breath.

That was the first encounter, and God were you hooked.

Maybe you were Insane. No one has ever talked to you in that way, not that you’d allow it.

You feel your panties dampen at the memory of Flips roughness.

You were too into your head you didn’t notice Flips fingers snapping in front of your face.

‘’You really like trouble huh?’’ He muttered out.

You don’t reply as you look behind him, noticing Jacks absence.

‘’Did you kill him?’’ Stupid question, still didn’t hurt to ask.

Flip laughed, ‘’Are you insane?’’ You huff out in annoyance before answering.

‘’Yes, move, you're in my way.’’ You don’t know what caused the switch in your attitude. You were horny, frustrated, and humiliated.

You make your way pass Flip, before being pulled into his chest.

His grip on your wrist tight as he made his way to the back of the gas station.

You try to get out of his grip. Before he slams you against a wall, the impact dizzying.

You lose focus and barely register where you are.

All you can see is Flip, all you can smell is Flip. You close you eyes, and let out a shudder. The buzzing of the store fridges the only sound in the vicinity.

‘’You know, you’re trouble right?’’ You feel him whisper. You keep your eyes closed.

His hand grips your face roughly, squeezing your cheeks together your mouth forms into a pout.

He shakes your face side to side.

You let out a whimper involuntarily.

‘’So responsive.’’He chuckles out

‘’You think I don’t know its you calling my desk, at 1 in the morning?’’ At that your face hardens you shove him back.

‘’Yeah, then how come you never answered asshole.’’ You spit out

Flip chuckles dryly.

What’s up with this man and chuckling. Is something funny?

You don’t finish that thought before his hands gripping your hair forcing your head back.

You moan out, as you feel his thigh come up between your legs.

‘’Please.’’ You don’t know what you’re begging for as you close your eyes.

The hold on your hair tightens as you mewl. ‘’Eyes on me pretty girl.’’ He slaps your cheek softly, your eyes open as you stare at him through your lashes.

‘’Good girl.’’ He mutters softly.

‘’Will you be good?’’ He whispers.

You nod your head.

Flip pulls away entirely. You whimper, missing his touch. You feel pathetic.

‘’Please, please I’ll be good I promise.’’You say gripping onto his flannel.

‘’That’s what I like to hear’’ He pulls you into his chest as he smashes his lips onto yours.

You feel him groan against your lips, his kiss rough, and hot.

Everything you wanted and more.

You feel his hands lift up the skirt of your dress. You hold your breath as his fingers prod at your heat.

‘’God, you're wet.’’ Is all he says before he pulls your panties to the side wasting no time in finger fucking you with his fingers.

You can’t control the loud moans leaving your mouth. His fingers felt too good. You were so touch deprived you felt close to your orgasm already.

‘’Such a dirty girl, Hm.’’ ‘’What happened to the tough girl from a few days ago.’’ ‘’ You’re so desperate for me huh? So pathetic.’’ ‘’That’s it, that’s my good girl.’’ His words dizzying as you grip his flannel.

He rips his fingers out of you as he forces you against the wall. You’re to anxious and desperate you start to wail and plead for him.

The sound of a belt clanking and a zipper going down has you biting your lip in anticipation.

Flip Grips your waist roughly as he kicks your legs apart. You feel his tip make contact with your needy hole, and you clench around nothing.

‘’Beg for it. Tell me how bad you want it.’’ He growls out his hand gripping your hair making you look back at him.

‘’Please I want it so bad, I’ve been good please-.’’ Your words were cut off by the loud moan you released.

His pace was merciless. His thrusts rough and fast.

He pulled your hair, tugging your face back as he roughly kissed your mouth.

He pants and groans into your mouth.

Your eyes roll into the back of your head as his pace quickens somehow.

‘’You taste like fucking cherries.’’ He groans into your mouth. You smile as you open your eyes staring darkly at him. Flip spanks you roughly, making you moan.

‘’You like that? You like when I'm rough with you.’’ He says spanking you twice, thrice.

‘’Yes.’’ Is all you moan out. You feel yourself clenching as you reach your peek.

You gush all over him as you cum. Stars spotting your vision, your mouth wide open as he forces his fingers into your mouth. ‘’Give me one more. ’' He mutters into your ear tugging your dress down as your breasts spill out.

He slaps them as you mewl.

His pace quickens somehow his thrusts desperate, as tears cloud your vision. You suck and roll your tongue over his fingers.

‘’Shit, yeah just like that.’’ ‘’such a good fucking girl.’’ ‘’My good fucking girl.’’ ‘’only, I get to fuck you like this, you hear me. This pussy belongs to me.’’ You Nod your head as your moans increase in volume.

‘’I can’t please, it’s too much.’’ You curl your toes into your shoes.

‘’Yes, you can, give me one more, be a good girl.’’ Flips fingers reach forward and harshly spank your clit. You cry out as you come for the second time. This time your legs quiver.

You feel his thrust get desperate. You reach behind you and grip on his long, ebony hair. ‘’Please come inside of me, I want it, give it to me.’’ You say breathlessly.

He groans out as he stills completely. He fills you up as you maintain eye contact.

He pulls out softly, his seed already spilling down your legs.

‘’Go outside and wait for me in the truck, I got to clean up your mess.’’ He says before planting a kiss onto your lips.

You walk out of the room, receiving a slap on your ass.

The gas station remained empty.

As you made your way outside. You could see Jack across the street sporting a shiner on his eye.

You smile widely as you climb into the big red truck.

Flip walks out, a pep in his step.

As he climbs in he reaches into his flannel, pulling out a cigarette.

He stares into the rearview mirror. Noticing the stare Jack was giving the car.

Flip roughly grabs your chin, before pulling you into a sloppy kiss.

His hands start the ignition as he pulls out of the parking lot.

‘’I like my girls insane.’’ Is all he says, a wide smile taking over his features as he drives off.

________________________________________________

Hope you enjoyed this lol. As always, my requests are always open.

[thornyrose463]

For day 6 of Jancy Week 2024, I made an AU moodboard where Nancy is a professional barrel racer and Jonathan is a reporter. The pictures are not mine. I found them on Google. All credit goes to the rightful owners. 

The year is 2012. Nancy Wheeler is a 21 year old from Sedalia, Colorado. She lives on Wheeler Ranch with her parents, Ted and Karen, her 18 year old brother Mike, and her 15 year old sister Holly. The ranch has been in the family for generations. When Nancy is not helping her parents and siblings run the ranch, she is a professional barrel racer. She owns a 4 year old black American Quarter Horse gelding named Shadow. 

21 year old Jonathan Byers just moved to Denver, Colorado from Helena, Montana. He is a reporter for The Denver Post. His boss gets him to interview Nancy. After the interview, Nancy and Jonathan get to know each other better and fall in love. 

@jancyweeks I hope you like this moodboard

[sophsicle]

KYD Characters and their theme songs

James = Be Your Boy by Medium Build

Sirius = Get Well Soon by Oliver Tree (/ Mambo No. 5)

Remus = Welcome and Goodbye by Dream, Ivory and Eugene by Arlo Parks

Peter = Why Am I Like This by Orla Gartland

Regulus = Pirate Radio by Jean Dawson

Evan = If We Were a Party by Alexander 23

Barty = Magnificent by Skuff Micksun and Speaking Off the Record by Hotel Mira

Lily = Ranch Water by Story Slaughter

Cerci = Outer Space by Genevieve

Mary = Dear Arkansas Daughter by Lady Lamb

Euphemia = Big Black Car by Gregory Alan Isakov with the Colorado Symphony

[bubbledtee]

ᴛʜᴇ ꜰᴀʀᴍᴇʀ'ꜱ ᴅᴀᴜɢʜᴛᴇʀ

Warnings: smoking, drinking, social anxiety, sexual references

Word count: 4.8k

beta-read by @30-3am

contents

playlist

✧.* "In a small corner bar he sits there a-drinkin'. Lost as a ball in a field full of corn. Further away than he ever imagined that he'd ever end up from the place he was born." ~ "Creeker", Tyler Childers ✧.*

a/n: this shit took so long to get out i'm giggling

»»——⍟——««

🇳​​🇪​​🇼​ ​🇨​​🇴​​🇼​​🇧​​🇴​​🇾​ ​🇮​​🇳​ ​🇹​​🇴​​🇼​​🇳​ (Ch. 1)

January 22nd, 1994 - La Veta, CO

Bea held herself in the passenger seat of Zoe’s red Buick LeSabre, the well-below-freezing Colorado weather penetrating the vehicle despite shut windows and cranked heat. She cursed herself for letting Abigail convince her to wear the black, form-fitting turtle-neck dress from her closet, wishing she had opted for a nice pair of blue jeans and a warm sweater instead. She just hoped the heating at the old dive bar would suffice not to freeze her to death tonight.

“Don’t look so sad, B! You’re seein’ the outside world for once,” Abigail’s Kentucky accent was thicker than usual as she pushed Bea’s shoulder slightly from the backseat. “You’re too wrapped up with those damn horses, you need a night off!”

Bea looked behind her into the backseat. The tall, southern blonde held a cigarette between her long, thin fingers, her hand hanging lazily as she balanced her elbow on her knee. Someone walking down the street would know the girl was a Southern beauty just from a glance. She wore too much makeup and an excessive amount of pink that was an eyesore to anybody in their right mind, but most men she was after didn’t so much care about her style as they did about what the dress hid from their perverted gaze.

Bea giggled. “I’m not sad, Abby. I’m just fucking freezing,” she told her, snatching the cigarette from Abigail’s fingers. She brought the lipstick-stained stick up to her mouth and took a long drag, the burn that began to fill her chest, warming her from the inside out. She held the smoke in as she handed the cigarette to Audrey, the girl brushing her ginger curls from her freckled face.

“I shouldn’t have let you convince me to wear this god-awful dress. I’m freezing and I look ridiculous,” Bea grumbled.

There was a collective chorus of ‘no’s’ as soon as she uttered the self-deprecating words, “Shut your mouth, you look gorgeous. You’re just not used to seeing yourself cleaned up!” Zoe insisted, momentarily averting her gaze from the barren and beat-up road to look at Bea. The brunette wore a dubious expression with an eye roll, and Zoe gently hit her arm in retaliation. “I’m serious!”

“And even if you didn’t look good, you’ve gotta be confident. It makes anything look good,” Audrey chimed from the back seat, “I mean, it even makes Abby’s dresses look good on her.”

The already-tipsy blonde gasped beside her, “Fuck you!” she playfully exclaimed, shoving Audrey slightly. “They look good either way,”

The other girls laughed, “Yeah, maybe at some hick beauty pageant in Kentucky.” Audrey rebutted, her face twisted into a wicked grin as she poked fun at her friend.

Bea just shook her head and laughed, watching from the car’s front window. She watched as the sign that read ‘LA VETA’ grew closer and closer until the vehicle eventually passed it - her eyes shifting to the tiny rows of buildings that now enclosed the road on either side.

The minuscule town was one she knew well, memories of walking along the sidewalks with her parents and brothers immediately flooding her mind every time she crossed the threshold. It was the closest town to Lone Wolf Ranch with any civilization, meaning it was the only place the family could shop, eat out, or anything in between. The only times Bea went into town was to buy herself new tack and blankets for horses, or when her friends dragged her into a night out–just like tonight. 

The car slowly pulled into the Magpie Inn’s tiny parking lot, Zoe leaning forward slightly to search for an open parking space. Bea looked around, too, searching for any cars she knew. The number of old F-250s and Silverado 3500s that crowded the parking lot made it evident enough that the place would be full of cowboys who had been enjoying their day off at the bar since before noon. And just as she had expected, she recognized almost every vehicle there.

After a minute, Zoe pulled the car into one of the last open parking spots in the lot and shut the vehicle off. The group hopped out before swiftly shuffling toward the bar's front doors, attempting to preserve their warmth as much as possible.

Bea could hear the buzz of the neon sign that hung beside the door as they approached it, its bright lights flashing ‘OPEN’. The warmth of the light almost seemed to radiate off the sign and reach her, and she could feel her face warm slightly as they approached the door.

However, warmth enveloped her significantly stronger when Audrey opened the building’s doors. Not only that, but the pungent stench of liquor and beer that doused everyone’s breath inside found her too, all of it topped off by the booming sound of a country band that sat at the other side of the establishment–playing an upbeat tune.

As they entered the room, Bea practically hid behind her friends like a small child. She felt so stupid for being shy around people she had mainly known for years, but she couldn’t help the embarrassment that flooded her as she imagined what everybody thought about the girl being dressed up like she was. All she could imagine was negativity and internalized insults of all types.

Zoe suddenly pulled Bea from her negative thoughts as she spoke, “Come on, let’s get you a drink. You need something to help you loosen up,” She softly grabbed Bea’s hand and led her toward the bar, carefully weaving through the crowd of drunk cowboys and tradesmen alike. She thought a few blurs of faces seemed familiar, but she was thankful she didn’t have the time to do a double take as she and Zoe reached the bar. 

Bea leaned over the bar as her counterpart ordered their drinks, her voice bubbly as she did so. She looked down the bar to her left and observed the folks who sat on the old, cracked leather seat stools along the wooden barrier. Most were older men her father knew well–ones that had long been left by their wives and now drink themselves to death by their lonesome. Some of them make their way from those ruts and redeem themselves as her father and her brother, Johnny, had, but others have no desire to fix themselves. Such as her brother Tommy. She shook the thought from her head as Zoe handed her a Heineken, the cold condensation freezing her fingertips.

She sipped the beer lightly, letting the cold bubbles spread across her tongue and sting slightly down her throat. She never was much of a fan of beer, the scent of the hops often ruining her enjoyment of the otherwise refreshing drink, but right then, she really didn’t seem to mind. Anything that would slightly calm her nerves was worth whatever it might take.

The two walked back toward the other girls, Zoe carrying their beers with her own. Bea followed close behind her as though she were a lost puppy looking for her mother; if she were quite honest, she felt like she was.

They reached Audrey and Abby, and Zoe handed them their drinks. Joking words were shared between the three as Bea’s gaze turned longingly toward the door. She felt pathetic for how much she wanted to leave, like such a nuisance to her poor friends who simply wanted to take her from the nights they deemed lonely. But she didn’t quite enjoy seeing so many longtime family friends (or foes) in one place simultaneously.

As her mind drifted off and her gaze lingered on the door, a tall, blonde cowboy walked through the ingress. He looked almost anxious as he tucked his hands into his Storm Rider’s pockets and glanced around the room, his eyes catching Bea’s. Even from a distance, she could admire the icy blue irises beneath his beaten and dirty cowboy hat. She’d never seen him before.

Before she could longer study his handsome and rugged features, a tap on her shoulder made her head whip in the opposite direction.

“You okay, babe?” Zoe asked her with a tilt of her head, her eyes soft.

Bea nodded quickly with a flushed face. “Yeah… Yeah, I’m good.” She sent a forced smile her friend's way and watched as Zoe’s gaze shifted beyond her and toward the bar. A grin slowly crept onto her face before looking back at Bea.

“He’s cute,” she muttered, causing the pink flush of Bea’s face to turn bright red. Bea rolled her eyes and looked away from Zoe and down at her shoes, almost ashamed. Ever since her last long-term boyfriend left her high and dry two years ago, she hadn’t much tried to find a new lover. Sure, she’d had a rebound or two when she was slumped after the breakup, and she’d tried to have them fill the emptiness that lingered within her heart, but it was either too soon or not enough. So she’d simply given up after a year and decided she’d focus on her father’s ranch rather than a lover. It would be more simple that way, she thought.

However, her desire for a lover had been growing within the prior months, and maybe that’s what gave her the final push to go out with the other girls that night. But she wasn’t sure.

Zoe’s face scrunched in slight disgust as she looked back at the blonde man, “Ugh, but that haircut…” she grimaced, making Bea turn her head to look at him. He had removed his cowboy hat, and his hair was long, with the sides and top cut to make a long mullet. It was reminiscent of a haircut that her sophomore-year boyfriend, Donovan, had had. But she didn’t mind. She supposed the poor choice of haircut was brave in its own kind of way.

“It’s not horrible,” she murmured, not even realizing she was defending the mysterious man. Her gaze lingered a bit longer as he removed his coat, revealing a black long-sleeve shirt with a bleach stain imprinted upon the left sleeve. She only looked away when he glanced back at her after ordering a drink. Bea’s face turned a deep red.

Zoe laughed, “Oh, my god, he’s blushing!”

Bea shook her head, “Shut up. How can you even tell? He looked the other way,” she muttered anxiously, “Stop looking at him, you’re being weird.”

Abby and Audrey turned away from their conversation to inch closer to the two, “What are we looking at?” Audrey asked before taking a sip of her beer.

“The guy with the mullet at the bar,” Zoe told her, pointing at him. Bea wanted to shrink down to the size of an ant and be stepped on right then and there. The situation was beyond embarrassing. “He and Bea were ogling each other,”

Audrey and Abby turned to look at him, “I’ve never seen him around before,” Abby said as she stared at the back of his head. Bea could only imagine how the girls' eyes were burning through the poor man’s skull. She was half expecting his brains to explode under their gaze.

Audrey shook her head, “Me neither,” she agreed. The trio looked back at Bea with wide grins spread across their faces. They seemed oddly excited at the prospect of her simply making eye contact with someone of the opposite sex. Was she really that much of a loser?

“You’ve gotta go talk to him, B!” Abby cheered, the other two girls agreeing in unison.

Bea just looked between the three of them, thoughts racing her mind. He was handsome, but she wasn’t sure if she was fit to simply approach him and attempt conversation. She was more than out of practice regarding anything of that nature.

She began to stutter out an excuse, “I-I don’t wanna bother him-”

Zoe interrupted her with a soft nudge to the shoulder, “There’s not a single man – especially not a cowboy – that would mind being bothered by a pretty girl like you. You know that, baby.” She brought her beer bottle up to her lips and took a quick swig; Bea just gave her a look and silently pleaded with her. Zoe gave a short nod and an understanding smile, “But it’s up to you.”

Bea exhaled a sigh of relief as the other two silently agreed, but not before Abby gave her two cents. “But you’d look adorable with him, B. Even more adorable than you look on your own.”

Bea smiled appreciatively, and with that, the mysterious cowboy was seemingly forgotten. The group carried on with conversation, occasionally running into familiar faces and catching up with each other’s lives over drinks. It slowly became nice for Bea. She wasn’t even entirely sure why she had been nervous to be there in the first place.

However, between drinks and increasingly easier conversation, Bea couldn’t help but sneak looks at the man from before. She’d occasionally catch him gazing softly in her direction already, but when she wouldn’t, she’d admire his features from afar—or at least the ones she could see from where she was standing.

His back was toned–she could tell through his shirt that hugged his broad shoulders–and wide arms. At one point, she had caught him standing to make his way to the bathroom, and she just couldn’t pry her eyes away from his ass. She figured it was better than her own.

With such a physique, she could tell he’d been working for most of his life, and as more alcohol coursed throughout her system, she wondered what that physique was like without such a pesky shirt. She wondered what his muscular thighs were beneath that nettlesome blue denim. Most of all, she wondered how a man she’d never spoken to before could have her practically drooling for doing nothing but minding his own business.

By the bottom of her third beer, Bea was beyond relaxed. She remembered how nice seeing old friends and catching up on small-town drama could be, and she spoke more than she had in the last month. With the growth of her confidence, her consideration of talking to the blonde cowboy grew, too. How horribly could it go? He was lonely, that much was obvious, and she figured he wouldn’t mind the company.

Bea looked back at the man as she took a drag of her cigarette. There was a perfectly free barstool right next to him, and she could hear it calling her name over the booming of the dive bar’s live band. She turned to Zoe and yelled over the thumping bass, “I’m gonna go get another beer,” her voice came out raspy, her throat tired from needing to speak over all their surrounding sounds.

“Okay,” Zoe shouted back. Bea didn’t quite understand how her friend was dealing with the surrounding crowd essentially sober, but she supposed she respected it.

“Do you mind grabbing me one, too?” Audrey asked–a significant slur to her voice.

Bea nodded her head, secretly regretting announcing where she was headed. She looked over at Abby, considering asking if she wanted one too, but she could tell from her company of wasted cowboys that she was more than well off.

Bea flicked her cigarette anxiously and turned toward the bar, beginning to weave through the maze of drunkards. She was smaller than just about everyone in the room, and pushing through the crowd was a task that seemed nearly impossible to her. It was almost like she was invisible as she brushed past drunk cowboys and their equally inebriated female counterparts, people only moving if she pushed them with some force. She truly wondered how difficult it was to be spacially aware as she wedged between the last few layers of people.

Finally, Bea pushed through the thick herd of drunkards and to the line that sat in front of the bar. 

Immediately, her eyes were on him.

He had his arm propped up on the bar, his chin gently rested in his hand. His eyes were lazily focused on the hockey game that played on the boxy television hung from the ceiling behind the bar. The Boston Bruins were playing the Philadelphia Flyers, two teams that the mid-westerners who occupied the rest of the bar couldn’t have cared less about, and neither did he, it seemed. But it was something to occupy him, Bea was sure.

She continued to watch as he grabbed his beer bottle and brought it to his lips, taking a thick swig of the bubbly beverage. He huffed a sigh as he set the bottle down.

Bea took a drag of her cigarette and allowed the nicotine to cool her rising nerves. She looked back at the girls she had left, immediately locking eyes with a grinning Zoe. Bea looked away and down at her feet, a blush painting her face. Now she really couldn’t back out, unless she wanted to be chastised endlessly by her best friend for not committing to the chance she was about to take.

With a final drag of her cigarette, Bea looked into the smudged mirror behind the liquor shelves of the bar. She cursed that stupid dress she wore, telling herself how ridiculous it looked. Why couldn’t she have just worn jeans and a blouse? She’d look cuter and be comfier.

Silently, she shook the thoughts from her head as she remembered what Audrey said in the car earlier. 

Whatever, Bea thought, Confidence, B, that’s all you need.

She stood straight, adjusting her body language to display confidence, hoping it looked even somewhat natural. She looked back at where Zoe had been staring from, only to find the back of her head. No more eyes on her, good.

With her sleight confidence, Bea walked up to the barstool beside the blonde and sat, setting her forearms upon the bar. She was there. It was a step in the right direction. All she had to do now was start a conversation. Somehow.

In an attempt to stall for time, she waved down the bartender and asked for another beer, hoping it would convince the man beside her that he wasn’t the entire reason she had sat down. Though, he seemed to have not noticed her presence as he lit a cigarette and kept his focus on the hockey game in front of him.

Bea watched from the corner of her eye as he took a long drag and flicked the ash into the tray that sat to the left of him. As he did so, his eyes followed the cigarette, stopping only when they seemed to catch something on the bar. Right then, she noticed just how blue his eyes were; they were only a shade or two darker than the noon sky.

“There you are, darlin’.” The bartender smiled at Bea as he set a cold Heineken in front of her.

She looked up, her eyes wide in something akin to confusion before awkwardly smiling back. “Oh! Thanks,” she spoke. The bartender nodded and turned away, making his way to a drunkard waving him down elsewhere.

Bea’s attention slyly turned back towards the blonde beside her. His eyebrows were furrowed in what seemed to be curiosity, and Bea tried to follow where exactly he was looking. She looked at the ashtray and slowly tracked further left until her gaze met her hand.

“What’s that say?” the man asked, his voice enough to melt Bea into a puddle.

She looked at him, her head tilting. “What?” she nearly squeaked.

“The tattoo,” he pointed to the ink inscribed on top of her hand, “What’s it say?”

His voice was thick and gruff but had a deep smoothness to it that made Bea’s head spin. She looked back at her hand, almost as if she was unaware of the emblem written into her skin. “Oh,” she looked at him, her cheeks flushed a bright red. “Blondie,” she finally told him as she rolled her sleeve up just a bit to reveal the entire tattoo. The name had been inscribed in calligraphy below the print date of “9/26/1988”, a small heart attached to the tail of the ‘e’ on the calligraphy with it all encircled by the depiction of a horseshoe.

“What’s the date for?” the cowboy asked, twisting his upper body towards the woman beside him and bringing his cigarette back to his lips.

Bea sat up straight, “It’s the day he died,” she told him before stumbling to cover her vagueness, “Blondie, a horse of mine. First horse I ever broke on my own,”

The man’s eyebrows shot up, obviously expecting a different, much happier answer. Whatever that may have been. “Oh, m’sorry.” he muttered, clearing his throat and taking a swig of his beer.

“That’s alright,” Bea smiled softly, her heart thumping hard against her ribcage as she spoke with him. Even over the sound of the dive bar’s band, she was sure he could hear it too.

He took another quick drag of his cigarette before stubbing it in the glass ashtray. His hands were big and rough, obviously made from years of work. Bea’s stomach coiled slightly at the sight as her mind wandered. She thought about how they’d feel on her back, her hips, her thighs…

“I like it, though,” he told her, snapping her from her sinful thoughts. He looked up at her, “Not many folks have tattoos. It’s different,”

She was sure her face was beet red as she smiled at him, “Thank you,” she said. “Usually, people ask me if I was drunk when I decided to get it. Or if I worship Satan.”

The cowboy squinted and scoffed before saying, “For a tattoo commemorating a dead horse?”

She shrugged, “They say it’s a Pagan practice.” The cowboy just shook his head and rolled his eyes as he took a final swig of his beer. Bea spoke, “Pretty sure Pagans don’t worship Satan, either.”

“People just like hearing themselves talk,” he grumbled, placing the empty beer bottle on the bar. “Always have something to say about how you live your life. It’s dumb.”

“Agreed,” Bea nodded, reaching for her untouched beer bottle. She took a swig as the cowboy returned to watching the TV, the game at the tail end of the third period. Now she had to start more conversation. She reached into her dress’s pocket and pulled out her pack of Marlboro Reds alongside a lighter. As she plucked a cigarette from the pack, she spoke. “I don’t think I’ve seen you around here before.”

The man looked at her, “Definitely not,” he smiled softly. “I’m originally from a bit further west, little town called Durango.”

Bea nodded, her eyes lighting up. “Oh, yeah! My daddy won a big barrel racing title out that way in ‘68 at the uh…”

“Fiesta Days Rodeo?”

“Yeah! That’s it!”

The cowboy nodded, his entire body turned on the barstool towards Bea. He had a prideful smirk on his face, “That’s the first rodeo I ever rode in. Junior bull riding in ‘77 when I was 14. Fell off in three seconds,”

Bea tilted her head and smiled, “You’re a bull rider?”

“Was, for about two years. Then I started doing some of the calf roping in the rodeo. I did a whole lot better with that, nowhere near as many head injuries.” he told her, picking up his hat from the bar and placing it on his knee to dust it off. “I tried barrel racing, but I never really got the hang of it. Cutting was the most fun, though. It feels like working a herd, except you’re in a ring,”

Bea nodded, “I did lots of cutting before Blondie died. He knew how to work cattle better than any old ranch horse we had,” she told him, “I still breed and train cutters and barrel racers, competing’s just harder nowadays.”

“You sell ‘em, too?” he asked, an eyebrow quirked.

She nodded, a grin plastered across her face. “Yeah. Why? You interested?”

The man snorted and put his hat on, “You’re funny,”

Bea giggled, “Come on, any self-respecting man wants a good working horse!” she took a tender sip of her beer.

The cowboy gave her a sardonic look, “Do I look like I have any self-respect, Miss…”

“Dalton,” she answered, “Lorelei Dalton, just call me Bea.”

“Where does ‘Bea’ come from out of ‘Lorelei Dalton’?” he teased.

She rolled her eyes, only then realizing just how loose her once-tensed muscles had become. “My middle name is Bernadette if you really have to know.”

The blonde nodded before sticking out his hand for her to shake, “James Hetfield,” he said as she grabbed it and they shook.

Bea’s hand was warm in his grip, his hand almost twice the size of hers and calloused from his years of work. “What brings you out here, then, Mr. Hetfield?”

“James,” he corrected with a smirk, “And just work. I was in Wyoming working a ranch this past year, but the guy who owned the place was a shady fuck. Didn’t ever pay any of his cowpunchers quite what he owed, so I just sort of up and left.”

Bea nodded, “I’d have done the same,” she said, “Why didn’t you go back to Durango?”

He shrugged. “It’s in my past,”

She took it as an ‘I don’t wanna talk about it,’.

“Well, there’s plenty of cattle to work out this way.” she told him, “I hope you find someone who’ll pay you what they owe,”

“Yeah, me too.” James chuckled. His laugh sent Bea’s insides fluttering. It was adorable. “I dunno, I’ve got a ‘trial’ for a job, I guess. Over in Cuchara. I start tomorrow,”

Bea leaned on the bar top, “Maybe I’ll be seeing you around often, then.” she told him. His head tilted in curiosity at her words. “My family’s ranch is out in Cuchara, ‘Lone Wolf’. My daddy and my brother work the cattle.

“Just them?” he asked.

Bea nodded, “Our herd isn’t huge right now, we had a bad calving yield this past spring.” she told him, taking a swig of her beer before continuing. “What’s the name of the ranch you’re gonna be working?”

James shrugged, “I forgot,” he simply said.

Bea gave him an unimpressed look, “Really?”

“Really.” he affirmed, “I’ve got the address, though.” he began fishing through his jeans’ pockets, but before he could pull anything from them, Bea felt a tap on her shoulder. She whipped her head around.

“Hey, babe. We’ve gotta go,” Zoe told her, her hand now grabbing for the meaty part of Bea’s arm.

“Wh-” Bea began, but her eyes soon fell upon Audrey, who was attempting to hold the attention of a tall, dark-haired cowboy across the room. However, his dark eyes were narrowed and focused overtop of the woman’s head. Straight at Bea. “Oh,” was all she could muster as her stomach dropped to her feet.

“Yeah,” Zoe said before looking over at James, who now sat dumbfounded and almost upset that this random woman had interrupted their conversation. He held a small piece of paper in his hand. “Sorry.” Zoe told him sincerely, “Just look her up in the Yellow Pages, or something.”

With that, Zoe and Bea began out the door. Bea turned to wave at the blonde cowboy, finding his now-longing and sad eyes following her out the door. He waved back at her with a sigh before standing and grabbing his jacket from the back of his chair. She felt horrible. But she also needed to get out of there.

“What’s he doing here?” she asked Zoe, wide-eyed as they burst through the entrance. The bitter wind stung their cheeks.

Zoe shrugged, “He just came up to Audrey and asked if you were with us,” she unlocked her car’s door, and the two got into the vehicle. She stuck the key in the ignition, and the engine struggled to a start.

“I thought he’d left town!” Bea exclaimed as she shivered, trying to warm up as the car pushed hot air through its vents. “When is he going to fucking leave me alone?! We fucked twice. Twice! A year ago! That’s it!”

Zoe nodded, “I know. He’s a creep.”

Right then, the doors to the bar burst open, Audrey and Abigail drunkenly stumbling out with something akin to haste. Abigail was leaning against Audrey, her drunkenness reducing her to the balance of a toddler. They raced across the parking lot and burst the car doors open as soon as they reached them.

“We’ve got to go,” Audrey practically shouted as she slammed the door beside her. “Fucker tried grabbing me,”

Zoe whipped around, “What?!”

The man in question emerged from the entrance.

“Zoe, go,” Bea told her friend firmly. The car was then quickly put into gear, and they whipped out of the parking lot, leaving the old dive bar in the dust.

[jungle-angel]

Who's Gonna Ride These Wild Horses? (Rhett Abbott x Reader)

Summary: You and Rhett get the surprise of your lives when some new arrivals on the ranch take up residence

Warnings: Mentions of animal abuse, neglect etc.

Tagging: @floydsmuse @attapullman @withahappyrefrain @callmemana @rhettabbotts @sebsxphia

"Darlin ya'll outdid yourself with this," Rhett said, finishing off the last bite of his breakfast.

"My pleasure," you chuckled, kissing your husband, the lingering taste of the eggs, cheese, prosciutto and Italian spices still on his lips.

Rhett heard his phone vibrating on the counter as he was clearing away the dishes and loading them into the dishwasher. He unplugged it from the wall charger and found a message from his father splayed across the screen.

Dad: Hey, need ya'll down here when you get a minute, we've got new arrivals

"Hey darlin?"

"Hmm?"

"We're gonna have to dig into the blueberry muffins later," Rhett told you. "Got some new arrivals. Dad needs help unloading them."

You quickly helped Rhett finish off the dishes before heading down to the pasture to help. The trailers were all ready to be unloaded, the hands working to make sure none of the animals inside tried to bolt.

"What've we got this time, Dad?" Rhett asked.

"Horses," Royal told him. "Got a few in here who came all the way up from Kentucky."

"Derby horses?"

"Yep," Royal answered. "Stables were overcrowded and they couldn't keep a couple of mares. Got a few that came from up from New Mexico and Colorado."

You and Rhett watched as two of the hands unloaded a gorgeous chestnut mare, her head held high and proud as she walked down the gangplank.

"Should we figure out names?" you asked Rhett.

"I've already got one for that one," Rhett answered. "Ya'll feel ok with Ginger?"

"Couldn't have picked a better one," you half laughed.

Another mare came trotting her way down, part of her tail sticking up and her head bobbing with excitement. God she was gorgeous, a black Arabian mare with a little white star marking on the bridge of her snout and a little white on her hoof. You and Rhett didn't even have to guess her name......Beauty.

You were both melting at the sight of a little shaggy shetland pony being brought out next, the poor little guy definitely needing as much care as you, Rhett and the others could give. Another one and two little foals were brought out, their manes matted and the mare's hooves definitely needing a good clip and file. Two stallions came shortly after and the last being a black and white Appaloosa mare.

You and Rhett spent most of the day in the stables, hanging around the horses. The two little shetland foals took to you quickly, rolling into your lap like a pair of puppies and quickly accepting the sprigs of mint and sugar cubes you pulled from your pockets.

"Oh jeez little lady," Rhett said, straining to clip the excess growth off the shetland mare's hoof. "Ya'll need to be re-shoed."

You helped your husband, father-in-law and the others groom and re-shoe the horses as best you could. Ginger was the most patient of them all, but when you came to the Appaloosa mare, she had proved a little difficult. She tossed her head and reared, her legs reaching high into the air. After a while, you and Rhett had no choice but to let her loose into the pasture.

"Man that horse has some fire," Royal chuckled.

"She'd make a great rodeo horse that's for sure," John laughed.

"Ya'll wanna keep her? Or is she comin up with us?" Rip asked Rhett.

Rhett gave you the questioning look, your own returning the answer.

"I think we're gonna keep her," Rhett said.

"She'll need a name," John told you.

You and Rhett tried to figure out a name for her but nothing came to you right away. You watched her for as long as you could, your minds trying to rack up a name that would fit her, the only noticeable thing about her was how high her legs lifted off the ground. The little foible never left your minds, not even once throughout the whole week. Finally, when Joy, Martha, Rose and Joy's father, Art, came by for a visit, you had a name.

"She got a name yet?" Art asked, you him and Rhett leaning against the fence.

"Only name we could give her," Rhett half laughed. "Named her Steps High."

Art laughed as Steps High came over to sniff, gladly accepting the handful of oats from his hand.

She's a good horse and quickly proves her worth. She never loses that high spirited personality and leads you and Rhett to several rodeo victories. Only when she finds her equal, does Steps High really begin to calm a little, but you and Rhett love her regardless.

[writtenonreceipts]

Hi friend! How are you? I hope this sparks some ideas for your secret santa: N.12 for Elorcan, please?

Hi! I've been alright, I survived my holiday weekend and am back to the usual grind! I hope you're doing well! Thanks so much for sending me this, I really did enjoy this one!

from this prompt list

Prompt: "H-how long have you been standing there?” - “Long enough.”->I tweaked it just a little.

AO3 Link Here

.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.

Tear In My Heart

The gritty scent of cigarette smoke was the first thing Lorcan noticed when he entered the bar.  Being this far out in the middle of nowhere Colorado led to no one caring about enforcing the law about indoor smoking, especially not the owner.  Mort never seemed to care about that sort of thing and it showed.  Lorcan doubted any sort of deep cleaning would ever rid the place of the stench so there was no use banning smoking.  Especially not when it was accompanied by the sharp tang of alcohol and vomit.

Unfortunately, there was nowhere else to get a decent drink around here unless you sat out on your porch with your own.  And even Lorcan didn't drink alone.

But there was another reason to come to the bar.

Eighties rock played through the speakers adding to the grungy atmosphere.  Dim lights over the counter set everything in an orange haze.  Even the neon lights of the different beer logos and other paraphernalia didn't add anything.  Two pool tables sat in one of the back corners along with a dart board.  No matter how few people were seated at the bar or various tables, it always felt overcrowded and tonight was no different.

All Lorcan focused on, however, was the woman behind the bar.

Her black hair fell around her shoulders in loose waves, framing her face.  He'd always found her beautiful, striking really, with her onyx eyes and pale skin, that sarcastic twist of her lips when she made a quip. 

She hadn't noticed him yet, which was good, he didn't need to be caught starting.  Instead, she was focused on pouring out a drink for the man across the counter from her.  She laughed at something he said, though he didn't know what.

Lorcan felt his own blood heat at that and he strode across the hardwood floor in just a few quick steps.  When he approached the bar, Elide finally noticed him and a smile lit up her entire face.

"Well, well," she said, sliding the drink to the other customer.  "If it isn't Salvaterre."

"Lochan," he said.  He took a seat a few stools down from the other man.

"Let me know if you need anything else, Dan," Elide said to the other man.  She moved down the bar until she reached Lorcan.  With her arms crossed she leaned against the polished wood so she could properly examine him. "You look like hell."

Lorcan rolled his eyes.  It was true enough.  This past week had been miserable.  The small shop he ran had been struggling a bit and things at the ranch were not better.  It shouldn't have surprised him, things always slowed down this time of year, but summer had been slower as well.  And then there was the fact that he had feelings for the girl he could never have.

"I always look like this," he said.  And because he was a bastard, he leaned forward, drawing closer to her.

"Yeah, you should do something about that," she said.  Her endless black eyes stared directly into him as though she could see to his very soul.  Then with a laugh she pulled back. "You want your usual?"

"Yeah, sure," he said.  He watched her go as she turned for a new glass, a bottle of whiskey. 

Elide had always been the sort of woman he knew he could never have.  She was good, first off.  She came from a good family with a good background.  She'd graduated high school with honors even though she had pretty bad dyslexia.  Then when her dad got sick she'd dropped out of college and left everything to move back home and help her mom out with bills by working at a crappy bar that probably doled out even crappier tips.

As she assembled the drink she glanced over her shoulder at him. "Just you tonight?"

"Nah, the twins'll show up eventually," he said. "And Rowan if he can drag himself away from another fight with Galathynius."

Elide snorted a laugh and she turned back to him with the drink. "Aw, upset your best friend actually has a life?"

"You know how annoying that woman is," Lorcan groused.  He accepted the drink.

For the last year and a half, Aelin had been working at the Whitethorn ranch as a trauma specialist in youth and children for kids needing help in various forms of therapy.  Rowan had inherited the business from his parents and for some reason thought it was a good idea to keep it running.  Even if he and his lead psychologist did not get along.

"Yeah, that's why she's my best friend," Elide said drily.  "She's a good person."

Lorcan doubted that but he'd shut up.  There would be plenty of other chances to put his foot in his mouth tonight.

"I'll take your word for it," he said instead.  He took a long drink, ice clinking gently in the cup.

"Well I am a very reliable source," she said. 

And then she was gone to fix another round for a couple at one of the far tables.  Lorcan watched her go, unable to look away from the sway of her hips or the sliver of skin that peeked out between the edge of her shirt and her jeans.

He only managed to tear his gaze away when the door of the bar opened and Fenrys Moonbeam entered.  Lorcan knew it was him without even looking because Fen, annoying as hell, always made sure his presence was known.

"Lochan!  How's it going?" Fenrys called, looping over to Lorcan.  Behind him was the more subdued Connall, eyes glued to his phone.  Lorcan had the sneaking suspicion that Connall was about to start dating someone.  But being who he was, wouldn't talk about it until it was an actuality.  Even quiet and distracted, Connall still managed to balance out his twin.

"Hi Fenrys," Elide called back.  She kept with her current task of drink refills and checking the kitchen on a food order.

When Fenrys dropped into the stool beside Lorcan he smacked a hand on his shoulder.

"You know you're getting obvious, right?" Fenrys asked.  "What's this?  Three nights in a row?"

"He's not that much of a psychopath," Connall spoke, he dropped into the seat on the far side of Fenrys. "He puts a day between the visits."

"Shut up," Lorcan growled.  He took another sip of whiskey, relishing in the bite as it slid down his throat.

Somehow, in some pathetic and sad twist of fate, his friends had learned of his crush on Elide.  He blamed it on a night a few months ago involving too much tequila and spur of the moment round of truth or dare.  It was pathetic enough that he was a thirty-year-old man playing truth or dare but to follow that up with the admission of having a crush?  Pathetic. 

He really had to get a life.

"You should make a move 's all I'm saying," Fenrys said.  He snagged a half-filled bowl of pretzels from down the bar and dragged it closer so he could snack.

"He's right," Connall added, finally looking up from his phone. "She's not going to stay single forever.  I heard Archer Finn wanted to ask her out."

Lorcan couldn't help his scowl.  Finn was best described as being a player.  One night stands, ghosting, playing games.  He wasn't a good person.  It was the one thing he could agree with Aelin Galathynius about.  He certainly didn't deserve to even talk to Elide.

"Yeah, the scowl's real convincing about your feelings," Connall said.

"Archer's an ass," Lorcan said.

Fenrys laughed. "So are you and she still talks to you."

Lorcan kicked his chair. "Shut up."

"Man."  Fenrys shook his head, brushing his blond curls from his eyes. "You've been obsessed with her for years.  At this point it's your own fault if she gets picked up by someone else."

"I'm not--" Lorcan began.

"You have her shifts memorized," Connall said, "know her birthday, her mom's birthday, dude you got her flowers on her dads anniversary."

Lorcan was never telling Rowan anything ever again.

"Didn't you fix her car for free too?" Fenrys added, mouth full of pretzels.

In the last five years of knowing Elide, having moved to this town on a whim after school, Lorcan had indeed done all of those things.  There had just been something about Elide and the first time he'd met her.  It had been at this very bar, just a few months after her dad's passing.  He hadn't been in the best of moods, admittedly that was usual for him, and she'd called him out on it.

Their friendship slowly developed from there where he'd learned all those things and more about Elide.  He'd been in love with her as long as he could remember.

He couldn't say anything of course because he was Lorcan.  He was the town miscreant who usually stayed on his property unless it was to come in for a drink.  He managed the stables for the Whitethorn ranch and ran a side mechanic shop.  Really, the jobs weren't stable and would likely only get worse from here.  His father was an alcoholic, his mother gone since he was eighteen--he wasn't good enough for someone like Elide.

"She's going to figure out you're in love with her eventually," Connall said, "and what are you going to--"

Connall abruptly cut off with a rather colorful curse and Lorcan felt his blood freeze.  He abandoned his drink and spun in his stool to find Elide standing behind them, half empty tray of drinks and plates in her hands.

Her eyes were too wide and her lips parted in shock.

"I-" Her gaze bounced between the three of them before settling on the floor. "I'll be out with drinks in a minute."

She dropped the tray on the nearest table and immediately left through the front door of the bar--not through the kitchens.

"Hell,” Lorcan muttered.  He stood and punched Fenrys' shoulder for good measure. "Thanks for that."

"Connall's the one that actually said it!" Fenrys shouted.

Lorcan ignored him and launched himself out and across the bar to the door.

The cool air of the night immediately washed over him, clearing his senses of the heady scent of the bar.  Overhead, a waning crescent hung in the sky with patches of stars filling the inky darkness.

He spun, looking for where Elide had gone.  He knew she was still on shift and wouldn't take off without a replacement.

It didn't take long to spot her.  She'd walked down the length of the sidewalk outside the bar a few yards away.  Overhead, a streetlamp burned with pale light, illuminating her as she paced with quick, uneven steps.  She tugged one hand through her hair, holding it out of her face as she muttered under her breath.

When Lorcan's boot scraped on the ground, she looked up.  Her eyes were still wide and shock remained cleanly written on her face.  Lorcan kept enough distance between them so that if she really wanted she could skirt around him and head back to the bar, but close enough that he could reach out to her too.

"How much did you hear?" he asked, because really that's all he really cared about, how much damage control he needed to do.

"Enough."

If there was one thing that Lorcan knew about Elide it was that she didn't shirk away from a problem.  Even if she didn't like the situation or what may come with it.  Just like now.

Her dark eyes met his and, for once, he couldn't read her.  He'd gotten so used to knowing her little quirks that the radio silence unnerved him.  Or maybe that was how it was supposed to be.  Maybe he didn't actually know her and everything he thought he did know was more or less a facade, an illusion.

"Is it true?" she asked, voice soft and far more vulnerable than Lorcan was used to hearing from her. "Or were they just talking shit, I know how they are."

"I--" Lorcan scrubbed at his face, looking away.  He didn't know if he could tell her the truth.  If he did there was no guarantee of how she would respond.  And he didn't know if he could take the rejection.  Because something like this?  It would ruin any semblance of friendship between them.

"Lorcan."

She wouldn't let him get away with the silence or the pretending to ignore what she had heard.

"Do you really want me to answer that?" he asked.

"Yes."  The hard line of her voice drew him back to her.  With hands on her hips and the way her hair swept over one shoulder, Lorcan knew he wouldn't get away with delaying any longer.  

The thing about it was that he didn’t like not being able to control the outcome of a given situation.  And he knew more than anything that there was no controlling Elide.  She was exactly who she was and would yield to no one.

Lorcan often put his foot in his mouth over so many things--especially when he had been younger.  It simply became easier to act.  Which was what he did then.

In two sweeping steps, he reached her.  Lorcan cupped her face in his hands, feeling how soft her skin was against his own calluses.  Her dark eyes gleamed in the streetlamp overhead, her full mouth opening in surprise.

Lorcan acted without thinking when he kissed her.  All he was really focused on was wiping that look of mixed hurt and confusion from her face--to show her exactly how he felt.

A part of Lorcan thought she would shove him away, but instead her hands gripped the front of his shirt, fingers digging into the fabric to pull him closer.  Her lips were soft against his, soft and warm and everything he’d imagined in all these years.  And when she exhaled a soft moan, Lorcan nearly broke at that sound alone.

One of his hands slipped into her hair, the thick locks like silk in his fingers.  His other hand went to her waist as he tugged her closer.  He could feel her warmth and her soft curves and all he could think that he wanted more.  More of her and more of what they could have.

“Lorcan,” Elide whispered against his lips.  She broke away only to catch her breath, her chest rising and falling heavily as she met his gaze.

He leaned in close enough to press his forehead against hers even though all he could think about was kissing her again and memorizing the way she felt against him.

“I’m in love with you,” he told her, voice soft.  He’d never said these words to anyone before and they felt strange on his tongue.  But he knew they were true and he knew that he had to say them at least once.  And it would only be for her.

He felt her tremble in his arms and listened to the sharp inhale of breath she made.  When she didn’t try and pull away from him, Lorcan felt a bit of hope rise in his chest.  Instead, Elide tilted her chin until her lips brushed against his.  The touch was barely there and hardly even a kiss but Lorcan swore he came alive with that simple act.

“It took you long enough,” she replied.  Her dark eyes stared into him with a spark of that same fire that had first caught his attention five years ago.

When she kissed him she held nothing back.  Her mouth was firm and insistent, her hands moving with determination until her fingers curled over his shoulders keeping right where she wanted.

And for the first time since he’d moved to this town, he felt like he’d finally come home.

.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.

tagging still is not functioning properly, so if you'd reblog/comment I'd really appreciate it! Y'all are so great <3

[augustcastle]

5 years

A lot changes in five years.

Him and Ryan are married in a beautiful ceremony, in that same park that he proposed to her in. They carry out a honeymoon by deciding to give Colorado a try and he was...he'll deny that he was teary eyed saying goodbye to his brother.

Though he knows it's not for good, never for good.

They try out that ranch and turns out? It's one of the best things they could have done. They have a decent amount of land, space for her flowers, for a ton of garden beds, maybe even a greenhouse, places for his horses to run, and room to spread out from their tall yellow house with a wraparound porch.

Definitely something he never saw in the cards for himself.

He runs a brush over Gunpowder's black coat, taking the time to groom him in the early hours of the morning. God, if his grandfather could see him now.

Though, maybe he can.

[finisnihil]

Hey babes since Boothill got his splash art and we’re talking about cowboys and such please keep in mind that while there is interest in cowboy culture within the American South it is not the origin of it. Cowboys and rodeo culture mostly developed in the American West in states like Colorado, Utah, Wyoming, etc.

Both regions are big on farming and mostly rural BUT the difference is that the South is bigger in crops and the growing aspect while ranching is bigger in the West. The South has more fertile soil and whatnot as well as geography like swamps and mountain. Not a lot of good space for a ranch. The West on the other hand has plains with less compatible conditions for crop based farming so ranching works better there. Cowboys are ultimately a Western thing. It’s why they mostly show up in the genre of “Wild West”, because they’re from the WEST.

Do not be fooled by cowboys being depicted with southern accents. Sure a lot of people who migrated West came from the South and it moved with them that way but also there’s just in general a stigma around the South that stems from the idea that if you live somewhere rural, work in agriculture, or are even poor it means you’re associated with the South as those are things those who aren’t from the South like to think. I’m Southern, I know a bunch of Southern people who have to repress their accents in professional settings to be taken seriously or are ostracized in places like their work due to being seen as “just some dumb, rural hillbilly”. It stems from things like classicism.

A majority of cowboys were also not white. A lot of them were black, Latino, Indigenous, etc. A good amount where also queer.

My whole family is Southern and I’m also Southern but I also grew up in the West for a good chunk of my childhood. Cowboy history is very cool and interesting and just because cowboy boots and cowboy hats are popular in the South doesn’t mean they hail from there!

Anyways have a lovely day, mwah!

Major Edit: Hey guys I goofed and I got some stuff wrong! Sorry about that! Please go and read the reblog by @t4tstarrailing as well as their other posts talking about the topic. My blog is a place to learn and grow and nobody is exempt from mistake and since I’m obviously not as knowledgeable about this area of history as I initially believed use this initial post as a reference of misconceptions and then refer to the reblog where I’m corrected. Thanks for the learning opportunity, I’m happy to learn more about cowboy culture and I’m glad you caught this post early so more misinformation on the matter wasn’t spread too much

[yeetmetotheforbiddenwildwest]

So does anyone else have a Google doc of all their (canon) horses or am I just autistic? Because I have them organized by breed and the breeds are listed in alphabetical order and when I have multiple horses from the same breed they are organized in alphabetical order unless I have the symbols higher than A in the alphabet.

A few excerpts:

Fern

Coat: Bay extended blanket

Gender: Mare

Kamikaze

Barn Name: Kazi

Coat: Sun-bleached black extended blanket

Jorvik Name: Trailblaze(r)

Gender: Male/Stallion

Professions: Western Riding, Trekking, Ranch work; (roping, herding, trail rides, etc.)

Home Stable: South Hoof Rescue Ranch

Owner(s): Totally not pirates (past) Hugh Sheperd (present; also the owner of the South Hoof Rescue Ranch)

Rider: Hugh/Arizona

American Paints

Athena

Barn Name: Athena, Aquilon (Aquilo -- one of the Greek animoi), Astraeus (Astraios), Aristaeus, Zephyr

Coat: Chestnut Medicine Hat

Gender: Mare

Jorvik Name: Skyfall

Boomerang

Barn Name: Boomerang

Jorvik Name: Boulder

Name Inspiration: Spirit Riding Free -- Boulder, Colorado

Coat: Brown Tobiano

Gender: Stallion

Owner: Marley

Nayelli

Coat: Buckskin Tobiano

Gender: Mare 

Name: Nayelli

Nickname: Sunstreak

Jorvik Name: Copperdeep(s)

Owner: Jorvik Rangers Association

Owl

Coat: Dapple Gray Pinto

Gender: Stallion

Barn Name: Owl

Nickname: Owl

Jorvik Name: Arcticowl

Owner: Starshine Ranch

Curly Horses

~~Puzzle~~

Barn Name: Puzzle

Jorvik name: Bulletwish

Show Name: Outlaw’s Crossfire

Coat: Dun Pinto

Gender: Stallion

Profession: Ranger work

Home Stable: Dundull

Companion Pet: Brown Male Arctic Fox named Rustler or Badger

(But you can’t deny the icy blue-eyed boy looks great in the bridle with the clouds) (Just look at him) (He’ll always be one of my faves)

Arroyo

Barn Name: Arroyo

Jorvik name: Wildwish

Show Name: 

Coat: Bay Pinto

Gender: Stallion

Profession:

Home Stable: --

[lboogie1906]

Ned Huddleston (1849 - October 3, 1900) Isom Dart, born enslaved in Arkansas and known as Ned Huddleston, gained a reputation as a late 19th-century Wyoming Territory outlaw. He had many aliases including “Black Fox,” “Tan Mex,” and “Calico Cowboy”.

At the age of twelve, he accompanied his owner, a Confederate soldier, to Texas where he helped steal food and supplies for the troops during the Civil War. Returning to Arkansas at the end of the war, he was freed and drifted throughout the West.

En route to Texas, he stopped to work as a camp cook at the Carmicle railroad in Wyoming Territory near Rock Springs. Reflective of the racial prejudice of the times, the camp nicknamed him “Nigger Ned.” He would soon earn a new nickname, “Quick Shot,” after firing his six-shooter leaving five headless sage chickens in a Green River, Wyoming meadow.

Growing tired of the outlaw life around 1875, he moved to northwest Colorado, bought a ranch near Brown’s Hole, changed his name to Isom Dart, and had a love affair with a Shoshone woman. He found success as a rancher and bronco buster, the wildlife pulled him back in with gambling, fights, and encounters with the law. He joined the Tip Gualt Gang of outlaws and returned to cattle rustling.

Fed up with their rustling activities, the company hired notorious range detective Tom Horn in hopes of driving small ranchers from their lands. He received a notice ordering him to leave the Brown’s area. Other small ranchers received the same threatening notice and many of them left. He refused to leave his home in nearby Routt County, Colorado. On the morning of October 3, 1900, he walked out his cabin door and Horn shot him dead. #africanhistory365 #africanexcellence

[brookston]

Holidays 11.22

Holidays

Alice's Restaurant Massacre Day

Arbor Day (British Virgin Islands)

Bank Workers’ Day (Armenia)

Black Entrepreneurs Day

Conspiracy Theory Day

Day of Justice (Azerbaijan)

Day of Music (Spain)

Day of Remembrance for President John F. Kennedy

Day of the Albanian Alphabet (Albania)

Day of the Andalusian Gypsy (Spain)

Family Day (Palau)s

Go For A Ride Day

Good Married Couple Day (a.k.a. Good Husband & Wife Day or Good Spouses Day; Japan)

Good Twin Tail Day (Japan)

Hockey Day

Humane Society Day

International Chick Tract Day

International Ewing’s Sarcoma Awareness Day

International Musician’s Day

Isfahan National Day (Iran)

JFK Assassination Day

Justice Workers’ Day (Azerbaijan)

Kanakdasa Jayanti (Karnataka, India)

Love Your Freckles Day

Love Your Own Country Day

Music Day (Spain)

Musician’s Day (Mexico)

National Agriculture & Related Industries Day (Australia)

National Amelia Day

National Aron Day

National Dental Dam Day

National Dental Nurses Day (UK)

National Housing Strategy Day (Canada)

National Jukebox Day

National Larimar Day (Dominican Republic)

National Nathan Day

National Poetry Day (Philippines)

National Senior Dog Day

National Stop the Violence Day

National Yeti Day

Phonograph Day

Pajama Day (Ireland)

Prosecutors’ Day (Kyrgyzstan)

Psychologist Day (Russia)

Repentence Day (Sachsen, Germany)

Skywriting Day

Slumber Party Day

Start Your Own Country Day

Substitute Educators Day

Teacher’s Day (Costa Rica)

Turnip Day (French Republic)

22q Awareness Day

White Album Day

World Day of the Schnauzer

World Vasectomy Day

Xanthippe Asteroid Day

Food & Drink Celebrations

Cranberry Relish Day

Danish Pastry Day (Wienerbrödets Dag; Sweden)

International Stilton Day

Kimchi Day (South Korea; California)

National Cashew Day

Independence & Related Days

Anniversary of Portuguese Aggression (Republic of Guinea)

Duvalia (Declared; 2015) [unrecognized]

Lebanon (from France, 1943)

Regelis (Declared; 1999) [unrecognized]

4th Friday in November

Comfort Food Friday [Every Friday]

Five For Friday [Every Friday]

Flapjack Friday [4th Friday of Each Month]

Flashback Friday [Every Friday]

Flirtatious Friday [4th Friday of Each Month]

Friday Finds [Every Friday]

Fry Day (Pastafarian; Fritism) [Every Friday]

National Day of Thanksgiving (Turks & Caicos Islands) [4th Friday]

Stars in Our Schools Day (UK) [4th Friday]

TGIF (Thank God It's Friday) [Every Friday]

Weekly Holidays beginning November 22 (3rd Full Week of November)

Deck the Halls Weekend (Seneca Lake region, New York) [thru 11.24]

National Farm-City Week (thru 11.28) [Week Ending On Thanksgiving]

Festivals Beginning November 22, 2024

America's Hometown Thanksgiving (Plymouth, Massachusetts) [thru 11.24]

Beaujolais & Beyond (Saint Paul, Minnesota)

Beef Tongue Cook-Off (Eunice, Louisiana) [thru 11.23]

Bruges Christmas Market (Bruges, Belgium) [thru 1.5.2025]

Cayman Brac (Cayman Islands) [thru 11.24]

Denver Christmas Show (Denver, Colorado) [thru 11.24]

Downtown Baraboo Wine Walk (Baraboo, Wisconsin)

Downtown Raleigh Tree Lighting Celebration (Raleigh, North Carolina)

FOBAB [Festival of Wood & Barrel-Aged Beer] (Chicago, Illinois) [thru 11.23]

Mountain Mandarin Festival (Auburn, California) [thru 11.24]

National Biodynamic Conference (Phoenixville, Pennsylvania) [thru 11.24]

Night of the Proms (Antwerp, Belgium) [thru 11.24]

Plant City Pig Jam (Plant City, Florida) [thru 11.23]

Salute to Ranching Holiday Dinner-Dance & Auction (Workman's Creek, Arizona)

Silver Bells in the City (Lansing, Michigan)

Tallinn Christmas Market (Tallinn, Estonia) [thru 12.27]

Whiskies of the World (Chicago, Illinois)

Feast Days

Amphilochius of Iconium (Christian; Saint)

André Gide (Writerism)

Blackbeard Memorial Day (Pastafarian)

Cecilia (Christian; Saint) [Music]

Christian Rohlfs (Artology)

Clone Day (Church of the SubGenius)

Colbert (Positivist; Saint)

Descending Day of Lord Buddha (Lhabab Duechen) [Bhutan]

Dispute-Settling Assizes (Shamanism)

Feast of Artemis (Moon Goddess; Ancient Greece; Starza Pagan Book of Days)

George (Eastern Orthodox; Georgia)

George Eliot (Writerism)

Herbert (Christian; Saint)

Ignaz Günther (Artology)

Jon Cleary (Writerism)

Light Snow (Chinese Farmer’s Calendar)

Marjane Satrapi (Artology; Writerism)

Miguel Covarrubias (Artology)

Olga Kisseleva (Artology)

Philemon and Appia (Christian; Martyrs)

Pragmatius of Autun (Christian; Saint)

Sagittarius zodiac sign begins

Samonios (Seed-Fall; Celtic Book of Days)

Theodorus the Studite (Christian; Saint)

Vernon the Grizzly Bear (Muppetism)

Ydalir (festival to Ullr, god of archery & skiing; Ancient Norse)

Lucky & Unlucky Days

Sensho (先勝 Japan) [Good luck in the morning, bad luck in the afternoon.]

Premieres

The Addams Family (Film; 1991)

The Air Hostess (Phantasies Cartoon; 1937)

An American Tail: Fievel Goes West (Animated Film; 1991)

Back to the Future Part II (Film; 1989)

The Beatles [The White Album] (Album; 1968)

Beauty and the Beast (Animated Disney Film; 1991)

Bettie Page Reveals All (Documentary Film; 2013)

Blue Hawaii (Film; 1961) [Elvis Presley #8]

Boléro, by Maurice Ravel (Orchestral Work; 1928)

Captain Kidd (Film; 1945)

Casino (Film; 1995)

The Check’s in the Mail (Money Rock Cartoon; Schoolhouse Rock; 1996)

Clambake (Film; 1967)

Coco (Animated Film; 2017)

Convict Concerto (Woody Woodpecker Cartoon; 1954)

Darkest Hour (Film; 2017)

Die Another Day (US Film; 2002) [James Bond #20]

For the Boys (Film; 1991)

Frida (Film; 2002)

Frozen (Animated Disney Film; 2013)

Frozen 2 (Animated Disney Film; 2019)

Goofy’s Glider (Disney Cartoon; 1940)

The Hunger Games: Catching Fire (Film; 2013)

Hypnotize, by System of a Down (Album; 2005)

Jack and the Beanstalk (Betty Boop Cartoon; 1931)

Jelly Roll Blues, recorded by Bunny Berigan (Song; 1938)

La Forza del Destino, by Giuseppe Verdi (Opera; 1862)

A Lyell Geste of Robyn Hood, by Winked de Word (History Book; 1495)

King Solomon’s Mines (Film; 1985)

Man of La Mancha (Broadway Musical; 1965)

Olaf’s Frozen Adventure (Disney Cartoon; 2017)

Once Upon a Studio (Disney Short Film; 2023)

Pink S.W.A.T. (Pink Panther Cartoon; 1978)

Power and Terror: Noam Chomsky in Our Times (Documentary Film; 2002)

Prefabricated Pink (Pink Panther Cartoon; 1967)

The Producers (Film; 1967)

Shanghai Woody (Woody Woodpecker Cartoon; 1971)

Shine (Film; 1996)

Star Trek: First Contact (Film; 1996)

Swann’s Wy, by Marcel Proust (Novel; 1913)

Throne of Blood (Film; 1961)

Toy Story (Animated Pixar Film; 1995) Vitalogy, by Pearl Jam (Album; 1994)

Wish (Animated Disney Film; 2023)

With the Beatles, by The Beatles (Album; 1963)

Yogi Bear and the Magical Flight of the Spruce Goose(Hanna-Barbera Animated TV Special; 1987)

Today’s Name Days

Cäcilia, Salvator (Austria)

Cecilija, Cilika, Dobrila, Filemon (Croatia)

Cecílie (Czech Republic)

Cecilia (Denmark)

Cecilia, Säsil, Silja, Silje, Sille (Estonia)

Cecilia, Seela, Selja, Silja (Finland)

Cécile (France)

Cäcilia, Rufus, Salvator, Silja (Germany)

Cecilia, Filemon, Filimon, Philimon, Valerios (Greece)

Cecília (Hungary)

Cecilia (Italy)

Aldis, Aldonis, Alfons, Alfonss, Alfs (Latvia)

Cecilija, Cilė, Dargintė, Steikintas (Lithuania)

Cecilie, Silje, Sissel (Norway)

Cecylia, Marek, Maur, Wszemiła (Poland)

Arhip. Filimon, Onism (România)

Cecília (Slovakia)

Cecilio, Filemón (Spain)

Cecilia, Sissela (Sweden)

Cecelia, Philemon, Yaropolk (Ukraine)

Abbey, Abbie, Abby, Abigail, Cecelia, Cecil, Cecilia, Cecily, Cecyl, Celia, Gail Gale, Galen, Gay, Gayle, Philemon, Philo, Shayla, Sheila (USA)

Today is Also…

Day of Year: Day 327 of 2024; 39 days remaining in the year

ISO: Day 5 of Week 47 of 2024

Celtic Tree Calendar: Hagal (Hailstone) [Day 27 of 28]

Chinese: Month 10 (Yi-Hai), Day 22 (Geng-Yin)

Chinese Year of the: Dragon 4722 (until January 29, 2025) [Wu-Chen]

Hebrew: 21 Heshvan 5785

Islamic: 20 Jumada I 1446

J Cal: 27 Wood; Sixthday [27 of 30]

Julian: 9 November 2024

Moon: 50%: 3rd Quarter

Positivist: 19 Frederic (12th Month) [Pombal / D’Aranda]

Runic Half Month: Is (Stasis) [Day 1 of 15]

Season: Autumn or Fall (Day 61 of 90)

Week: 3rd Full Week of November

Zodiac: Sagittarius (Day 1 of 30)

Calendar Changes

Is (Stasis) [Half-Month 23 of 24; Runic Half-Months] (thru 12.10)

Sagittarius (The Archer) begins [Zodiac Sign 9; thru 12.21]

[starqueen87]

Bill Pickett (ca 1870-1932), African American Cowboy inventor of "bulldogging," a rodeo technique to wrestle a steer to the ground.

From 1905 to 1931, the Miller brothers' 101 Ranch Wild West Show was one of the great shows in the tradition begun by William F. "Buffalo Bill" Cody in 1883. The 101 Ranch Show introduced bulldogging (steer wrestling), an exciting rodeo event invented by Bill Pickett, one of the show's stars.

Riding his horse, Spradley, Pickett came alongside a Longhorn steer, dropped to the steer's head, twisted its head toward the sky, and bit its upper lip to get full control. Cowdogs of the Bulldog breed were known to bite the lips of cattle to subdue them. That's how Pickett's technique got the name "bulldogging." As the event became more popular among rodeo cowboys, the lip biting became increasingly less popular until it disappeared from steer wrestling altogether. Bill Pickett, however, became an immortal rodeo cowboy, and his fame has grown since his death.

He died in 1932 as a result of injuries received from working horses at the 101 Ranch. His grave is on what is left of the 101 Ranch property near Ponca City, Oklahoma. Pickett was inducted into the National Rodeo Hall of Fame in 1972 for his contribution to the sport.

Bill Pickett was the second of thirteen children born to Thomas Jefferson and Mary Virginia Elizabeth (Gilbert) Pickett, both of whom were former slaves. He began his career as a cowboy after completing the fifth grade. Bill soon began giving exhibitions of his roping, riding and bulldogging skills, passing a hat for donations.

By 1888, his family had moved to Taylor, Texas, and Bill performed in the town's first fair that year. He and his brothers started a horse-breaking business in Taylor, and Bill was a member of the national guard and a deacon of the Baptist church. In December 1890, Bill married Maggie Turner.

Known by the nicknames "The Dusky Demon" and "The Bull-Dogger," Pickett gave exhibitions in Texas and throughout the West. His performance in 1904 at the Cheyenne Frontier Days (America's best-known rodeo) was considered extraordinary and spectacular. He signed on with the 101 Ranch show in 1905, becoming a full-time ranch employee in 1907. The next year, he moved his wife and children to Oklahoma.

He later performed in the U.S., Canada, Mexico, South America, and England, and became the first black cowboy movie star. Had he not been banned from competing with white rodeo contestants, Pickett might have become one of the greatest record-setters in his sport. He was often identified as an Indian, or some other ethnic background other than black, to be allowed to compete.

Bill Pickett died April 2, 1932, after being kicked in the head by a horse. Famed humorist Will Rogers announced the funeral of his friend on his radio show. In 1989, years after being honored by the National Rodeo Hall of Fame, Pickett was inducted into the Prorodeo Hall of Fame and Museum of the American Cowboy at Colorado Springs, Colorado. A 1994 U.S. postage stamp meant to honor Pickett accidentally showed one of his brothers.

[ausetkmt]

Supporters of two Black ranchers who’ve faced racist retaliation from their neighbors in Colorado are calling on the state to pass the CAREN Act, a law that would make racist 911 calls a crime.

On Feb. 17, Courtney and Nicole Mallery of Colorado Springs stood in front of the state Capitol in Denver to demand lawmakers pass the new law.

For months, the Mallerys have faced sabotage on their 640-acre ranch as their White neighbors continually called the police on them for frivolous reasons. They’ve faced death threats and killing of their livestock.

When they tried to confront their neighbors, they were instead investigated by the local sheriff, who initially refused to hear their claims of racist abuse. Instead, the El Paso County Sheriff’s Office arrested the Mallerys on Feb. 6 after listening to their White neighbors.

“The act of falsely accusing someone of something because of their color is disgusting to me,” Courtney Mallery told the crowd, according to 9 News. “What me and my wife have been going through, I wouldn’t wish that on anyone.”

Living while Black

The couple have since gained the support of the local NAACP and the ACLU as the organizations represent them in their case and their efforts to pass the CAREN Act.

Melanin-deprived Americans were once legally entitled to wield the weapons of White privilege against innocent Black people during the Jim Crow days and earlier. It was a time when a Black person could be imprisoned or lynched simply for smiling at a White woman or for drinking from a water fountain.

No longer having the full backing of the criminal legal system, racists in the 21st Century continue to find creative ways to criminalize Black existence.

The list is long: Walking while Black, jogging while Black, banking while Black, babysitting while Black, barbecuing while Black, and even watering flowers while Black have all become hashtags after innocent Americans faced the threat of police violence for daring to live their lives in the presence of racist Whites.

Studies show the need for the CAREN Act

In 2001, sampling 215 Black folks, a study by Black psychologist Shawn Utsey, PhD, found that race-related stress negatively impacts the physical, psychological and social wellbeing of African Americans.

“Race-related stress was a significantly more powerful risk factor than stressful life events for psychological distress,” the study found.

Racism and the fear of racism also impacts the activities Black Americans choose to engage in.

Conducting a nationwide survey, Black sociologist Rashawn Ray, faculty associate of the Maryland Population Research Center, found that Black men in mostly White neighborhoods are less likely to exercise outdoors because of fears that they will be criminalized.

The CAREN Act stands for Caution Against Racially Exploitative Non-Emergencies. It’s named after the “Karen,” stereotype, which references middle-aged White women who use the police to endanger Black people and other persons of color.

San Francisco, New York and New Jersey have already passed similar versions of the CAREN Act, and the Mallerys, backed by the Rocky Mountain NAACP, are urging Colorado to follow suit.

“We need to pass the CAREN Act in the state of Colorado. I am personally going to be leading the charge with that legislation,” said Portia Prescott, president of the Rocky Mountain NAACP.