#arizona black rodeo | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

katehuntington · 3 years ago

Text

Title: Ride With Me (part 28) Fandom: Supernatural Timeline: 2008 Pairing: Dean x Reader Word count: ±8670 words Summary series: Y/N is a talented horse rider who is on her way to become a professional. In order to convince her father that she deserves the loan needed to start her own farm, she goes to Arizona for six months, to intern at a ranch owned by Bobby and Ellen Singer. Her future is set out, but then she meets a handsome horseman, who goes by the name of Dean Winchester. A heartwarming series about a cowboy who falls for the girl, letting go of the past and the importance of family. Summary part 28: The aftermath of the altercation with Cain is catching up on Dean, but the injured wrangler refuses to take a beat. Thankfully, his has his family to lean on, even if he isn’t entirely ready to listen to them yet. Warnings series: NSFW, 18+ only! Fluff, angst, eventually smut. Swearing, smoking, alcohol intoxication, alcohol abuse. Mutual pining, heartbreak, slowburn. Crying, nightmares, childhood trauma. Description of animal abuse, domestic violence, mentions of addiction. Financial problems, stress, mental breakdown. Description of blood and injury, hospital scenes, character death, grief. Music: Desperado by the Eagles (opening scene).Follow ‘Ride With Me Playlist’ by Kate Huntington on Spotify! Author’s note: Beta’d by my mom (yes, you read that right. My mom reads my stuff and is on Tumblr) and @winchest09 and @girl-with-a-fandom-fettish. Also a special thanks to @jules-1999 and @rebel4fandom, who has offered me her knowledge about reining and rodeo. The wonderful gif is by @frozen-delight.

Ride With Me Masterlist

Dean isn’t sure what’s worse; the night terrors he just woke up from, or the splitting headache that welcomed him that followed after. He remains on his left side for a few more minutes, waiting for his heart rate to lower again while his warm bed offers him only little comfort. For a moment he sighs and closes his eyes while burying his head deeper into the pillow, wishing he could just skip today, but that’s not how life works. Even though he hasn’t moved yet, he has a hunch that it’s going to be either painful or difficult. Probably both.

When the wrangler sits up and throws the damp sheets from his upper body, his assumption is undeniably confirmed. What he didn’t expect is the lightheadedness that comes with it when he rises from the mattress. Discontent, he groans, rubbing at the unharmed side of his face. It takes a few seconds before his brain catches up, but then the black spots that obscure his vision dissolve and he gets to his feet.

His body protests, but Dean shuffles towards his bathroom either way, his hand on the doorpost and then on the sink for balance, just to be safe. He flicks on the tube light above the mirror, the harsh brightness making him wince as the throbbing in his head intensifies. He’s had hangovers that were more enjoyable.

When his pupils have adjusted somewhat, he blinks and opens his eyes, only half succeeding, since the right one has swollen overnight. Taking in his own reflection, Dean breathes a huff at the man staring back. “Jo wasn’t lyin’,” he mumbles to himself, remembering how last night she told him he looked like ten miles of bad road.

After turning on the shower and allowing the small tiled space to warm up, he sheds his t-shirt with some difficulty and discards it in the laundry basket. A palette of black and blue decorates his shoulder, bruised from when he rammed the trailer divider to free his cousin. As he strips down further, he notices that his lower back and hip on which he landed show similar skin discolorations. You’ll feel fine in a couple of days, he reminds himself while he steps under the hot spray. He had far worse, and the vivid flashbacks of his youth that continue to disrupt his sleep have everything to do with it.

The warm water doesn’t rid the wrangler of his headache, but it does loosen his muscles somewhat. After freshening up, he randomly picks a dark shirt and an army green button up and matches it with a pair of jeans. He takes his prussian blue jacket and the Stetson hat from the standing coat hanger and exits his room. Reckoning that he’s going to move slower than usual after yesterday’s accident, he prefers to get an early start. The day is going to be a long one as it is, and it’s not like he can sleep anyway.

When he turns around, he notices the ibuprofen waiting for him on the kitchen counter, still eight pills left on the strip. He smiles softly, knowing exactly who left it there. Y/N placed them next to the sink for him to find in the morning, since the kitchen is right next to his quarters. She must have figured he wouldn’t be feeling well.

Shaking his head, he fills a glass and knocks back a set of painkillers, washing them away with water. Deep down he still feels like he deserves the pain, but Y/N will give him hell if he ignores the welcome relief. What Dean doesn’t deserve, though, is her empathy. After all the tears he caused to run down her beautiful face, why does she still care so much? The whole point of the fight going down the way it did, was that she would hate his guts, but apparently, she feels the opposite. She’s too good for this world, that’s one thing he knows.

The first thing Dean does after opening the large barn doors is cross the alley to the courtyard out back. The Joshua tree, a symbol of hope in the midst of aridity, welcomes him with open arms. He always admired the resilience of the magnificent source of life, how it’s able to survive, even in these fiercely adverse conditions of the Arizona desert. How it can grow and overcome long draughts and cold nights. The cowboy takes in the strong branches, the spirally arranged leaves, the odd shape that makes this specimen all the more beautiful. Many Native Americans believe the Yucca tree holds an enduring spirit, which provides the beings who live on the land strength, endurance and prosperity. He can name a few who are able to use the good fortune.

When Dean exits the stable on the other side and walks towards the fence, he searches for the traumatized horse that came in yesterday. Cain hasn’t moved from his spot in the far end of the pen, his hay left untouched. When the wrangler comes into view, he pins his ears back, takes a few steps towards him as if he’s about to charge and attack, but then turns on his hind legs and returns to the corner where he stood all night, fear winning over rage. The orange morning glow casts a revealing light on the stallion, his ribs and hip bones sticking out and his coat dull. Lacerations litter his body, blood caked to his manes. It’s clear as day that Cain is in extremely poor condition, but Dean knows Jody isn’t to blame for that and neither is Gabe. They always take excellent care of their animals, but how can you help one who doesn’t let anyone near? The damage was done a long time before Cain arrived at Wayward Mills, Jody’s stables. Dean can only hope that he arrived at Gold Canyon Ranch in time for the horseman to convince him that not all humans are monsters.

With a sigh, Dean retreats into the barn again, loading fresh roughage into a wheelbarrow and giving each of the horses a good portion. He does his best to ignore the ache that reminds him of the unfortunate event with every movement, as much as the mixture of dizziness and nausea that forces him to pause whenever he picks up a bail from the ground. By the time all the horses are fed, it’s 7 AM. The sound of the animals munching on their hay and pellets has Dean relishing the peacefulness. A glint of a smile reaches his eyes while he removes the rugs that the horses wear during the chilly nights, the contentment of each and every horse soothing and contagious. Even though his injuries barely allow the labor, it’s exactly the therapy he needs for his weary mind.

The door to the cafeteria is left ajar, the smell of fresh baked dough indicating that Ellen is already working her miracles in the kitchen, preparing an extensive breakfast for the always famished crew. The middle-aged woman with thick, brown hair - which she refuses to wear up in a ponytail, even during blistering hot summer days - has placed eight buns on a tray and slides the second load of bread into the oven. When her nephew strolls in, she looks up, her wrinkles deepening with concern.

“G’morning,” she greets sweetly. “Didn’t expect you to be at work already.” “Yeah, I uh - I wanted to get an early start with Jo outta the game,” he replies as he sits down on the chair he occupies every morning. “How’re you feeling?” she checks, even though she knows what the answer will be. Dean shrugs carelessly. “I’m okay.” “M-hm.” Ellen raises her eyebrow, holding his gaze knowingly while she closes the oven lid. She doesn’t follow up with another question, though. After all, she knows pushing him to talk will only accomplish the opposite. “Really, it looks worse than it is,” Dean tries to assure her, not wanting to cause her worry.

His aunt doesn’t respond, even though she doesn’t believe a word of it. Even when he was just a kid, he always kept quiet whenever he was hurt. Working with large animals, who possess so much power and have strong and sometimes unpredictable instincts, is a recipe for a bruise or a cut every now and then, sometimes worse if one isn’t careful. But Dean has always had the tendency to hide any sign of weakness, presumingly because he doesn’t want to draw any attention to himself. That boy has grown into a man now, yet he still prefers to pretend he’s not in pain. He’s also still a terrible liar.

“Want me to cook you some bacon and eggs, now that you’re here?” she offers, already taking the frying pan out of the lower cupboard.

Dean hesitates for a second, because even though he usually loves a good, big breakfast, he isn’t sure if he can muster one. His headache might have toned down a little, thanks to the ibuprofen, yet he feels anything but better. There’s an uneasiness swirling in his stomach, the nausea not so severe that he’s eying the toilet in case he needs to make a break for it, but he doesn’t feel confident enough to add fuel to the fire. “No, thanks. I’m good,” he declines, acting casual.

“You’re not taking up the opportunity of my cooking?” Ellen huffs, placing her balled fist on her hip as she turns to face him. “If you really want me to believe that you’re just fine, you’re gonna have to do a lot better than that.” “I’m not that hungry, is all.” The cowboy pulls his shoulders up to his ears and lets them fall again, but he’s aware how unconvincing it sounds. “‘Dean Winchester’ and ‘not that hungry’ don’t go together. Do I need to remind you that you’ve been livin’ under my roof for the past fifteen years?” his aunt counters, her hazel eyes penetrating, but the sternness in them dims down before she continues. “Sweety, I know you. And I also know that you rather work than take a minute to heal up, but if you’re not feeling well--” “Look, I might be a bit tired, yeah. And this,” Dean points at the injured side of his face as he gets up from his seat, “is a little uncomfortable. But I can work just fine. I...”

He barely gets the words out when the cowboy realizes his mistake; he has risen to his feet faster than his concussed brain can follow. The lightheadedness quadruples, dark spots soon enlarging before his eyes and fogging his vision. His balance falters and he reaches for the back of his chair, able to get a hold on the timber furniture before he goes down.

“Dean, honey?!” He can feel his aunt’s hand firmly gripping his biceps, afraid that his legs might give out. Her fear isn’t unfounded, but thankfully the black out is short-lived and he doesn’t hit the ground. Steadying himself, he shakes his head and blinks a couple of times, his sight returning back to normal. As soon as it does, he notices the woman who has nurtured him like a mother would, standing next to him with a whirlwind of concern and frustration in her eyes.

“Okay, that’s it. You’re going straight to bed,” she decides, still holding him up, even though her nephew has found his footing again. “What? No, c’mon!” Dean objects. “I got a lil’ dizzy, that’s it! I’m--” “If you say ‘I’m fine’ one more time, so help me God,” she cuts him off, ushering him out of the cafeteria, her firm grip on his arm not wavering. “You’re not, and it’s about damn time you admit it and pace yourself for once in your life.” “Ellen, I--” “Don’t you ‘Ellen’ me, boy! And did I give the impression that this was up for debate?”

She turns to face him by the door where she finally lets go of him, waiting for an answer, but ready to give him hell if he dares to get smart with her. Standing her ground, she places her hand on her broad hips again, the fire in her eyes telling Dean she’s not going to let this go.

In the short pause where they stare at each other - both determined - Dean notices the resemblance between Ellen and her daughter, who has often stood toe to toe with him whenever the two disagreed. The young man doesn’t have the guts to talk back to his aunt, though. Especially not now that she has decided to use her mom-voice. And so he swallows hard and keeps his head down, intimidated by the strong-willed woman. “No, Ma’am,” he returns softly.

“Good, we’re clear then. You’re not lifting another finger today,” she states. “I don’t want you around the horses and I definitely don’t want you around heavy machinery. So if I see you anywhere near the barn, we’re gonna have a problem. Do you understand?” “But--” “Nuh-uh!” She shakes her head and points a warning finger at him. Ellen doesn’t care that he’s turning thirty next year. If he’s acting like an irresponsible and stubborn teenager, she will treat him as such. “What did I just say?”

Dean sighs and chews on his lip, holding back the string of objections that were ready to fly out of his mouth. He knows better than to contradict her, so he approaches cautiously. “What about the work? We’re already one down,” he returns respectfully, concerned about his crew if he takes a break too. “Garth will manage the stable, Benny will take the tourists on the trail, Y/N can train the horses. Your uncle and I will step in where necessary. The ranch will be fine without you, believe it or not. At least for a couple of days,” his aunt assures, hoping it is enough to convince him without making him feel disposable or unimportant. Those are about the last things that he is.

Dean’s gaze flicks over the concrete floor, bits of straw and hay still littering the surface. The stable could use a sweep after the feeding round, but by now, he has come to understand that Ellen will not allow him to finish the job. He wishes she would let him, because taking a break will inevitably give the dark and troubling thoughts the chance to occupy his mind. It daunts him just thinking of it.

“What am I supposed to do all day?” he wonders out loud, clearly unsure how to deal with himself. Ellen’s answer is simple. “Rest up. Sleep.” Her nephew runs his tongue over his teeth, not seeing the remnants of wheats on the ground anymore, now that his gaze has turned into a thousand yard stare. “I can’t… I can’t sleep,” he admits, his voice suddenly much more fragile.

With empathy, the woman before him watches him struggle, the wrinkles that frame her features deepening with concern. The sun is still hanging low in the sky, casting orange rays through the large barn doors, dust particles dancing in the air. In this light, the young man before her looks so much like the little kid she took in on that dreadful autumn evening, and yet the fatigue and the stress ages him beyond his years.

“The nightmares are keeping you up again, huh?” she supposes. Staggered, the cowboy restores eye contact. She knows? Then he connects the dots, his face changing from puzzled to realization. “Jo told you?” he assumes, his words a mixture of a conclusion and a question. “I spent two hours in the car with her and even more in the waiting room yesterday. She got chatty after they gave her something for the pain, what can I say?” Ellen explains, a small smile attempting to offer comfort and lighten the mood somewhat. Judging from Dean’s expression, it doesn’t work. “Is it as bad as it was then?” she asks carefully.

Dean hesitates, but looks at her briefly before he averts his gaze again, nodding in confirmation. He rubs at the scruff on his unharmed cheek, letting out a sigh. Then he opens up, only slightly. “I really thought I was past this,” he admits, the words escaping with a heaviness that is similar to the burden he’s carrying. “Well, I really thought that he would never raise his ugly head again, yet here we are.”

The painful sound of John’s name doesn’t have to enter the conversation. Dean’s father has left behind enough carnage in his wake already, and vocalizing the four letter word he goes by will do even more. It silences both Ellen and her nephew, though, until she lays out what keeps her up at night. “Sweety, I’m really worried about you,” she expresses.

The wrangler glances back at the woman who is such a force to be reckoned with. The anchor of everyone on these lands, the mother hen who is always right, the parent who stepped up when others failed him. Usually she comes off so strong, but now, emotion has her eyes shimmering, and Dean instantly feels guilty for causing her such despair. “You don’t have to do that,” he reassures, the lie meant to offer her solace. She scoffs, however. “Apparently I do, because you ain’t taking care of yourself,” she returns, her voice having gained its usual strength again before it softens once more. “Dean, you’re hurt, in more ways than one. You need to acknowledge that. I get that you wanna work and keep busy in order to stop your mind from going places, but you’re running on fumes. The past week has been rough on you, with what happened in Flagstaff, with Y/N…”

A chip breaks away from his heart, like it has done every time her name is mentioned. The aggravation sets in then to replace the pain, having him breathe out in annoyance. His cousin really spilled the beans, apparently. “You know about that too, huh?” Ellen remains unimpressed with his irritation towards her daughter. “Again; Jo had a lot to say on the drive home,” she repeated. “I bet she did,” Dean says, somewhat bitterly. “You’re gonna scold me for that one? Wouldn’t be the first.”

Quietly, she observes how the cowboy draws up his walls again. She has seen this happen before her eyes plenty of times already, his defense regrouping, despite that the armor is cracked. It pains her every single time. Just when he’s about to make progress, he falls back onto that same tactic. She really hoped Y/N could help him, teach him to express his pain, convince him to talk about his trauma. With the love he so clearly carries for that girl, Ellen honestly thought that the stone fortress Dean has built around himself could finally be breached. Sadly, she was wrong. His aunt will not rub salt into the open wound, though, and shakes her head.

“No, you broke your own heart enough as it is,” she replies, lamenting for the injured soldier who has chosen to continue his fight with the demons in his head alone, even though there’s an army of love ready for service. “For what it’s worth, honey… I’m sorry for how it ended.” Dean swallows thickly, nodding at that absently. The same sadness that has plagued him ever said ‘we’re over’ to the girl that he pictured marrying one day, wins terrain. “Yeah, me too,” he states, his voice raw.

The silence returns, the only sounds breaking it being the horses, who peacefully rummage around in their stable, purring every now and then. Both Dean and Ellen are a little lost for words. Enough has been said and yet so much remains untold. There’s no point in carrying on the conversation that has come to a sad conclusion. Ellen sticks to her point, though; Dean needs to recharge his batteries. Maybe when he does, he will be able to cope with all the challenges a little better.

“How about you try ‘n fetch some sleep, and I’ll check in on you a couple of times. Would that help?” she offers, her kind eyes waiting for a response as they read the cowboy.

Dean shrugs. He’s a grown man; he shouldn’t be needing his mother figure to hold his hand. However, might the night terrors return, the thought of having Ellen there is a comforting one. She did the same when he was younger and still occupied a room in the Singer household. He remembers her sitting by his bedside for nights on end, offering him the shelter he so desperately needed at the time. He might be older, but he needs that same shelter now. “Worth a try,” he says, shyly.

Ellen smiles at that, glad he at least allows her to take care of him. She lays a gentle hand on his back, turning to walk next to him towards the bunkhouse. “Alright then, let’s get you settled.” “You don’t have to convoy me to my bed,” he chuckles. “If I don’t, you’ll sneak off to the horses just like you did when you were a kid. I learned that lesson a long time ago.” Ellen glances at him sideways, a small grin on her lips.

Dean fights the urge to roll his eyes. His aunt might be empathizing with him, but giving her attitude will evidently end in her correcting his behavior. Nothing has changed, really. She’s still the same loving mom to him, kind and compassionate, yet strict and teaching discipline when she needs to. He wouldn’t want it any other way.

The bunkhouse is relatively silent when they climb the porch. Work starts in half an hour, yet most rooms are still quiet. He can hear the shower running and guesses it’s Y/N who is getting ready for her day. She’s always up earlier than the rest of the crew, taking her time to do her hair and makeup. He told her once that she doesn’t need to go through all the hassle, that she’s beautiful without, but after what happened she probably stopped believing his words, and started the old routine again. Maybe it’s her mask, Dean realizes. He’s glad he doesn’t run into her or any of the other wranglers, because he’s not very good at wearing his at the moment.

The cowboy pushes open the door between his private space and the living room, glad to be able to retreat for the day, even though he refuses to say it out loud. Glancing back at his aunt, a thankful smile pulls at the corner of his mouth, without words expressing his appreciation. Ellen stops him for a second then, taking him by the shoulders and turning him to face him, then gently holding his face between her hands. The look she gives him is so loving and fondly, that it temporarily chases away all his inner struggles. “Take all the time you need. I’ll always be here,” she assures softly.

Smiling at that, he remains quiet, giving the woman he appreciates so much a nod. He then goes into his room before she sees the sentiment misting up his eyes. God, is he glad she will always be there like she promises him every time he’s desperate to hear those words.

While he gets out of his clothes with some difficulty, his muscles straining and body painful, he thinks about the little recollection he has of his mother. Mary died when Dean was only four, and for years he didn’t have a woman in his life, until Ellen. She filled that gaping hole naturally and without hesitation. Honestly, he’s not sure how he would have ended up without her.

Exhausted, he drops down on his bed, the mattress softening the landing. Fatigue overwhelms him as he pulls the covers up to his chin, turns on his left side and pushing his head into his pillow, the memory foam underneath him comfortingly molding to his form. Within seconds, his long lashes fall shut against his freckled cheeks. He’s out like a light, and for once, the darkness that falls over him is much appreciated.

The gravel crunches under Y/N’s cowboy boots, the familiar smell of the earth underneath her feet even stronger in the brisk air. She’s wearing a denim jacket to keep out the cold of the night, but she’s sure she will shed it within thirty minutes when the hard work gets her blood pumping. With Jo taking the morning to sleep in, the intern expects the day to be more intense than usual. Her injured arm will not allow the ranch owner’s daughter to do much, but she doubts anyone can keep her out of the stable for long. She’s a horse girl at heart, after all.

It’s strange to not have her best friend next to her when the intern walks through the tall wooden doors. The horses inside look up curiously, but only Meadow neighs sweetly, recognizing her owner by her footfalls alone. It instantly brings a smile to Y/N’s face, even though this routine has been going on for years now. The Quarter mare is always pleased to see her human, especially since she carries sugar cubes in her pocket. Y/N likes to think it’s because she missed her, though.

After feeding her horse the treat, the intern allows her eyes to glide through the stable. The animals inside the barn are calm and spilled hay still litters the ground, indicating that they have been fed already. She does find it peculiar that Dean isn’t anywhere in sight and that the floor hasn’t been swept yet. It’s usually something he does right away, knowing that Garth likes to keep the stables neat. Not giving it too much thought, she allows her fingers to brush over Meadow’s velvet nose after which she enters the cafeteria next door. She’s soon followed by Benny, who was having his first smoke up front, and she can hear Garth muttering to himself about the messy floors as well.

The scent of the Arizona desert is replaced by one of fried meat, together with baked bread and coffee. The aroma instantly ignites her hunger, and she takes her usual seat while Ellen turns to face the wranglers, a sizzling frying pan in hand.

“Mornin’,” she greets the crew kindly. “Hand me your plates. Y’all gonna need a good breakfast today.” Y/N watches how Ellen fills her dish to the brim with scrambled eggs and bacon, adding two buns as well. “How much convincing did it take to keep Jo away?” she wonders, a hint of amusement in her eyes. “Oh, a lot!” the middle-aged brunette returns, chuckling. “God knows how I’m gonna keep that girl out of the saddle for six weeks. I’m set up to fail.”

The door closes and Y/N’s attention is pulled towards the man who just shut the barrier. She half expects it to be the head wrangler, but instead Bobby is the last one to join the briefing. The long rectangular table that the crew sits at during meals seems even larger all of a sudden; it’s not just Jo who’s missing. It’s a certain cowboy as well. “Where’s Dean?” she asks, her words laced with worry.

Ellen holds her gaze for a fraction of a second, but the small smile she’s carrying tells the intern that she picked up on the concern in her voice, even though Y/N hoped it wouldn’t be so obvious. “Jo isn’t the only one who I convinced to take it easy.” She hands out a plate to Garth and then to Benny. “He wasn’t feeling well this morning, so I sent him back inside.” “You benched the Chief?” Benny says, impressed, cutlery already in hand even though they haven’t said grace yet. “Let’s be fair, who’s the real chief around here?” Ellen returns, smacking his hand with a spatula when he’s about to dig in already. “Certainly not me,” Bobby mumbles under his breath, earning a piercing glare through narrowed eyelids from his wife.

During prayer, all Y/N can think about is Dean. He must be really feeling ill if he agreed to sit this one out. It’s so unlike him, because a day hasn’t passed that he hasn’t worked with the horses for at least a couple of hours, even on his Sunday off. She shakes her head, trying to focus on the condensed air that swirls from the warm meal in front of her, and ban the concern for the ranch hand from her mind. Failing miserably, however, she closes her eyes.

What if the concussion is worse than he let on in the first place? What if there’s more going on? Maybe he’s overworked, maybe what happened at the horse show pushed him over the edge. His behavior yesterday was out of character. He never allows the secrets and emotions he keeps buried to surface, yet panic overwhelmed him to a degree that even the tough cowboy couldn’t keep it to himself. Y/N blows out a heavy breath. What if it all became too much?

Guilt grows, taking up all the space in her stomach to the point that she’s not hungry anymore. She barely registers the other wranglers diving on their meals after saying ‘Amen’ and starts picking at her food when the sounds of metal scratching on porcelain break the silence, hoping her change of demeanor isn’t noticed.

A gentle hand comes to lay on her shoulder, somewhat startling Y/N, and she glances over to meet Ellen’s comforting eyes. As she pours fresh coffee into the intern’s mug, she gives her a soft squeeze. “Don’t worry, he’ll be alright,” she says quietly, so that the others can’t pick up on the little exchange amongst women. Y/N nods shortly, a glint of a smile on her lips for a short moment of time. The words coming from the wise woman offer only little consolation.

“Eat up, darlin’,” Bobby encourages from the far end of the table. “You’re gonna need all the fuel you can get if you’re training fifteen horses today.” Puzzled, she holds the ranch owner’s gaze. “Wait, what?” “We’ve got two riders down; you’ve just been promoted. Prepare yourself for a long day in the saddle,” he states, the confident gaze coming from under the baseball cap that he always wears showing his faith in her.

Thankfully, her boss doesn’t notice her jaw hanging agape, too busy dividing the overload of tasks between Benny and Garth. Hold on a minute. Did Bobby just put me in charge of Jo’s and Dean’s horses?

She realizes how significant the trust must be in her as a trainer, otherwise he would have never given her such responsibility. The thought alone of riding these talented, young Quarters is both intimidating and humbling, but if there’s anything she can do to take the load of both her best friend and the man who has her heart, it’s to do what she does best. And so Y/N finishes her meal, gets up and takes her cowboy hat by the crown, placing it over her hair. She’s more than ready to face the challenges that this day beholds.

With a purr, Santana transitions to an easy walk when his rider drops the reins. He has earned the pat on the shoulder that he receives from Y/N, dust and sweat coming off his coat and sticking to her sore fingers. She knows Dean would have repeatedly instructed her not to let the leather slip through her hand as much as she has done over the past hours, would he have been here. The blisters that have formed on the skin do the talking for the head wrangler, though.

She blows out a breath, taking her hat off for a second and wiping the sweat from her brow before pushing it back on her head. The Arizona heat is relentless even at this time of the year, the Quarter underneath her not the only one who has broken a sweat. Y/N’s shirt is sticking to her back, moist shimmering on her arms. She feels overheated, worn, tired and dirty, yet the sense of fulfillment overrules the inconvenient effects of riding for ten hours.

Fifteen horses; that’s how many she rode today. Never before has she had so many different animals under the saddle, not in a year, let alone in a day. She’s used to focusing on Meadow only, since she never had enough time when she was studying to take on more. When she came here, Joplin soon became her second ride and she trained a horse here and there. But fifteen, every one of them unique and challenging in their own way, is a whole new level of intense, and she has loved every minute of it.

Getting to know each of Dean’s and Jo’s Quarters turned out to be very exciting and felt like a rubik's cube she had to solve. Although all of them are taught in a very correct manner by their professional riders, working with the stallions, geldings and mares requires adaptability, a certain feel for what is happening underneath. Much like humans, the different characters also ask for different approaches. Some of the younger stallions who haven’t had anyone but the cowboy on their back, seemed a little surprised by the lighter weight they had to carry, testing the boundaries with their new trainer, yet Y/N managed to dismiss their attempts to take the lead and was able to come to an understanding with them.

Saving the sweet Santana for last has been a smart choice; she needed an easy ride to round up this crazy day. Satisfied, Y/N rests her wrists on the horn of the saddle while looking out over the land as the bay horse calmly walks in circles. The sun is about to set, the beautiful light that is casted over the Superstition Mountains the same color as the gold that had been mined there in the nineteenth century. Most men who came looking for the precious metal never found it, some even died in search of wealth. The legend of the Lost Dutchman’s Gold Mine is a famous tale around here, one that Benny shared during one of the unforgettable nights on the bunkhouse porch. It’s been said that the immigrant who discovered the source, took the location to the grave, and that no one has ever been able to track down the mine since. The modern cowgirl thinks about those people for a moment, how they dedicated their lives to this quest without success. They never found gold, yet she struck it, right here.

There have been times that she thought she wasn’t cut out for this job, that she wasn’t good enough or strong enough to live the life of a horseman like she imagined she would as a little girl. Yet after today, after spending more hours on a horse’s back than with her feet on the ground, she has never felt more like a true equestrian. Her grandfather always said that she was born to ride. She has never believed him more than she does now.

Feeling alive and energetic, despite the tough workout that will undoubtedly have her muscles ache for days, she guides Santana to the square and halts under the Joshua tree. When the rider lowers herself from the saddle, the sensation she’s experiencing is much like having sealegs, walking with both feet on solid soil seeming so forreign all of a sudden. She smiles at the feeling, taking off the Quarter’s bridle and replacing it with a head collar.

Y/N has only just untied the cinch, when Garth appears in the doorway of the high barn. “Pfew! What a day,” the skinny stable boy huffs, parking his broom against the timber before he steps towards the horse and reaches for the saddle. “Here, lemme get that for ya.” “Thanks, Garth,” the cowgirl returns, grateful, not sure if her arms would be able to lift the heavy load off Santana's back. “How’s the stable coming?” she wonders. “Almost done. Bobby is just finishing up feeding. I think dinner’s ready. By the smell of it, Ellen is cookin’ somethin’ good,” he says, sticking his long nose into the air and sniffing, humming contently when the aroma floods his senses.

The intern chuckles while she picks up the hose and turns the faucet. She has enjoyed working closely with the peculiar fellow today. Without his swift work she would have never been able to train the number of horses she rode. He readied the animals for her and gave them the proper aftercare, saving the trainer valuable time. Whenever she had finished one session, the next Quarter would be waiting for her already. In between the tacking up and tacking off, the multitasker managed to juggle other chores like mucking, cleaning and turning horses out in the pastures. She’s not sure how the stable manager does it, but she does get why the guy looks a bit like a friendly slender man. He must have covered the distance of a marathon today.

Hosing down Santana reminds Y/N just how much she needs a shower herself, and after returning the gelding to his box, she rushes to the bunkhouse to freshen up before dinner. Ellen is the sweetest woman she has come across, but she wouldn’t dare to be late for supper and let the food get cold.

It’s quiet when she sets foot in the facility where the workers live, except for discontent muttering and grunting coming from the back room. With a frustrated frown on her forehead, Jo steps into the living area, struggling to tie her hair back with one functioning arm and the other cast in a fixed angle. “Help a girl out, will ya?” she utters, turning so her friend can fix her blonde locks.

Smirking, Y/N steps in and takes the hairband. “Sounds like you are adjusting just fine to your current situation,” she comments sarcastically. “Ugh, I’m as flexible as a metal pole,” Jo moans. “Plus, I’m bored out of my mind. Mom won’t let me work, so I cleaned this pig's stall instead.” Chuckling, Y/N tightens the ponytail. “I was wondering why it smells so good in here.” “You certainly ain’t the reason. You stink,” the ranch owner’s daughter comments without missing a beat, wrinkling her nose.

The intern snorts. It seems like her companion has even less of a filter now that she’s on a significant dose of pain medication. “I’m entitled to stink after riding seven of your horses,” she counters smartly. “Now if you’ll excuse me, I’m gonna take a shower.” “You better,” the blonde cowgirl agrees, a grin reaching her eyes.

Y/N wastes no time, heading to her room to collect a towel and her toiletry bag before locking herself in the bathroom and peeling off her dirty and damp clothes. The water feels delightful, slightly stinging her skin that is left sensitive by the sun that beat down on her all day. After having washed her hair, she closes the faucet and runs the towel through her hair before drying her body and wrapping the fabric around her frame. Hurried feet carry her back to her chamber, where she picks out a pair of powder blue jeans with faded bleach stains covering the pant legs, matching it a white, loosely fitted, bohemian top.

In a way, she only just discovered that what she aspires to be is actually in the cards. She was so used to life being about school, papers, her thesis, business models and graduating cumlaude, that somehow her true passion for riding came in second for a while. The only times when she experienced that sense of bliss, was on Meadow’s back for forty-five minutes a day. Those rides were enough to keep that fire going, the flames a beacon of light, leading the way to her dreams. Where in the past she doubted if she had what it takes to become a professional athlete, today she became sure that she can. On top of a horse is where she’s in her element, where she wants to spend her time, connecting with the animals that are her partners, and working her way towards the top of the sport. The ambition that has reached a new pinnacle is liberating, fueling her confidence. The less conservative outfit only fits that state of mind.

“Lookin’ great, Sis,” Jo comments appreciatively, when her friend walks out of her room while tying her hair up in a messy bun. “Hope you didn’t dress up for my cousin.” “Nope, this is for me,” she chirps, but then the message that might be behind her friend's statement dawns on her. “Why, though? Isn’t he joining us for dinner?” The blonde female wrangler shugs, shaking her head slightly to let her doubt be known. “Don’t think so. Haven’t seen him around yet.”

The familiar strain of concern that has been taunting Y/N for days instantly wraps around her throat. Dean hasn’t been out of his room at all? That can’t be good, right? “Mom checked on him at least half a dozen times. He’ll be fine, he just needs to catch up on some Z’s,” Jo assures as she intends to leave the bunkhouse, reading her friend like an open book. “Comin’?” “One second,” the cowgirl says, not at ease despite her best friend’s words of consolation.

Before she can decide that it’s a horrible idea to enter Dean’s private space uninvited, her hand reaches for the handle, pushing it down softly. Hoping not to disturb him, she carefully peeks around the door, allowing the soft rays from the living room to draw rectangular shapes on the wooden floor.

Where Jo wasn’t able to calm her nerves, the sight before here does exactly that. Dean is laying on his back, his right arm draped over his stomach, the other holding the covers up to his chest, which rises and falls calmly. His head is slightly angled towards her, comfortably cupped by the pillow underneath, the cotton having tousled his short hair. The unique pair of green eyes that she could pick out from a thousand sets of the same color are closed now, his facial muscles relaxed and his plump lips slightly parted. Cute, soft snores interrupt the quiet, the soothing sound making Y/N smile fondly.

She tried hating him, but it didn’t take her long for her to understand that she could never carry such anger for the man that will always have a place in her heart. Partly because it’s not in her nature to hold a grudge against someone who she cares about, but she would be fooling herself if she denied there was more to it. The simple reason why she can’t stop loving the cowboy, is because she’s not ready to give up on what they had. Dean might have cut her loose, yet she feels that without the man who she belongs to by her side, she will never be free.

Without making a sound, Y/N pulls the timber barrier back towards the door frame, but doesn’t close it. Instead, she leaves it open just a crack, a thin ribbon of hopeful light still reaching into the darkness.

Dean needs a minute or two to wake up from what feels like a coma. He remains unmoved, slowly becoming aware of his surroundings again. What time is it? Then a better question arises; what day is it?

Not wanting to leave his warm and comfortable bed, he turns on his side with a low groan. The movements have his body protest slightly, but the nausea and the headache seem to have subsided, at least in his current position.

Faded memories begin to push to the surface. The cowboy barely remembers dropping down on the mattress, unconsciousness taking him out before he could properly get settled. At a certain point during his sleep, a nightmare started creating havoc again. He can’t entirely recall what happened in that dream, but Sam was there. In that strange world inside his mind, Jo was added to the mix too, blood dripping from her broken arm, as Bobby ripped him a new one for not watching his daughter. Somewhere during the waterfall of hurtful words, his uncle’s face morphed into his father’s, but before John threw the first punch, he woke with Ellen on his bedside. She was sweetly stroking his cheek, hushing him until his breathing calmed, tucking him in again as if he was still a little boy. Not that he minded; having his aunt there actually took away the anxiety that chased shivers up and down his spine, and so he allowed her to mother him. They didn’t say anything, no words needed, her kind eyes enough to assure him that things were going to be okay. The soothing motions of her fingers running through his hair must have lulled him to sleep, because he doesn’t have any recollection of her leaving.

For the first time in days, his heart doesn’t beat out of his ribcage right after waking up. The slow, rhythmical thud in his chest is a welcome change, and he even dares to claim that he feels rested. No wonder, because when he finally opens his eyes, he notices that the room is dark, despite that the curtains are slightly opened. Somewhat disoriented, he realizes it must be after sundown. The door that is left ajar gives a streak of light coming from the ceiling light in the living area just enough space to sneak in. A glance at the clock confirms that it’s evening already, 8.30 PM to be precise. The wrangler carefully sits up and rubs at his face while calculating how long he has been under. He went back to bed around a quarter past seven, so that gives him over thirteen hours of sleep.

Dean huffs, muttering to himself. “Apparently I needed it.”

Sounds coming from outside bleed into the silence, Garth’s giggle and Benny’s roaring laughter mixing with Jo’s voice, his cousin telling a story he can’t quite make out. Country music plays softly, caps popping off their bottles, and glass clinking. He guesses the crew has settled down on the front porch, enjoying the cool evening before heading to bed. Feeling ten times better than he did this morning, the wrangler who was absent all day swings his legs over the edge of the bed and rises to his feet, gathering a comfortable sweater, a pair of sweatpants and a bundle of socks. He freshens up quickly and gets dressed, exiting his room to join the fun.

“Well, look who it is!” Jo quips when her cousin pushes the fly curtain aside and steps onto the wooden deck. “If it isn’t Sleeping Beauty.” “Just to get you up to speed, Chief. It’s the year 2008, George Bush is still president, and the New York Giants won the Super Bowl,” Benny teases his best friend, his baby blue eyes mischievous. “Yeah yeah yeah…” Dean mutters in response, his lips pulling upward nonetheless. After the hibernation he just woke up from, he was expecting a few jokes to come his way. “Just pass me the tortilla chips, I’m starving.”

He hesitates slightly before he sits down on the couch, the only available seat next to his former girlfriend. She smiles warmly at him, however, and so he sees no harm in occupying the spot by her side, the kindness that she’s radiating telling him that she’s okay with it.

“I’ve got somethin’ better. Mom saved you left overs,” Jo announces, climbing out of the large bean bag, only using one arm to push herself up. “Be right back.” “What did she make?” Dean wonders, speaking loud enough for the blonde cowgirl to hear him as she ambles inside. Her words are muffled by the bang of the refrigerator door closing. “Pulled pork!”

Dean’s mouth instantly begins to water. Ellen’s famous dish sounds like a gift from heaven right about now, because he hasn’t eaten in over twenty-four hours. The smell that floats onto the deck as Jo heats up his dinner makes his stomach growl, and Y/N sniggers at the rumble. He glances aside to meet her gaze and huffs a laugh, watching her with delight. God, it’s good to hear that joyful sound again.

For a short second, the cowboy takes her in, glad to witness a sparkle in her eyes that shines brighter than she stars above. She didn’t bother with makeup tonight, and her hair is tied in a messy bun, locks escaping the elastic band. The loosely fitted white top - which is decorated with embroidery on her shoulders and neckline - suits her well, endorsing her skin. She seems relaxed and content, and in a way, it surprises him. A sense of bittersweet pride settles in his chest. Less than a week ago, he broke her heart, and look at her now. She got back up, squared her shoulders and carried on, just like he hoped she would. It’s a confirmation that letting her go was the right thing to do, no matter how much it hurt him then and still does at this very moment.

“What?” she wonders, chuckling, noticing Dean staring. “Nothin.” He shakes his head, the endearing smile not wavering. “You look good.”

The compliment surprises both the pronouncer and the receiver, the words hovering between them before either of them reacts. For a second the wrangler is afraid that the unexpected yet sincere comment will make things awkward again, but Y/N proves the latter.

“Can’t say the same about you,” she mocks playfully, hinting at the injury on the side of his face. “Gee, thanks,” he scoffs. They share a laugh as she gently bumps her shoulder into his, careful not to add to the bruising.

“How were the horses?” Dean asks, interested. “Amazing! I had such a blast riding all of them,” she beams, turning to him and excited to share her experiences. “I mean, it was a lot of work and I’m sure I won’t be able to get out of bed in the morning because of the muscle ache, but I learned so much. I can’t believe how sensitive they are to even the smallest cue, they are all so well-trained. You’ve got to teach me how you do that. Santana especially was a dream!”

Y/N continues to tell about her day, how riding the different horses made her realize that this is what she wants to do for the rest of her life. Not stuck behind a desk between stacks of case files, but in the saddle, like the head wrangler encouraged her to do from day one. The interaction between them is casual, without strain or reluctance. Relief washes over Dean, because despite the painful split, they are here once again. Back to where it all started; enjoying each other’s company and having a good time after a long day, beer on the table, music in the air.

Mesmerized, the cowboy listens to her stories, counting his blessings as he does. Y/N is still a part of his life and will be for the duration of her internship. Who knows, maybe they will keep in touch beyond the dreadful day that she will leave the ranch. Their romantic relationship came crashing down by his doing, yet thankfully, they were able to salvage their friendship. That crucial part might have a few dents and is going to need maintenance, but it still works. Looking back at the wreckage, that’s more than Dean could ever ask for.

Thank you for reading. I appreciate every single one of you, but if you do want to give me some extra love, you are free to like or reblog my work, shoot me a message or buy me coffee (Link to Kofi in bio at the top of the page).

Read chapter 29 here

#Ride With Me #Dean x Reader #Dean Winchester series #Dean series #cowboy!dean au

103 notes · View notes

bakedbananners · 3 years ago

Note

okay but do you have any more tj cowboy thoughts?

I have some I guess, yeah

Firstly, I think if he were to have lived after the American Civil War, he would have gone westward. I could definitely see TJ deciding to take his gun and work as a ranch hand. It offered a lot of personal freedom and quietude, and was one of the less discriminatory fields of work.

He takes a pseudonym or is given a nickname or something and starts going by that instead. That tended to happen in the Old West lol.

IDK for what ranch I’d want him to work on, somewhere in Texas, Arizona, or California probably lol

He’d get his own horse and it would be his best friend, IDK what he’d name it tho lol.

I think he’d befriend a lot of Mexican vaqueros while working and they teach him a lot about the profession and culture and that’s how he also learns Spanish

They’re not really connected since the Fierros are from Tlatilco which is wayyy more south of the present-day border and probably weren’t connected to vaquero working in the US but omg. imagine TJ and one of Alex’s great-great-whatever-parents becoming buddies hshdjnvcknsjd

and he befriends plenty of Native people working in the ranching field, too! Either working for a Native ranch like the White Mountain Apache or is employed with many Native coworkers

I could see TJ gaining enough skill to become a rodeo performer too honestly. He seems like a guy who can pick things up quickly, and since he never refuses a challenge he’d probably thrive in that high-adrenaline, showy environment lol.

He just tends to get into competitions and usually wins, at poker or shooting or riding or wrangling etc lmao

Thinking about making an OC based on Stagecoach Mary, a Black girl sharpshooter who protects mail stagecoaches from animals and bandits and the two occasionally meet along trails and stuff and become friends and maybe fall in love or something 😳

Also thinking of making said OC a demigod, a daughter of Ullr maybe who’s a part-time bounty hunter or something and she dies and goes to Valhalla too IDK!!! IDK! It sounds like a fun concept though lol

#the American old West is…. complicated! to say the least!#this took a while BC I was reading some interesting articles about it lol #magnus chase #mcga #thomas jefferson jr #riordanverse #me talking #ask

43 notes · View notes

thechanelmuse · 2 years ago

Photo

Black American Cowboy and Rodeo Culture in Arizona

#black american culture #black cowboys #black cowgirls #black rodeo #arizona black rodeo

230 notes · View notes

sofia-silva · 2 years ago

Photo

general:

Name: Sofia Silva Age: 39 years old Birthdate: Dec. 4th, 1983. ☼ Sagittarius ☾ Sagittarius ↗ Scorpio Born: Bradford Springs, CO Occupation: Rancher, Owner of Silver Spur ranch Likes: horses, travelling, new adventures, last minute decisions, learning new skills, bourbon, leather, dancing, chevy trucks, dodge chargers, sleeping in, expensive red wine, reading, family, taking care of people she loves Dislikes: too much structure, not having money, social injustice, anger, black vans, feeling trapped, ford trucks, corporate ranches Good Qualities: hardworking, caring, determined Bad Qualities: flighty, gullible, evasive Orientation: bisexual

grew up in bradford springs, sibling to @lol-silva and @diego-silva

family has a ranch, three generations old, they train, breed, and sell race and competitive horses primarily

was a rodeo star, barrel racing from teenage years to early twenties when she got an injury that forced her to quit. she still sometimes walks with a limp.

travelled a lot, spent a good chunk of time in new york city where she was in a relationship with quinlan kelly and roman mendez

she had a son, tristin kelly, though she doesn’t know whether it’s quinlan’s or roman’s - for the sake of all of them, she never tested to find out and just said he was quinlan’s.

crazy stuff went down, she couldn’t handle the crime side of the kelly life and she fled to arizona where she met kenzie and koda - she stayed there until her father got sick and she came home

windy hills ranch is trying to buy her family ranch and she’s trying to stop them, but she’s in a mess of debt and can’t figure a way to get out. plus judd coleman has city council and law enforcement wrapped around his finger making it harder for her

open for all connections, wc page coming eventually

BIO - PINTEREST

#bsco.intro #pinned.#character study.

4 notes · View notes

isawken · 1 year ago

Text

haha heyyyyy jesties

this year has been rough stuff. and the problem is nothing life shattering has happened so i don’t even get to have a spectacular mental breakdown. it’s just been a lot of grind and disappointment and struggle to keep up or have any energy to do anything other than the bare minimum. to everyone who reached out to me with love or kindness or memes and waited weeks or more for a response i love you. and i’m so sorry for my total absence of personhood. i’ve never gotten a dm even if it’s just a silly post and an “i thought of you” that i didn’t like. and your patience with me is appreciated more than you know.

i have some stuff i want to work on. some hobbies i want to pick up again. some friendships i want to recultivate. some pieces of my life i want to try to rekindle. i used to have so much creative energy and impulse. did you know i used to make zines? i fuckin loved making zines. the tactile experience of cutting up thick paper and punching holes and using thread to bind em and filling it with vague thoughts and little collages and splashes of acrylic paint. that shit ruled. about a month ago i tried making one for the first time in years. i cut up some old paper and dusted off the ol' hole punch. this time instead of my usual embroidery thread i used necklace chain to bind it. i was proud of that idea. when it came time to put stuff in it i choked. i had no creative thought. i forced myself to cover the first page with orange and yellow crayola markers. but that was it. i had nothing other than that. just hasty sloppy color thoughtlessly and restlessly thrown down. a dull background promised to a more interesting foreground that never came.

that shit did not rule.

in 1883 in pecos texas the first recorded rodeo takes place. in 2001 rob smets attends the PBR world finals in jeans and a sports jersey bearing sponsor logos. in 1780 joseph grimaldi makes his stage debut at 2 years old at london’s famed drury lane. in the many, many years before any white person ever laid eyes on it, a man in what you’d now call northern arizona paints his body in black and white stripes and puts corn husks in his hair. in 1557 ivan the terrible acts as pallbearer to a man who walked naked in the streets of moscow, even in the dead of winter. 1568 the gelosi acting company coalesces in italy to perform the hot new style of live improv entertainment. in 2017 the ringling bro’s circus performs its last show, 146 years after the titular brothers first formed it. all of these moments (and more!) live in my head rolling around like marbles and one day i’ll tell you all why.

i’ve been on mood stabilizers for so long it’s hard for me to tell if this has just been a really long depressive swing or if this is just how i am now. if this is just what getting older is like. i don’t really think it is. i am like 90% sure this will not last. but the two questions that follow are always 1. how do i get out of it, and 2. what if it is tho xD?

i recently went down to southeastern ohio to visit my family. went up the mountain at 1 am saturday night to help my gramma grab the 8 year old boy she’s been helping to take care of from his strung out mother. the next day i saw my various other relations, aunts and cousins however many times removed. i hung out with my second cousin. same age as me, with two twin girls, 4 years old. she’s a great mom. and enjoys it, too. got a decent husband with a good job. obviously i don’t know her struggles. not like we talk often. but she seemed overall pleased when she spoke about her life. i told her about my work from home job and my loving partner of 8 years and my plans for the future. she told me i was living the dream. and like. i kind of am. so why do i wake up every morning in various states of hangover (it's the mental illness)

i live in one of the cloudiest cities in these united states. my house is about 500 square feet. it’s dark at 5pm now. i already miss the sun. i want to get sunburned again. i want to be sweaty. i want to put talcum powder in my skort. i want to get through this winter without having to rub snow on my face to stave off more serious impulses. i want to check the 5 items off my to do list.

all of my want is like a song stuck in my head.

i miss that stickbug meme

i should dress up like a clown again

maybe tomorrow i’ll just lay under my weighted blanket for 5 hours

or maybe i’ll actually do something i like to do and feel good and real and human about it. who knows. only time will tell. and in the meantime. thanks if you read this <3

#hi and welcome to my bi-yearly Personal Rambling Long Post #a serious big fr thank u to those of you who are patient when i dont respond for long stretches of time. it means the world to me :o)

10 notes · View notes

gagosiangallery · 4 years ago

Text

Gagosian at Frieze New York

April 13, 2021

FRIEZE NEW YORK Rachel Feinstein and Ewa Juszkiewicz

May 5–9, 2021 The Shed, 545 West 30th Street, New York Booth B7 __________ Gagosian is pleased to announce its participation in Frieze New York at the Shed, the first in-person art fair of 2021 in the United States, with sculptures by Rachel Feinstein and paintings by Ewa Juszkiewicz. Inspired by Baroque and Rococo sculpture, religious iconography, Romantic landscapes, and popular culture, Feinstein explores taste and desire, synthesizing elegance and kitsch. Having once visited the Nymphenburg Porcelain Manufactory in Munich, she later located an online image of Rococo sculptor Franz Anton Bustelli’s commedia dell’arte figurines, posed on unique shell-like pedestals. In response, she worked with the legendary factory to produce scaled-up majolica porcelain versions of the pedestals. In Feinstein’s works, viewers can imagine taking the place of the commedia dell’arte characters and trying on their removable porcelain shoes for size. The sensual abstract forms of Chinoiserie, Corine, and Mezzetino (all 2018), titled after Bustelli figurines, suggest the human form through its conscious omission. Built to the scale of Feinstein’s own body, they allude to the greatness of the Rococo era and the demise of European high craftsmanship. Corine was included—along with Octavio, another sculpture from the same series—in Feinstein’s exhibition Secrets at Gagosian Beverly Hills in 2018; all four works were installed in Regent’s Park for Frieze London later the same year. Corine was also featured in Feinstein’s recent major survey exhibition, Maiden, Mother, Crone, at the Jewish Museum, New York. Juszkiewicz’s meticulously precise oil portraits also draw on traditions of classical European painting—her sources date from the Renaissance through the nineteenth century—but with added touches of the surreal, the fantastical, and the grotesque. By obscuring her subjects’ faces—a strategy that recalls René Magritte’s painting Le fils de l’homme (The Son of Man) (1964)—she deconstructs conventional ideals of feminine beauty to evoke the suppression of female identity that permeates the Western canon. In five new paintings, Juszkiewicz “paraphrases” portraits by Johann Ender, Rembrandt Peale, Joseph Karl Stieler, and Elisabeth Louise Vigée Le Brun, rendering richly colored leaves and flowers—mixed with hair, wigs, and heavy fabrics—in startling detail. The resultant hybrid figures teeter between reserve and uninhibitedness, nature and culture, human and nonhuman. They relocate—as do Feinstein’s sculptures—the ghosts of women past firmly in the present. Rachel Feinstein was born in 1971 in Fort Defiance, Arizona, and lives and works in New York. Collections include the Lever House Art Collection, New York; RISD Museum, Providence, RI; Los Angeles County Museum of Art; and Hall Art Foundation, Reading, VT. Solo exhibitions include Tropical Rodeo, Le Consortium, Dijon, France (2006); The Snow Queen, Lever House, New York (2011); Folly, Madison Square Park, New York (2014); and a survey exhibition, Maiden, Mother, Crone, Jewish Museum, New York (2019–20). Group exhibitions include The Americans: New Art, Barbican Art Gallery, London (2001); Candyland Zoo, Herbert Read Gallery, Kent Institute of Art and Design, Canterbury, England (2004); Something About Mary, The Metropolitan Opera, New York (2009); The Little Black Dress, SCAD Museum of Art, Savannah, GA (2013); L’Almanach 14, Le Consortium, Dijon, France (2014); and No Longer / Not Yet, Minsheng Art Museum, Shanghai (2015). Ewa Juszkiewicz was born in 1984 in Gdańsk, Poland, and lives and works in Warsaw. Collections include Muzeum Sztuki Nowoczesnej w Warszawie, Warsaw; Muzeum Narodowe w Gdańsku, Gdańsk, Poland; Zachęta Sztuki Współczesnej w Szczecinie, Szczecin, Poland; Towarzystwo Zachęty Sztuk Pięknych w Olsztynie, Olsztyn, Poland; and Galeria Bielska BWA, Bielsko-Biała, Poland. Solo and two-person exhibitions include How It Is, Asks Agnisia, That We See a Teddy Bear in the Painting, Otwarta Pracownia, Krakow, Poland (2011); Rosamunde, the Princess of Cyprus, Centrum Kultury Katowice, Poland (2012); Things We Don’t Talk About, Bałtycka Galeria Sztuki Współczesnej, Słupsk, Poland (2013); Descent Beckons, Galeria Bielska BWA, Bielsko-Biała, Poland (2015); and Giacinto Cerone | Ewa Juszkiewicz, Cabinet, Milan, Italy (2019). To receive a PDF with detailed information on the works, please contact the gallery at [email protected] attend the fair, purchase tickets at frieze.com/fairs. _____ Left: Rachel Feinstein, Corine, 2018, majolica, 51 1/4 × 37 3/8 × 49 1/4 inches (130 × 95 × 125 cm), 1 of 4 unique versions © Rachel Feinstein. Photo: Jeff McLane. Right: Ewa Juszkiewicz, Untitled (after Elisabeth Vigée Le Brun), 2021, oil on canvas, 63 × 47 1/4 inches (160 × 120 cm) © Ewa Juszkiewicz

#Frieze Art Fair #Rachel Feinstein #Ewa Juszkiewicz #Gagosian

3 notes · View notes

desertislandcloud · 4 years ago

Video

youtube

A desperado of modern culture, DEVORA, bridges outlaw country melodies with dark pop hooks drawing you into her surrealist western world.

Raised in the desert of Arizona, DEVORA draws her inspiration from her roots, growing up around desert creatures in a western town, experiencing the sinister lawless side of desert life, and the characters she’s met along the way. In her modern goth-western vignettes she conjures images of ghost towns, dark rodeos, the haunted desert, abandoned motel rooms, skylines on fire, the open road and reckless tales of love and loss in a modern wild west.

A rebel at heart, DEVORA has always taken the road less travelled and her reputation precedes her. Singing and writing since she was a small child, music comes second nature to her, as she was continuously writing short stories and poetry while growing up in a small desert town. Eventually, she began to draw on the stories, encounters, strange themes and adventures occurring in her life by turning them into songs. With favourite pastimes such as hanging out in graveyards, exploring and travelling to bizarre places (she speaks fluent French and is of 100% Russian descent ), studying medical textbooks and philosophy, DEVORA is an eccentric independent spirit who marches to the beat of her own drum.

Coining the genre, “Outlaw pop”, DEVORA weaves visual soundscapes from a moody surrealist wild-west dream world. Tales of eerie backroad encounters, route 66, neon-laden casinos, Silver City sunsets and midnight bandits are all intricately enmeshed with strong visceral imagery and cinematic scenes straight out of the ‘dark side’ of the American southwest. Owning the road as her home, DEVORA’s fierce femme fatale spirit trailblazers the way for a new frontier in contemporary culture.

DEVORA is not just music, but an immersive multimedia artistic experience of the Wild West, re-imagined in 2020. It’s not her story, but all of our stories, to choose and be immersed in your own adventure; to harness your own inner outlaw. Her latest release ‘Not Dead Yet,’ celebrates life in the fast lane, while marking the beginnings of a wild expedition ahead, and the spiritedness of riding off into a pitch-black sunset.

LInks https://www.instagram.com/devoramusicxo/ https://www.facebook.com/devoramusicxo https://twitter.com/devoramusicxo

#youtube #newmusic #alternative #americana #rock #goth #western

3 notes · View notes

my-funky-little-cowboy · 4 years ago

Text

YEEHAWGUST DAY 15 - QUEEN OF THE RODEO

Characters: Selina “Black” and Clemson Gomez Words: 2,450 Warnings: None, These are my OCs, finally getting some backstory...so it’s long

It was always the same in those final moments before the gate opened, the calm before the storm, the anticipation building between them in the stall. She tightened her grip in the horse’s mane as the gate flew open and the horse rushed out, bucking wildly to throw her from his back. She leaned back to match the buck, her heels digging the spurs into the horse’s shoulders, riding with the buck instead of fighting it. Her hand twisting tighter into the horse’s mane, the other raised high above her head.

The announcer’s voice was barely audible over the crowd. “We can see where Silver Bullet gets its name as he shoots from the stall carrying our only woman rider, Selina Black!”

Selina felt the drop coming, the tension in the bronco’s back building as it lurched forward, kicking its rear legs far into the air. Instinctively she dug her legs into its flanks, her fist pushing back into its neck, the mane still threaded through her fingers. Her elbow buckled as Silver Bullet reared back his head and her eyes widened, fear flooding through her as she lost control for a moment her body rocking forward and her face smashing into the horse’s neck.

The momentum of the horse throwing her head back, her balance lost as she fought the rhythm of the buck. Her fingers tightened on the mane, locking her arm, she squeezed her thighs and tried to match the flow again.

Selina’s thighs burned as she tried to hold herself in place, she felt herself slipping and her eyes flashed with fear.

Shit.

The horse reared again, heaving heavily, a last ditch effort to throw the woman from his back. This was her chance to regain her balance, she thought. Pushing herself off the bronco’s back, she pressed her knees into Silver Bullet’s flanks with the last of her strength. Selina pushed her fist farther into the air and the crowd erupted with cheers, a smile flashed across her face.

The horse had started to settle, his strength giving way, the jumps and bucks more manageable. She adjusted her position and pulled back on the mane with her hand, working to direct the horse. He jerked his head from her, jumping in desperation, she dug her heels in and pulled the horse’s head back.

“And that’s it folks! Selina has stopped this bullet!”

The crowd exploded, cheering loudly. Selina dropped her hand, giving the horse’s neck a gentle pat, whispering a thank you to the nervous animal as she led him around the ring and out of the arena.

A rope slipped around Silver Bullet’s neck as they exited and Selina slid off the horse’s back, the stablehand leading the horse off to the stables. She followed them slowly, the adrenaline wearing off, her pace slowed.

The voice behind her made her jump. “That was a close one, Miss Selina.” The man held out his canteen to her.

She took the canteen and drank greedily, handing it back to him. “Thanks. Yeah, I was sure I was gonna get thrown.”

“There’s bound to be a first time for everything.”

She waved him off. “Clem, you know that ain’t true. I’ve been thrown plenty. You competing today?”

They wandered closer to the barn, finding a spot under a tree, away from the intense heat of the Arizona sun. Clem leaned heavily against the tree and scratched his chin.

“Yeah, I’m in for this new event they have,” He smiled. “They said I’d be perfect for it. Something called steer wrestling.”

“You ain’t serious? Steer wrestling?! Clem, that sounds awful dangerous. How much it payin’?”

“They said they was payin’ ten dollars to anyone willin’ to try. Seventy-five if you do it in the shortest time.”

“Clem! Please tell me you at least tried to ask for more?” Selina crossed her arms over her chest. Her brow furrowed as he shook his head no. “Clem…”

He smiled awkwardly. “It seemed like a good offer. It’s new, a chance to make a name for myself.”

Selina shifted her weight, still not impressed. Clem pushed off the tree, his expression sheepish as he held out his arms. She sighed and shook her head, stepping forward he wrapped his arms around her.

“Ten dollars? Who gets that if you get killed?” Selina grumbled into his chest. He squeezed her gently and let his hands slide down her shoulders, pulling her gently back.

“You worry too much, I’ll be fine. I always am!”

“Well, I’m worrying for two of us.” Her eyes softened and she shook off his hands. “Promise me, if you do this again you’ll at least ask for more money.”

Clem gave her a half-smile. “I promise.”

She turned, pausing briefly she looked over her shoulder. “One more thing...you better win.”

Clem laughed. “You know I will Miss Selina.”

-- ✩ --

She was always looking out for him, he thought. it had been almost eight months since she had shown up in town, a number of wild horses in tow, looking to offload them. He had been working odd jobs around the town for a couple months and seen a number of people blow through, but he couldn’t help but notice her.

She stuck around for nearly a week, had worked out some deal with a rancher to bring in some horses. It was her third night in town, when she worked up the courage to go to the saloon.

The dark circles under her eyes were off putting, at best she could hope that someone would think she was a lunger. Brushing her hair behind her ear she settled her hat back on her head, she needed to find someone to help her, the rancher had asked her for twenty-five horses, and she had needed the money, so she accepted. But it had been four days and she hadn’t found more than seven horses in the area.

Selina stepped into the saloon, the bar was lively with music and workers drinking away their day wages. She dropped a coin on the bar, ordering a whiskey, feeling the eyes on her as she threw back the shot.

“Ain’t polite to stare.” She said, glancing over at the young man at the end of the bar.

His face flushed red and his eyes fell to the bar top. “Sorry, ain’t mean nothing by it.”

He stood up and moved closer. He was a big kid, she watched him closely. Her hand moving to the sawed off shotgun settled across her lap. His expression changed as he turned his attention to the man next to her.

“Move.” His voice was icy and a chill ran down her spine.

His presence next to her was intimidating, his size alone would have been enough but gone was the embarrassed young man she had just caught staring, replaced by this capable and intimidating force.

She pulled back the hammer on the shotgun, her eyes locked on this stranger. The man next to her taking no time to slide down the bar and make room for the stranger. Who quietly leaned over the bar, turning his back to the stranger, the smile reappeared on his face.

“I’m Clemson Gomez.” He held his hand out to her. “I seen you around, you’re the one bringin’ Mr. Forrester some new horses.”

She looked up at his face, the innocent smile seemed sincere enough, and she cautiously took his hand. “Selina.”

“Nice to meet you Miss Selina. You gonna be stayin’ in town a while?” Selina’s eyes shifted from his face, the hairs on the back of her neck rose, scanning the room behind him.

“No offense, but i don’t know you.”

He chuckled and shook his head, as if this was news to him. “Right, yeah. That’s fair.” He held his hands up defensively. “Just seemed like you could use some company, being new and all.”

“I ain’t interested in...company.” She hissed, anger bubbling in her.

He stared at her blankly, seemingly confused by her denial of his offer of friendship. “Oh. No! You see, I just heard you were expectin’ to bring in twenty-five horses, thought you could use a hand.”

Selina’s face scrunched in confusion. “You’re talkin’ about work?” She rubbed her eyes and waved down the bartender, ordering another shot of whiskey.

“Leave the bottle, Mr. Saddler.” Clem said, leaving a couple coins on the counter. “And another glass, please.”

The bartender nodded and left the bottle, returning a moment later and placing a fresh shot glass in front of Clem.

“Listen, I ain’t the best at conversation, but you sure as hell look like you could use some help. I seen you around the last couple days, and no offense, it’s just twenty-five horses is a lot of horses, ‘specially for one person.” He poured himself a shot and drained the glass.

Selina eyed him as he brought the glass back to the counter, picking up the bottle he shook it gently at her. She looked him over. The warmth of his smile was disarming and she nodded slightly, throwing back her own shot, she pushed her glass toward him.

He filled their glasses and placed the bottle back on the counter, raising his glass to her. She offered him cheers and drained the glass, setting it on the bar.

“So what, you’re just some helpful nobody?” Suspicion peppered her voice. “Who do you work for?”

Clem leaned back and rubbed his chin. “Work for? Whoever pays me, I guess.”

“They sent mercenaries? I didn’t expect that.” Selina grabbed the bottle and filled her glass again, taking the shot.

“Huh?”

“You ain’t foolin’ me, no one is that helpful.” She slid her hand back onto the stock of the shotgun. “So you best choose your next words real carefully.” She clicked back the hammer on the gun, not trying to be quiet, her eyes locked on Clem.

He sighed, his eyes flicking to her lap, before he met her eyes again. “You in some trouble?” Genuine concern crossed his face and Selina faltered again.

She couldn’t get a read on him, there was no way that he could be that obtuse. Could he? She lowered the hammer on the shotgun, her eyes still sharp on him. She let his question hang.

He leaned forward, slowly, lowering his voice, he repeated his question. “Miss, you ain’t in some kind of trouble, are you? You need some help?”

She was floored. The man really was honestly just one of those helpful sorts. She couldn’t help herself, she found herself smiling back at this man, the concern on his face deepened with her smile.

“Yeah, I really could use some.” She shook her head, offering him her hand. “You’re an interesting sort, I think we could help each other out.”

Clem paused for a moment, but he had a feeling that she would make his life a lot exciting. He accepted her hand, smile breaking across his face.

“So, about these horses…”

-- ✩ --

Selina leaned nervously against the wall, her heart in her chest as the gate flew open and the steer rushed out, and she climbed up onto the wall as Clem’s stallion rushed out the gate, giving chase to the steer. She cheered loudly as he quickly caught up to the steer.

“Git ‘em Clementine!”

He launched himself at the bull, looking to knock the bull of its balance, he forced his shoulder into the steer’s flank, wrapping his arm under its neck he dug his boots into the soft dirt of the arena. The bull pushed on, digging Clem’s boots deeper and deeper into the soft earth.

He had to get the animal to the ground, he repositioned his hand, grabbing the horn and turning it sharply toward the ground, letting his legs fall out from under him and using his weight to pull the steer’s head to the floor.

The pain surged through him as the hoof made contact with his rib, but he held his grip, twisting harder, pulling the horn closer to the ground. It worked, the bull lost its footing and stumbled to the ground. He pushed himself up and onto the bull’s flank as the other rodeo staff rushed to help restrain it.

He stood up and threw his fist into the air as the crowd roared, the pain seared through his chest as he lifted the fist above his head but the adrenaline kept him from dwelling on it. He moved slowly out of the arena, each step becoming more painful and he could no longer deny that he had probably broken a rib.

Selina dropped off the wall as Clem made his way out of the arena. He leaned against the wall as she walked up, the exhaustion catching up with him.

“That was amazing!” She exclaimed.

He chuckled, her smile was contagious and he found himself smiling through the pain. “Told you I’d be fine.”

“I’m still not happy that you put yourself through that for only a guarantee of ten bucks.” She gently punched his arm. “Sometimes you need to think about if the money is worth it.”

“That’s why I got you.”

Selina huffed at him. “You know that charm don’t work on me.”

“No harm in tryin’.” He shrugged, wincing slightly at the pain. His hand instinctively went to his ribs.

Selina’s brow furrowed and she moved closer, her hand reaching out, stopped gently by Clem’s free hand.

“I’ll be fine, just got kicked, it’s just a little bruise.”

“Clem…” Selina sighed.

“I ain’t dead.” He offered, casting his eyes down to the ground.

She pulled her hand back from him, easily breaking his gentle grip. She opened her mouth to argue and the announcer cut her off.

“Well, we saw some pretty impressive riders, and we want to thank all our competitors who came out today! Our judges have been calculating the score and we have had some upsets for sure.

Selina looked back toward the arena and then back to Clem and the announcers continued, calling out the various winners from each of the categories.

“And our newest event, Cattle Wrestling…” They turned their attention to the announcers, ”...and in first place, Clemson Gomez!”

Clem’s jaw fell slack and Selina’s arms wrapped his neck, pulling him into a hug. “You did it, Clem!”

“There was definitely an upset today for our bronc riders, folks. Competing for the first time in our arena, our first place rider, who proved to be quite a woman, Selina Black, our true rodeo queen!”

Clem laughed, standing up, he wrapped his free arm around her, spinning them both around.. “We did it, rodeo queen!”

#yeehawgust #my ocs #weird i'm writing for them #selina's last name isn't black...but she had to give them something...and it couldn't be gomez #cowboys #rodeo #hyde tries writing #rdo oc #clem is gonna have words with her about his 'nickname'

4 notes · View notes

notesonfilm1 · 4 years ago

Text

Burt Lancaster got his contract with Hal B. Wallis at Paramount on the basis of a test directed by Byron Haskin with Wendell Corey and Lizabeth Scott for Desert Fury. Lucky for him, the film was not ready to shoot for another six months and he was able to fit in Robert Siodmak’s The Killers(1946) for producer Mark Hallinger at Universal beforehand. Desert Fury started shooting two weeks before the release of The Killers but there were already whisperings of Lancaster as a big new star, and the whisperings were so loud that Hallinger gave him first billing and a big publicity build-up rather than the little ‘and introducing….’ title at the end of the credits that was then typical, and is indeed the billing offered Wendell Corey in Desert Fury as you can see in the poster above. Before Desert Fury started shooting, Hal Wallis knew he had a big fat star on his hands and that his part had to be beefed up so as to capitalise on it.

By the time the film was released on September 24th, 1947,, Burt Lancaster was the biggest star in the film. The Killers hit screens on the 29th of August 1946. As Kate Buford writes, Ít was an extraordinary debut for a complete unknown. Overnight he was a star with a meteoric rise ¨faster than Gable´s, Garbo´s or Lana Turner,¨as Cosmopolitan said years later (Buford, loc 1260). In New York the movie, ‘played twenty-four hours a day at the Winter Garden theatre, ‘where over 120,000 picture-goers filled the 1,300 seat theatre in the first two weeks, figures Variety called “unbelievably sensational.”‘ Brute Force was the fourth film Lancaster made, after I Walk Alone, but it was the second to be released, on June 30th 1947. According to Kate Buford, it too ‘set set first-week records at movie houses across the country’ (loc 1412).

Lancaster’s status as a star is reflected in the lobby card and poster above, where in spite of being billed third, what´s being sold is what Burt Lancaster already represented, the publicity materials giving a false impression that he is much more central to the narrative than is in fact the case. His image dominates in both, and even the tag lines are attributed to him: ‘I got a memory for faces…killer´s faces…Get away from my girl…and get going’, is the tagline in the lobby card. The text on the poster reads, ´Two men wanted her love…the third wanted her life.

In the ad below, he´s billed second, as ´the sensation of The Killers, Dynamite with the fuse lit’

When trying to recapture a past moment in relation to cinema, it´s often useful to look at trailers and other paratextual publicity materials. Trailers hold and try to disseminate the film´s promise to viewers. Of course, its purpose is to sell, to dramatise its attractions so that viewers will go see it. And of course, they often lie, dramatising not what is but what they hope will sell. That said, those promises, lies and hopes are often very revealing.

youtube

As you can see above, the trailer is selling melodrama — violent passions — in a magnificent natural setting filmed in Technicolor. Burt Lancaster’s name is only mentioned 39 second into the 1.41 trailer, after Lizabeth Scott with her strangeness and her defiance of convention and after John Hodiak with his secrets and coiled snakeyness. And Lancaster’s introduced as ‘hammer fisted’ Tom Hanson, erroneously giving the impression that this will be an action film. But note too that by the end of the trailer, Lancaster is given top billing.

According to Kate Buford, in Burt Lancaster: An American Life, Lancaster thought ‘Desert Fury would not have lunched anybody’, later ‘dismissing it as having ‘starred a station wagon’ (loc 1157). The film is really a series of triangles: Eddie (John Hodiak) and Tom (Burt Lancaster) are both in love with Paula (Lizabeth Scott), Fritzy (Mary Astor) has already had an affair with Tom who is currently pursuing an affair with her daughter Paula, Paula and Johnny (Wendell Corey) are both in love with Eddie etc. I have made a not-quite-video essay that nonetheless well illustrates the Johnny-Eddie-Paula triangle, surely one of the queerest of the classic period, which can be seen here:

Tom is really a fifth wheel in the narrative. But by the time the film started shooting, Burt Lancaster was already the biggest star in it. His part was beefed up to take his new status into account, scenes were added, According to Gary Fishgall, the film was based on a 1945 novel, Desert Town by Ramona Stewart, and ‘ Lancaster’s role was an amalgam of two of the novel’s characters: the embittered, sadistic deputy sheriff, Tom Hansen, and a likeable highway patrolman named Luke Sheridan. Neither character was romantically linked to Paula (p.55). But in the film, he ends up with Lizabeth Scott at the end. All these additions probably contributed to the film seeming so structurally disjointed.

In Desert Fury Tom, a former rodeo rider, just hangs around waiting for Paula to get wise to Eddie, leaving her enough rope to act freely, as he does with colts when taming them, but not enough so that she hangs herself, or so he thinks. Really, he’s extraneous. He gets to walk into the sunset with Paula at the end of the film but the film really ends once Paula and Fritzy kiss, on the lips. He certainly doesn’t get much to do during it, except for a couple of great scenes where Fritzy tries to buy him into marrying her daughter (above) and another bit of banter when she thinks he’s come to accept her offer (below). Mary Astor steals both scenes. In fact she steals everything. Every time she appears, her wit, weariness, intelligence, the intensity of her love for her daughter — she lifts the film to a level it probably doesn’t deserve to be in. But Lancaster is good. These are the only scenes in the film where he looks like he’s enjoying himself.

Tom is the closest the film has to a ´normal character’. Indeed, aside from the character he plays in All My Sons (1948) this is the closest he’d come to such a type during the whole of his period in film noir in the late 40s and which includes all of his films up to The Flame and the Arrow in 1950. Even in Variety Girl, which is an all-star comedy where he and Lizabeth Scott spoof the hardboiled characters they’re associated with, the surprise is that they’ve already created personas to spoof in such a short time (see below).

According to Fishgall, ‘Lancaster –billed third before the film’s title — acquitted himself well in the essentially thankless other man’ role. Still, if Desert Fury had marked his screen debut as originally planned, it is unlikely that he would have achieved stardom quite so quickly. Not only did the film lack the stylish impact of The Killers, but so did the actor. Without the smouldering intensity of the Swede and his first pictures’ moody black and white photography, he appeared to be more of a regular fellow, and guy-next-door types rarely become overnight sensations’ (p. 67).

In Desert Fury we’re told that unlike the drugstore cowboys who are now criticising him, Tom used to be the best rodeo rider there was but a while back, whilst wrestling a steer, he got thrown off and is now all busted up inside. Being ‘busted up inside’ is what all the characters Burt Lancaster plays in the late ’40s have in common. He thinks of returning to the rodeo all the time but knows he can never be as good. He used to be a champ, now all he can hope for is to be second best. He knows he ‘ain’t got what it takes anymore’. He’s in love with Paula and she knows it. But she doesn’t know what she wants. He think he does: ‘you’re looking for what I used to get when I rode in the rodeo. The kick of having people say “that’s a mighty special person” I’d like to get that kick again. Maybe I can get it with just one person saying it’. He will, but he’ll have to wait until the end of the movie.

But even in this, Lancaster doesn´t play entirely nicey-poo, true-blue, throughout, and his Tom is given moments of wanton bullying and cruelty where he gets to abuse Eddie just because he’s a cop and wants to. And it´s interesting that it´s that moment, which jives so well with the ´brute force´Lancaster was already known for, and which would attach itself to his persona for many a year, that is the one chosen for the trailer.

According to Robyn Karney, in Burt Lancaster: A Singular Man, ‘As the straightforward moral law officer in a small Arizona town who rescues the object of his affections from the dangerous clutches of a murderous professional gambler, Burt had little to do other than look strong, handsome and reliable. Despite Wallis’ much vaunted rewrites, the role of the Sheriff Tom Hanson remained stubbornly secondary and uninteresting, with the limelight focused on John Hodiak as the villain, fellow contract players Elizabeth Scott and Wendell Corey’ (p.31).

I mainly agree with Robyn Karney except for four points, two textual and stated above: the first is that even in this Lancaster is playing a failure, someone once a somebody that people talked about but now all busted up inside; the second is that that element of being ´busted up inside´leads to a longing that gets displaced onto Paula. If the rodeo is what made feel alive and gave him a reason to live before his accident, now it´s Paula, and the idea that she might also be an unobtainable goal leads to his outbursts of unprovoked violence towards the rival for his affections, Eddie (John Hodiak).

The other two points of interest are extra textual. Desert Fury is gloriously filmed by Charles Lang. A few years later, in Rope of Fury, Lang would film Lancaster as a beauty queen: eyelashes, shadows and smoke, lips and hair (see below):

Here, even with his pre-stardom teeth and his bird´s nest of a hairdo, Lancaster sets the prototype for the Malboro Man:

He looks good in technicolour, and Lang brings out the blue of his eyes:

More importantly, the film visualises him, for the first time, as Wester Hero, a genre that would become a mainstay of his career from Vengeance Valley (1951) right through Ulzana´s Raid (1972) and even onto Cattle Annie and Little Britches (1981):

Desert Fury was not well reviewed. According to the Daily Herald ‘The acting is first-class. But except for Mr. Lancaster as a speed cop, the characters in the Arizona town with their lavish clothes and luxury roadsters, are contemptible to the point of being more than slightly nauseating’ (cited in Hunter p. 27),

The Monthly Film Bulletin labelled the film a western melodrama, claiming, surprisingly, that ‘The vivid technicolor and grand stretches of burning Arizona desert give a certain air of reality to the film’. Hard for us to see this thrillingly melodramatic film, lurid, in every aspect, evaluated in the light of realism. The MFB continued with, ´This reality is however counteracted by the way in which the sharply defined, but extremely unnatural characters act. Everything is over dramatised, and the title is a mystery in that the desert is comparatively peaceful compared with the way the human beings behaved…Lizabeth Scott is suitably beautiful as Paula and Burt Lancaster suitably tough as Tom. (Jan 1, 1947, p. 139)

Thus, we can see that on the evidence above, the film was badly reviewed, Time magazine going so far as to call it, ‘impossible to take with a straight face’ (Buford, loc1293). But Burt Lancaster´s performance was either exempted from the criticism or its faults where attributed to the film rather than to himself. More importantly still, the film was a hit, Burt Lancaster´s third in a row. Finally, as I´ve discussed elsewhere, the film is now considered by many a kind of camp classic, a leading example of noir in technicolor as well as arguably the gayest film ever produced in the classic period.

José Arroyo

Burt Lancaster in Desert Fury: Third Film, Fifth Wheel Burt Lancaster got his contract with Hal B. Wallis at Paramount on the basis of a test directed by Byron Haskin with Wendell Corey and Lizabeth Scott for…

#Burt Lancaster #Desert Fury #Lewis Allen #Lizabeth Scott #melodrama #noir #post-war cinema #post-war stardom #stardom #Third Film Fifth Wheel #westerns

2 notes · View notes

katehuntington · 4 years ago

Text

Title: Ride With Me (part 24) Fandom: Supernatural Timeline: 2008 Pairing: Dean x Reader Word count: ±9400 words Summary series: Y/N is a talented horse rider who is on her way to become a professional. In order to convince her father that she deserves the loan needed to start her own farm, she goes to Arizona for six months, to intern at a ranch owned by Bobby and Ellen Singer. Her future is set out, but then she meets a handsome horseman, who goes by the name of Dean Winchester. A heartwarming series about a cowboy who falls for the girl, letting go of the past and the importance of family. Summary part 24: John’s presence at the horse show flips Dean’s world upside down, sending him a tailspin that could have serious consequences. Will Y/N and his friends be able to get through to him? Warnings series: NSFW, 18+ only! Fluff, angst, eventually smut. Swearing, smoking, alcohol intoxication, alcohol abuse. Mutual pining, heartbreak, slowburn. Crying, nightmares, childhood trauma. Description of animal abuse, domestic violence, mentions of addiction. Financial problems, stress, mental breakdown. Description of blood and injury, hospital scenes, character death, grief. Music: How Do You Get ‘Em Back - David Ramirez. Follow ‘Kate Huntington’s Ride With Me playlist’ on Spotify! Author’s note: Thank you @atc74, and @winchest09 for helping me. Also a special thanks to @jules-1999, who has offered me her knowledge about rodeo events like these, and @squirrelnotsam, who knows Arizona like the back of her hand. Guys, this is going to be a heavy one. 9.3K of angst. If you are invested in this story, I suggest you’ll have the tissues ready before you start reading. Godspeed.

Ride With Me Masterlist

“Hello, son.”

Only two words, but it’s more than Dean has heard his father say in a long while. The simple greeting lingers between them, like smog polluting the air, stealing his breath. A force of habit the cowboy assumed was long forgotten has him square his shoulders. After all, if there’s anything John taught him it's that men can’t be weak.

What does he call him? Dad? Sir? The cowboy isn’t even sure and so he decides to keep his mouth closed. Instead, he measures the man before him. He is but a ghost of the parent Dean remembers - or at least idolized for so long. His boots are dusty and worn, the leather tearing at the creases. His clothes are dirty, stains on the white t-shirt he’s wearing under a camel jacket. He grew a beard, the tough hairs grey now. A black cowboy hat hides most of his slick hair, but they don’t conceal the dark circles under his father’s eyes, nor the tale of pain and sorrow that are still apparent. Nothing has changed, really. He just got older.

Dean can feel his knees weaken as his breaths come out shaky, but he is able to stand his ground. He sets his jaw, gritting away the frustration that continues to build, his fists clenched, nails digging into his palm. But it’s more than just aggravation that courses through him; it’s joined with an overwhelming sense of panic and fear. He wants to run, far away from confrontations and the dull blade that is tearing open old wounds. What he would give to go back in time, just an hour or so, to prevent this moment. What he would give to be able to live the life he naively pictured, with his family, with Y/N.

Meanwhile, John watches him, eyes glossed over and wearing a small smile. “It’s good to see you.” Still, Dean can’t speak. He just stares at his father. Even the gentle words falling from John’s chapped lips don’t lift the tension. Where Dean was thankful that the stables were empty just a few minutes ago, he now wishes it was swarming with people, because being cut out from the public eye is not a position the cowboy wants his girlfriend to be in. When John steps closer hesitatingly, Dean moves in front of her, one hand back to make sure she stays behind him. It’s instinct, a reaction that is fed by years of doing the same for Sammy. He did everything possible to protect his brother then, and now he has to do the same for her. Dean has to get her out of here. Now.

The cowboy turns his head slightly, addressing Y/N without letting his old man out of his sight. “You should get Joplin warmed up. I’ll be right there.” “Dean? Are you s--” “Go,” he insists, wincing at the strict tone of his own voice.

John has halted and watches the exchange, his gaze following the cowgirl who moves to the box on her right and takes off the halter of a black horse inside the stable. Without a word but with concern and confusion evident in her eyes - which flick to his before she averts them quickly - she takes the Quarter by the reins and guides the mare out of the stable. When she’s out of earshot, Dean’s father returns his focus to his son. “That your girlfriend?” he wonders. “No,” the wrangler claims, wanting to keep her out of this at all costs. John doesn’t have to know about his relationships with her or with his friends. It will make them vulnerable to his influence. “She’s just an intern,” he adds.

Believing the statement to be true, he dips his chin, nodding slightly, and Dean is able to exhale. At least he got Y/N out of harm’s way, now he just needs to somehow prepare himself to take the fire. It’s been a long time coming, but it’s time to face the faults of the past. He allowed the family to fall apart on that dreadful night when the bond between the Winchesters was shattered to pieces. Dean destroyed it all.

Carefully, his old man moves closer once more, and involuntarily the young cowboy steps back. He doesn’t want to. He intends to stand tall and hold position, but trepidation has him back up before he can stop himself. Apparently aware of the effect he has on Dean, John ceases his attempt to close the unbreachable gap between father and son.

Leaving a safe distance between them, he speaks again. “You’ve grown up to be quite the man, Dean. Your aunt and uncle must have taken good care of you.” More than you’ve ever done, Dean thinks to himself, but he doesn’t say it out loud, too apprehensive for the reaction it might trigger. “They have.” “Well, I’m glad,” John smiles at the ground. “I’m glad you landed on your feet. Do you know if Sammy did too?”

Dean’s eyes fill to the brim before he can blink. He doesn’t know. The big brother who was supposed to look out for him, who was supposed to give everything to provide his younger sibling the safety and care that he deserved, doesn’t know. The question is a punch in the gut, a verification of the fact that he has failed Sam like he has failed so many others. “I don’t,” he admits, doing everything in his power to keep his voice steady. “I haven’t seen him since.”

John sighs, sniffles slightly and glances up, as if he’s mad for a prayer that has been left unanswered. The news does a number on the old guy, and suddenly Dean feels sorry for the man standing before him. His father was already lost when their mother died, and it only got worse when Sam disappeared. The agony it triggered has never left him, just like it never left his son. That loss will always remain, a piece of their heart cut away violently, leaving a hole that bleeds to this day. They both had to settle for a life without Mary and the youngest Winchester in it. As much as Dean wants to hate his father, he simply can’t. He wouldn’t want to wish that kind of torture upon anyone, let alone his dad. It doesn’t matter how many mistakes he has made.

“I’m sorry to hear that. I hoped that maybe…” John pauses, shaking his head slightly. “I hoped you boys at least found your way back to each other.”

Dean swallows with difficulty, his bottom lashes barely clinging to the tears that threaten to roll down his face, but he manages to keep it together. He wishes the same, because life without his sibling feels incomplete. God, he misses Sam. And all that guilt, the sorrow, and the uncertainty of his well-being come rushing back to him in a magnitude that he can’t cope with.

John watches his son again, a grown man now, yet still his boy. “I was wondering if maybe we could sit down someday. Have a drink or something, y’know? Try and put this all behind us?”

Astonished, Dean stares at him. A part of him wants to mend this broken relationship, but John must be aware that rekindling the father-son bond will never undo all the trauma their family endured. There’s no going back to how things were, there is no returning to the time the Winchesters were happy. Mom died, and her death set them on a course of total ruination. And yet, Dean can’t answer. He can’t tell his father ‘no’.

“John Winchester!” Hasty footsteps echo between the stable walls, and when the conflicted cowboy glances past his father, he notices Bobby, moving closer with determined strides. A shuddering sigh of relief escapes Dean, and he’s glad the man opposite of him turns around to face his former brother-in-law so that he doesn’t witness the sign of weakness. With his uncle here, he instantly feels safer, knowing that even if this conversation develops into an argument, he has back-up now.

The elder man holds a fury in his eyes that is visible even in the shadows of the worn ball cap he always wears. “You better walk away,” he warns. “We were just talkin’,” John assures, calmly. “I don’t care if you are holding a family reunion,” Bobby sneers. “If you don’t leave right now, I will get my gun and blast your sorry ass so full of buckshot that you will never sit in a saddle again without scratching the leather.”

Dean’s gaze bounces between his father and his uncle, weary of the clash that is about to kick off, as the two older men keep their eyes locked on each other, tension rising by the second. But then, against his expectations, John gives in to Bobby’s request and steps aside. He glances back at his son one last time, giving him a sad smile, before he breaks away and strolls off, shoulders slumped and defeat obvious.

Collecting himself by taking a breath and blowing it out as slowly as he can, the younger cowboy makes eye contact with his uncle, who approaches him until he’s in arm’s reach. He puts his hand on the back of Dean’s neck, gently encouraging the troubled young man to look at him, hoping the touch will ground his nephew. “You alright?” Bobby asks, the lines in his forehead deepening as he frowns. Dean swallows down the lump in his throat and nods, his lips pressed together in a firm line. He can’t speak and has to break away from his uncle’s observant gaze. Bobby’s grip loosens; he’s aware that Dean isn’t ready to expose his true feelings about this unfortunate run-in. “I’m gonna make sure he leaves the premises,” he assures. With those words, the man - who once again has provided him safety - turns away to follow John, committed to matching action with his words if the guy doesn’t take his threat seriously.

Finally alone, the unsettled cowboy tries to inhale again, but his diaphragm seems to have risen to chest height. He can feel anxiety like he has never experienced before in his adult life get a grip on him, and whatever he tries, he can’t stop it. Afraid that his legs might give way, he takes a step to the side and holds on to one of the stable bars, but he still can’t breathe. Unable to hold the frontline in the battle he’s fighting with the overwhelming sense of distress, the tears break through his defense, spilling down his cheeks. Suddenly, he feels sick. He needs to get out, he needs fresh air.

Feeling the bile creeping up from deep inside him as he stumbles outside, he quickly turns the corner behind the tent before he heaves this morning’s partly digested breakfast into the grass. He throws up everything he has been holding, hoping the anguish will leave his body as well, but it doesn’t. When his stomach is empty, he is still left with the same misery. “Fuck,” he chokes out, steadying himself against the steel corner pillar of the stable. He wipes at his runny nose and his tears, sniffling. Get a hold of yourself, Dean, he lectures, you need to keep it together now. He straightens his back, looking down at the mess he made, closing his eyes for a second as he pulls in a careful breath.

“Dean?” Recognizing his friend’s voice, the cowboy turns around. Benny stands behind him, worry in his clear blue eyes. Manning up and finding his footing again, Dean walks up to meet him. The Southerner hands him a bottle of water, and even though the receiver is thankful for having something to rinse his mouth with, he wishes it to be something a whole lot stronger.

Taking a swig, he lets it wash away the sour taste before he spits it onto the ground. After another attempt he realizes that it’s no use and takes a careful sip this time, swallowing it down to put out the fire inside his chest. He glances at Benny, giving him a nod. “I - I’m good,” he says, not just trying to convince his companion. “I’m good.”

Knowing him well, his best friend doesn’t contradict him, even though it’s clear as day the statement is far from the truth. Dean’s eyes are bloodshot, his hand trembling when he moves the bottle to his mouth. “You might wanna get to the warm-up,” Benny reminds him, handing him the headset. The wrangler grimaces. “Shit, yeah. What time is it?” “Two-thirty. Her starting time is in twenty-five minutes,” the Southerner says. “I gotta get goin’,” Dean realizes after cursing again, moving past him to make his way to the arena. He holds up the water bottle as he jogs away. “Thanks.”

Hoping his friend will understand that he’s thanking him for a lot more than just the drink, he hastens away. Right now, he has someone else who needs his support. Y/N has left the stables well over fifteen minutes ago, so he hopes she’s not nervous because of his late arrival. When he finally reaches the fence, he spots her amongst the other riders, warming up Joplin. He can tell she’s focused, or is she upset with him for not being on time? Finding it hard to read her from a distance, he sums it up to a mixture of both. Without disturbing the other competitors, he bends down to duck under the barrier, approaching her and her horse. But when she ignores him completely and continues to work the Quarter on a small circle, he hesitates.

“Y/N?” he calls out, not sure if she saw him from inside her bubble. “What?” she snaps. Taken aback by her reaction, he watches how she keeps circling, slowing down to a walk, but still not stopping to take the headset or even grant him a look. “C’mon, let me help you,” he ushers, holding up the device for her. But when she looks him in the eye, the coldness they behold frightens him. “Why do you even care?” she wonders. “I’m ‘just an intern’ anyway.”

Like she just slapped him across the face, Dean stares at the cowgirl, the daggers she’s shooting at him with her powerful gaze stabbing him right in the heart. No no no, he thinks to himself as he closes his eyes. She wasn’t supposed to hear him say that to his father. He labeled her as an intern only to make sure John wouldn’t be able to get to Dean through his girlfriend. Of course he didn’t mean a word of it! He has to make her understand. “Yankee, I’m sorry. I--” “Forget it, Dean. I can handle myself,” she snarls. “Leave me alone.”

With that, she moves away from her boyfriend, riding Joplin to the other side of the warm-up ring, as far from him as possible. Regretful, her trainer saunters back towards the fence, making his way out of the ring. When he straightens himself, he is met by Jo, who has her arms crossed in front of her chest as she narrows her eyes at her cousin. It’s clear as day that she’s about to rip him a new one as well. “What did you do?” she demands to know, sternly.

Dean looks at her, opening his mouth to answer, but unable to even utter a word. I fucked up, that’s what I did, he realizes. Like he has fucked up everything else that was ever good in his life. He doesn’t reply, though, and instead shakes his head, admitting his loss. “Here.” Dean hands her the small device with a microphone attached to it, his fingers still trembling. “Help her if she needs assistance, alright?” Perplexed, she watches him walk off. She at least expected a counter with a claim that he didn’t do anything wrong. “You’re not gonna even watch her ride?” she asks before he’s too far gone. “I’ll watch from the bleachers. I don’t wanna distract her,” he returns, sadly looking into her eyes before he carries on.

Observing her cousin, an uneasy feeling settles in her stomach. The guilt is oozing from him in great amounts as he disappears in the crowd, his head hanging, the usual upbeat attitude nowhere to be found. What has gotten into him? Something must have happened, something bad. She can’t recall the last time she has seen him this troubled, not since… Jo’s eyes grow a little larger, her brows that were knitted together a moment ago now rising. Suddenly it dawns on her; she hasn’t seen him so thrown into disarray since he arrived at the ranch at fourteen years of age. She might have been only eight at the time, but those memories lingered. The sight of a kid so scared, so depressed, and so broken left an impression. Even as a little girl she knew he had been through hell, and by the looks of her cousin now, it seems like those dark days are catching up with him.

Jo wants to go after the poor guy, but she knows she can’t abandon her best friend. When the steward calls out Y/N’s name, announcing she’s up next, she focuses on the rider again. Right now she is her main priority, because whatever happened between the intern and the wrangler, Jo knows she’s Dean’s priority too.

“Ready?” she checks while quickly drying Joplin with a towel before they head towards the gate. “Yeah, I am,” Y/N assures, pushing Dean from her thoughts. “Remember that it’s fine to pick your first cow from the side of the herd, okay? Don’t set the bar too high. It’s your first time,” the blonde cowgirl offers. “I know,” she assures, even though she’s not planning on playing it safe.

The frustration has morphed into determination, a strong will to prove that she can manage just fine and that Bobby has every reason to dote on her. She much rather feels aggravated than insecure, so she allows the anger to flood the worry, shutting out her usual insecurity. She’s not going to let anyone down, especially not herself.

Concentrated, she goes to the gate, eye for the prize. Joplin already has her ears perked towards the cattle, knowing it’s game time. The clock starts to tick, and with confidence, she guides Joplin through the group of heifers, picking one dead in the middle to single out.

She doesn’t know Dean is watching from the sidelines, and intense sadness filling his soul. She doesn’t know how proud he is when she makes two amazing cuts and she scores 73 points, outclassing him. She doesn’t know that he’s very much aware that his girl doesn’t need him anymore.

Swift strokes brush the dirt out of Joplin’s dark coat. Dust particles dance in the air, illuminated by the orange rays of the setting sun that fall through the window of the stable. The mare allows the pampering, on hindleg resting on its toe, her head hanging low. Big, brown eyes are half closed, falling shut every once in a while. Sleep almost taking the normally feisty horse, the grooming having a relaxing effect on her. It’s almost as if she realizes she’s about to go on a new adventure, and she’s taking this moment to recharge after her run.

Jody has matched Joplin with a great family. A sixteen-year-old girl will be riding her. The teenager and her parents came to meet her new horse right after the great performance, absolutely beaming, knowing this wonderful animal was now theirs. In about fifteen minutes, Joplin’s new owners will be here to take her to their farm in Alamo, New Mexico. The family promised to give the Quarter a forever home, and they showed Y/N pictures of the beautiful barn where the little dark horse is going to live. She’s going to a good place, but the farewell remains bittersweet.

Once the Joplin is thoroughly cleaned, her rider takes her by the halter, raking her fingers through her mane. Y/N has never been good at saying goodbye, but it’s time now. “Be good, okay?” she whispers, letting her hands gently run down the horse’s neck. “And don’t pin your ears back too much. People are gonna think you’re mean, but I know you’re a softy.”

Joplin breathes out a sigh through her nose as if answering the person who has been her companion for the past month. It’s peculiar how fast a bond between human and animal can form. There has been a connection between them since the first time Y/N saddled her up for a trail. The thought of buying the beautiful Quarter herself has crossed the cowgirl’s mind ever since she learned Bobby planned to sell her, but no matter how difficult, this is also an aspect of the business that she needs to get used to. When she will finally have her own stables in a year's time, horses will come and go. She can’t keep every one of them, and so she needs to set Joplin free.

Judging by the hollow sounds under the tent’s roof, the new owners are on their way. She can distinguish Jody’s voice, and Bobby’s too. A girl with long, brown hair and bright eyes peers over the stable door, already glancing at the beautiful horse lovingly. “I bought her new transport boots,” she announces enthusiastically. “Wouldn’t want her to get hurt on the trailer. I also got a rug for when it gets a little colder during the night. Do you think she will like that?” The teenager holds up a red, woolen rug, which matches the leg protection perfectly. Y/N chuckles at the sight. Joplin is going to get so spoiled. “Those look amazing.” She reaches for one of the boots. “Here, let me help.”

They strap on the protective wear together while Bobby, Jody, and the parents close the deal on the other side of the alleyway. After the money is counted, the ranch owner hands over the horse’s passport together with a certificate of ownership, shaking their hands once more. Y/N waits for her boss to look her way, wondering if he - as owner - should give Joplin away, but the old man gives her a friendly nod, telling her without words that she will have the honor.

“Well, I guess this is it,” she says, fumbling with the leadrope. “She’s yours now.” “Thank you,” the young cowgirl returns. “We will take good care of her. Promise.” Not trusting her voice, the Y/N smiles warmly, but there isn’t a doubt in her mind that the family will. She doesn’t want to get emotional, it wouldn’t be professional after all. And so she does her very best to blink the mist from her eyes when she offers the leadrope, handing over Joplin to her new owner.

The family who just gained an additional member exits the stables, heading to the trailers to start their journey home. The rider, the trader, and the rancher watch them leave, all with smiles on their faces. Everyone involved in this sale wins. Y/N can’t help it, though, and has to wipe a lonely tear from her cheek. Jody, who notices, wraps an arm around her shoulder, sheltering and comforting. “Sorry,” the cowgirl excuses, a little embarrassed. “Don’t be sorry, honey,” she dismisses sweetly. “Caring matters, especially when money comes into play. Someone who cares has far better judgment than someone who’s greedy. Remember that.” Y/N smiles at the wise words, storing that piece of advice with all the others she has picked up along the way.

“Pretty good ride,” Bobby compliments his intern, in his own way trying to cheer her up. “Especially at your first cutting class.” Jody glances aside at the ranch owner, not impressed with his choice of words, before pulling the cowgirl closer into a side hug. “Pretty good? Are you kidding me? You absolutely slayed it! If you’re not giving that girl a rider’s fee, I will.” “Oh, that’s really not necessary,” Y/N objects. “No, you deserve it,” he insists while leafing through the hundred dollar bills in a large envelope. “Bobby, it’s okay. I am already super grateful for everything I’m learning and the experiences that I’m gaining. You have already given me a room and a stable, not to mention Ellen’s cooking. You really don’t have to pay me.”

Y/N shortly places her hand on her boss’s to seize his actions, wanting him to stop counting. The Gold Canyon Ranch might have made good money over the past three days, yet that doesn’t mean a financial disaster is avoided. She doesn’t want a share. The old man holds her gaze and she can tell he’s wondering if either Dean or Jo have spilled a little too much information. Maybe it is because of that assumption that he settles and lets it go. “At least lemme buy you a drink, huh?” he offers before he turns to his business partner. “I just have to round a few things up with Jody here.” “Alright, see you in a bit,” Y/N returns.

As the two business partners walk off to look for a private place where Bobby can give the woman who has made the sale possible her commissioner’s fee, the cowgirl slips into the tack room. She decides to start packing, since the crew presumingly will leave in a couple of hours. She has to keep busy, but Dean breaks into thoughts straight away. Sighing deeply, the cowgirl tries to wrap her head around her boyfriend’s reasoning. His words, which had her freeze to the ground for a second as she left him with his father, still ring in her ears. She’s just an intern. Why would he say such a thing? Why hadn’t he expressed that she is his girlfriend? Why did he never mention his father to her? And if he isn’t even able to talk to her about his family, what else is he hiding?

Her train of thought is interrupted by Jo, who hastily rushes around the corner, her restless eyes searching the tack room before she checks the stables. “Have you seen Dean?” she asks, concerned. “No,” Y/N bitterly answers. “Okay, enough.” Jo places her hands on her hips, shifting her weight to one leg. “What the hell is going on with you two?” “You tell me,” her friend responds coldly. “I was under the impression we were doing just fine until Dean wasn’t even able to introduce me. Clearly, I value our relationship more than he does.”

“What are you talking about? He’s crazy about you,” the blonde cowgirl reminds her. “Is he?” Y/N spins on her heels, finally looking her in the eye. “Because for someone who claims to care about me, he sure keeps an awful lot of secrets.” Jo sighs. “Look, I know Dean isn’t the guy who’s very chatty about those kinds of things, but what makes you say that he doesn’t care?” “Because he couldn’t even tell his family - who he failed to tell me about, by the way - that I’m his girlfriend! He told his father that I am just an int--” “Whoa whoa, wait. His father?” Her best friend stares at her bug-eyed, needing a moment to process the information. “His father is here?!” “Yeah, he showed up in the stables earlier to visit him, before I got on Joplin,” she confirms, somewhat confused by her shocked expression. Jo steps towards the intern, grabbing both her shoulders and looking at her intensely. “Are you absolutely sure?” Y/N shrugs a little, not understanding the earnesty. “He looked a lot like Dean, and he called him his son, so I’m assuming.”

Her best friend just gapes at her, her cousin’s demeanor by the warm-up ring suddenly making much more sense. If he had an encounter with his father, his entire world just got turned upside down. Judging by how messed up he was when his only living parent left him to rot when he was still a child, she can only imagine what his return after all that time has set in motion.

“We need to find Dean, now,” she says, grabbing her friend by the wrist and pulling her out of the tack room. “I’ll explain along the way.” Unsettled, Y/N fastens her pace to jog next to the ranch owner’s daughter. “Jo, what’s going on?” “Dean didn’t lie to you when he said that he hadn’t seen his family in a while. In fact, the two haven’t been in contact for fifteen years,” she explains as they exit the stables.

Stunned by the revelation, the cowgirl next to her tries to make sense of it all. Fifteen years? Why would he have cut all ties with his dad for fifteen years? She can’t possibly imagine doing such a thing. Something horrible must have happened, something beyond comprehension. “That still doesn’t explain why he described me as anything else but his girlfriend,” Y/N brings up. “Listen, you don’t know John. He is a manipulative son of a bitch who has played dirty mind games before. If Dean let on that you were just someone working at the ranch, he was trying to protect you.” Y/N stops dead in her tracks, her hand which is still entwined with Jo’s causing her friend to spin around. “He w - what?”

“You need to talk to him,” her friend insists, dragging her into motion again. “My guess is that he found a place to be alone or he’s liquoring up. Either way, your man is spiraling out of control and he's gonna need his girl in order to get out of that vicious circle.” “He - he won’t talk to me,” she stammers. “Not after how I was with him before my run. God, I can’t believe I was so self-absorbed. I thought he didn’t want me there because he was embarrassed of me, and you’re telling me he was making sure I was safe?”

Jo wishes her companion wouldn’t put herself down like that, because the blonde cowgirl honestly gets why she reacted the way she did, being unaware of the family drama. She never thought the day would come, but here she is, defending her cousin’s honor.

“Like I said; he’s crazy about you, Sis. He has never been like this with somebody else, so if there’s anyone who can through to him it’s you. He might try to--” “- push me away, I know. That’s kind of his thing. I won’t let him,” Y/N promises. Jo nods at that, glad she was able to convince her. “Good, now we just have to find him.”

They arrive at the square where all the shops are situated, most of the stand holders packing their unsold products into cars and onto trailers. The sun has disappeared behind the horizon, the skies painted with red. There are a few people around, music coming from the tent further up where the after-party is in full swing. They meet Benny at the crossing, though, who is looking for his friend as well. “Have you seen him?” Y/N asks the farrier, who has the same worried frown on his face as the girls. “I tried the trailers, but no luck,” Benny says. “Stables?” But she shakes her head. “We were just there.”

The three glance aside when a group of young guys stumbles out of the tent, alternated colored beams in their wake, coming from the disco lights inside. The concern that has Jo’s intestines in knots worsens, because if Dean has hit the bar, reasoning with him is going to be problematic.

Y/N enters the tent, backed up by the other two members of the Gold Canyon Ranch. The band plays a happy, upbeat country song that contradicts the alarming anxiety and dread that is riding her nerves like a racetrack. Frantically, she looks around, trying to identify her boyfriend amongst the crowd. She doesn’t see him in the booths on her right, nor around the dancefloor which she and Dean owned two nights prior. Once she convinces him that she understands why he said those things and that he did nothing wrong, she can wrap her arms around him again, comfort him with a kiss and ask him for another dance. He can continue to be the wonderful, supportive boyfriend, making her laugh and making her smile, lifting her up and making her feel appreciated. They can go back to how things were.

Trying to convince herself that everything is going to be fine, she moves through the mass of people towards the beer taps, when she stops suddenly, the wind being knocked from her lungs by the sight in front of her. At the end of the bar, she finds Dean. Not nursing a beer, sad and alone like she expected to find him, but in company of the same girl who was all over him on Friday night as well; Jamie. The cowboy, already intoxicated, leaning into her when the blonde whispers something in his ear, touching his arm as she does. A blind man would be able to see the chemistry, their conversation easy and carefree. The beautiful girl seated on the stool next to her boyfriend doesn’t show a sign of insecurity, her cheerful and confident personality matching Dean’s perfectly. She is everything Y/N isn’t.

Unable to move, she watches the film play out before her, a story of fun and romance that will push her story with Dean to a tragic end. Tears begin to fill her eyes, her breath hitching in her throat. A part of her hopes that he will turn around and see the devastation that his actions are causing, but he doesn’t, occupied by the gorgeous old flame which seems to have ignited something new. He doesn’t even see me, she realizes. He doesn’t see her, because once again it has been made perfectly clear she’s not worth holding on to. That has always been the case whenever it came to love, hasn’t it? So why on earth did she think that with Dean it was going to be any different? And just like that, she’s back to being invisible again.

Abruptly, Y/N turns around, desperately needing to get out of the buzzing atmosphere, but she collides with Jo the second she does. “Woah! Where are you--” Jo steadies her friend when she almost falls over, holding her by her arms. Stunned, she stares into her eyes, noticing how they are glazed over with absolute heartbreak. “What’s going on?”

But Y/N just shakes her head, moving past her hastily; she can’t stay here a second longer. The upset girl struggles towards the exit and ignores Benny, who watches her departure, perplexed. When he straightens himself again, he glances at Jo, as much confusion on his features as on hers. But when his focus locks on his buddy at the bar, his face falls. “That son of a bitch,” he mutters, his remark triggering the blonde cowgirl before him to turn around as well.

Jo’s jaw falls slack, observing as the two order another round of shots. She can’t believe what she’s seeing. She can’t believe she’s witnessing the man who she thought had made a change for the better, now making a turn for the worse. Frustration boils inside of the petite yet feisty woman, who is biting down hard on her bottom lip when she faces Benny again. “You talk some sense into him before he really crosses the line,” she directs. “I’m gonna go after Y/N and see if I can repair the damage.”

The broad-shouldered wrangler nods and watches Jo take off before he goes in the other direction. He pushes through the mass of people who are enjoying the last party of the event, all oblivious to the dramatic scene they are all a part of. He senses that the drama might become a whole lot worse if he doesn’t manage to pull Dean’s head off his ass.

“What do you think you’re doin��, brother?” Benny claps his hand on his friend’s shoulder, interrupting him before he downs the shot waiting for him on the bar. He scoffs. “What does it look like?” “Seems to me you’re about to get a lil’ too friendly with a gal that ain’t yours,” the farrier says with a lowered voice, hoping it will enlighten him. “We’re just having a drink,” Dean counters, annoyed, reaching for the glass in front of him, but Benny pushes it out of reach. “Do you think that’s what Y/N saw too when she was here just now?” Now he does get the cowboy’s attention, common sense finally pushing to the forefront. “She was here?” he questions, dumbfounded. “Yep, and you’ve got somethin’ to fix. Let’s go,” Benny suggests, his large hand flat on his companion’s back calmly pushing him off the chair and onto his feet, both men giving Jamie a short nod before they leave the party.

The fresh air slaps Dean in the face when he exits the tent, sobering him up enough to realize how bad he screwed up. He knew it was a horrible idea to do the one thing his dad always did when the pain got too much to bear; hit the alcohol and drown his sorrow. But that’s the thing, isn’t it? No matter how hard he fights, no matter how different he aspires to be, he will always be just like his father. The same ego-centric, selfish and spineless dick that breaks everything he touches.

When the two men stop in the middle of the square, Benny looks around, trying to find the girls. He doesn’t spot them sitting at any of the outside tables, nor by the restrooms. “It don’t matter, I already fucked it up anyway,” Dean mutters when his friend glances between the market shops. The farrier pauses his search and gazes at him superciliously through half-lidded eyes. “No disrespect, Chief, but what the hell is wrong with you?” “You really want me to get started on that list? Because if so, we’re gonna be here for a while,” the wrangler returns snarky, avoiding his friend’s blue eyes, taking a few steps away with his hands on his hips. “John showing up here is not y—” “Don’t!” Dean interrupts with venom in his voice, spinning around and pointing a firm finger at Benny. “Don’t you dare bring up my father.”

He’s trembling, the anger that ran in John’s blood for years now raging through his veins. Fire sets alight his insides, flames dancing in his pupils that glare at his comrade warningly. The Southerner takes a tentative step towards him, realizing he needs to get through to Dean, but has to handle the subject as carefully as possible. “You are not him. I know this,” he speaks slow. “I know you love Y/N, too.”

But Dean scoffs and shakes his head, not just denying that he does, but refusing to allow himself that kind of fulfillment. He was stupid to even think that he ever had a chance with her. It was just a matter of time before it all would come crashing down on him, ruining everything that he never deserved in the first place. He can’t love her, because if he does, she will fall victim to him, just like he did to his dad.

“Listen, brother. You’re not seein’ straight right now, but you can still make this right,” Benny continues. “You care too much about her to just throw in the towel. Remember when she first came to the ranch? You were smitten the second she walked through those doors. You called dibs on her for a reason.”

The cowboy’s shoulders rise as he inhales deeply and fall again when he blows out a breath. Of course he remembers. He remembers the first time he laid eyes on her over his poker cards, how she responded to him from across the saloon. He remembers how she gave him a run for his money when he came on too strong. He remembers how he panicked when she didn’t seem interested and the idea of her being with someone else had him strike an agreement with his best mate. He remembers the rides, their first kiss, the moment i-- “You called dibs on me?”

Stunned by the unexpected voice, both men turn to where it came from. Benny gulps thickly when he notices Y/N stepping from under the awning of one of the food trucks, Jo in her shadow. Even in the dim glow from the overhanging strings of lightbulbs, he can see her eyes shimmer with despair. “Y/N, it ain’t as bad as it s--” But the cowgirl cuts him off immediately, shooting Benny a glare. “You can stop with the Southern smooth talk. I need to talk to Dean alone.”

After exchanging looks over the course of several uncomfortable seconds, both Benny and Jo step aside, sauntering away from the couple. Once their friends have disappeared behind one of the trailers, Y/N returns her focus to her boyfriend again, her judgemental stare boring into his soul. “I asked you a question,” she repeats, managing to prevent her voice from trembling. “Did you make some kind of pact with your buddies?”

Dean doesn’t answer, but he sets his jaw, the muscles flexing under his stubble. He lifts his eyes from the ground for a moment, glancing over before he averts them again. The woman standing a few feet away from him chuckles cynically; she knows enough.

“So what, women are like cattle to you? This is a funny bet?” The cowboy frustratingly shakes his head once. “You know it’s not.” “Do I?!” Y/N returns, her tone sharper and higher than anticipated. “Because if this isn’t just a game, then why did you shove me aside for some blonde broad--” “For fuck’s sake, we were just having a drink! We had this argument already!” Dean snaps, throwing his arms to the side.

Taken aback by the hostility, Y/N stares at him. She has seen this anger before, but just a glimpse of it. It was when Ash lost his job and blamed them, in particular Dean, who took the acquisitions hard. That evening it was mostly guilt that triggered the cowboy to lash out to her and the second he realized he had upset her, he apologized. But now an apology doesn’t even seem to cross his mind that is clouded by darkness far greater. At this point, she’s not sure if she would be able to accept it anyway.

“Well, it didn’t make much of a difference, now did it?” she returns after using the dreadful silence to recover. “Apparently not,” Dean scoffs, shifting his unfocused gaze aside. Mulling over the chain of events that have led to this moment, he swallows with difficulty, indignation taking off the heat for a bit, stopping it from boiling over. The calm gives Y/N enough courage to step closer. “Dean, I know today was a whirlwind. I know - I’m aware that what happened in the stables earlier has sent you into a tailspin,” she sympathizes, careful not to mention his father after witnessing his outburst with Benny when he did, “but this isn’t you.”

The disheartened guy before her huffs again, sardonic and hopeless. That’s the whole point, isn’t it? Because it’s exactly who he is. This is who he was always destined to be. It’s how he was raised, it’s in his DNA. For two months he allowed himself to hope that maybe he could change, that maybe he could be better than the poor excuse of a man his father was. Y/N gave him that pipe dream, and even though it’s unreasonable to be upset with her for seeing the good in him, it’s amongst one of the many frustrations he’s experiencing.

“It is. This -” Dean points at himself, his upper lip twitching with disgust. “- this is who I am.” She shakes her head, not ready to give up. “It’s not. You are kind, loving, your heart is--” “You don’t know me!” He exclaims, running a hand through his hair and trapping the light-brown locks between his fingers before he gestures wildly. “You think you do, but you don’t have a fucking clue! I haven’t told you anything about my life--” “Then talk to me!” Y/N yells back as he turns away from her. “I CAN’T!!”

Dean is facing her again, vexation flaring in his emerald green eyes. His heart beats so vigorously that it has his entire body pulsating. He takes her in, the beautiful young woman who he fell for, and he can see that her hope is fading. It pains him to hurt her, but he’s left with no choice. Being angry with him will make things easier, though. It will help her move on. If she is going to feel sorry for him, the pity would only prompt the caring girl to hold on and try to piece the shattered shards back together, and he can’t let that happen, simply because it’s useless. He refuses to take her down with him, to burden her with the same demons that he has to live with. He can’t do that to her, not to the one he loves. She’s way too good for him, so pure, so selfless and gentle. She’s everything he shouldn’t have, everything he isn’t worthy of. It’s better this way, it’s better to end it now.

“I can’t. Who you think I am, it’s not me. I’ve been lying to you, pretending. I can’t be the person you need me to be,” he claims, calmer now that he knows what he has to do.

Y/N’s breathing picks up slightly, the air leaving her with a shudder each time. His words seem so definite already, but he can’t possibly believe that they are not right for each other, can he? All those moments they shared, all the affection he offered; that was real. That was him. Why can’t he see he’s exactly the man she needs? “And what person is that?” she questions, hoping that whatever argument he fires back, she can turn around.

Dean is quiet for a few seconds, thinking about a fitting answer. The profound fondness he feels for her begins to resurface and it’s tearing him apart. She needs to understand that the fairytale they have been living is a facade he can’t continue to maintain. Dreams never last forever, this is where they wake up. “You need a guy who is honest, who you can trust. Look at us; I can’t even bring myself to tell you about my family, my past, or anything for that matter,” he reminds her. “I knew what I was in for, Dean. I don’t expect you to spill every dark secret you think you have. You don’t have to spell out everything to be with me. We can work it out!” she argues desperately. But the cowboy shakes his head, feeling the sorrow brim in his eyes. He wants her to be right so bad, but he knows he can’t live a lie. “You don’t get it, okay? I’m a fucking mess. I did things that are unforgivable. I don’t have my shit together, but you do,” he says, a sad smile barely pulling at the corner of his mouth. “You know exactly where you wanna go in life, what you want to achieve.” She steps closer, praying that if he lets her, she can eventually bridge the space between them. “We can do that together,” she pleads with all the hope she has left. “We can’t,” he returns, having gathered every bit of strength to look at her before he pronounces the words who he knows are the truth. “This isn’t gonna work.”

The tears that have gathered become too much even for a dam to withhold roll down her cheeks now. An already unbearable ache gets worse, her heart physically hurting and taking up so much space that Y/N feels like she can’t breathe. He can’t be doing this. He can’t pull the plug, not after all the epic moments they shared. Every warm look, every gentle touch, every loving kiss; every blissful memory. How can he possibly let go of that? Refusal has her reach out to him, one last attempt to repair what is already broken. “Dean, stop… Why are you hurting me like this?” she cries.

The cowboy drops his gaze while fighting the tears and the grief for what he’s losing. He wants to reach out too, take her hand in his, but he can’t cave now, he can’t be selfish. He has to do this for her. “Because if I don’t, if I allow this to go any further, it’s gonna hurt a lot more.” Dean fixates on anything but Y/N, no longer able to endure the sight of her falling apart in front of him. It’s dreadfully quiet as if the world stopped turning, and in a way, for the two individuals in the middle of the square, it just did. “So - so what? This is it?” she stammers, her voice barely a whisper. “You’re breaking up with me?” Biting his lip now, he focuses on what this decision will offer the woman at arm’s reach. An uncomplicated life in which she can pursue her dreams without having to worry about someone dragging her down. She can be free to do whatever she wishes and that’s all he can ask for. But in order to provide her with that opportunity, he has to let her go. “Yeah. We’re over.”

Like a bullet fired from a gun, the defining words rip through her chest and pierce her heart. The silence after the shot is deafening, canceling out the sounds of their surroundings. The streaming pathways of desolation gather at the end of her chin and drip down on the dry soil, enough to darken the dust. Her eyes are glued on him, though, but he doesn’t return her gaze. The conclusion of their relationship sinks in with every passing second, leaving her soul in ruins. It’s over. They are over. And there is nothing she can do to change the course of history.

Unable to be in his presence, she forces her feet to move, turning away from the man she is no longer with. Dean can’t watch her leave, fixed on the dark earth where her tears fell just moments ago. From his peripheral vision, he notices Jo rushing by to go after her friend. Good, he thinks to himself, she’ll have someone to lean on.

After standing there for what feels like an hour, he takes a few hesitant steps towards one of the trailers, placing both hands flat on the metal, searching for something to ground him while he closes his eyes and lets his head hang. He can’t find it, though, not in the cold steel, not in his reasoning behind this brutal decision. The resentment builds again, and Dean pulls his right hand back, balls his fist, and almost puts a dent into the barrier before him. The action only confirms what he deep down knew to be true all along. All that rage, the self-hatred; he can’t bottle it up forever, so it’s for the best that Y/N will no longer be there to witness it.

Dean bends his elbows, his forearms now pressed against the iron and his forehead resting between his clenching fists, as he struggles to pull in a shaky breath. He feels like he’s imploding, the outer frame of his structure caving in on itself. His mouth falls open, his bottom lip trembling, then he allows the tears to cascade down his face.

He can sense Benny by his side, but Dean is too wrapped up in his own destruction to really acknowledge him. The comforting hand on his shoulder is a touch he barely registers, his body is already rebuilding its emotional walls, caging away his ability to feel and casting it in a permanent shadow. That’s where it will remain, encapsulated in darkness, cut out from the light that his girl had to give. Benny stays by his side, though, letting him know that he is there for his friend, as much as Jo is there for hers.

“Sis, wait,” the ranch owner’s daughter tries desperately, following the woman who just had her heart broken into the stables. Her request remains unanswered, Y/N only stopping when she has reached Meadow’s box, her hands shaking while she tries to unlock the door. When she’s unable to, Jo quickly steps in and opens the gate, holding it for her companion. The bay horse has lifted her head, alerted by the commotion in the alley, but clearly recognizes the person stepping inside. She seems confused by her owner’s frail state of mind, though, pricked ears and concerned eyes taking in the situation.

The cowgirl folds an arm around Meadow’s neck while she buries her face in the Quarter’s brown coat, then she breaks. She breaks into a million segments, lost in the mixture of wood shavings and straw underneath their feet. The air is too thin to breathe and sobs wreck her entire form.

Never in her life has she felt so unwanted, purposeless, and vulnerable as she’s feeling now. Dean let her in and she trusted him to handle her with grace, yet the second she was comfortable with this new way of being, he pushed her out. She thought she knew the man she felt such a strong connection with. Yes, she realized very early on that it was going to be difficult to get through to him. The soldier with thick armor had stacked the barricades high, but that never intimidated her. After all, she had climbed mountains before.

She gave Dean her all, but in the end, it turns out it was useless. Y/N isn’t even sure what’s real and what’s not, if the cowboy has been wearing a mask all along, or just now turned into someone that he isn’t. It doesn’t matter, though. He has made himself perfectly clear; she is not the girl he wants to be with.

The only one stopping her from collapsing is Meadow, who holds still like a statue, aware that if she moves, her owner will fall to the ground and might never be able to get up again. The horse senses exactly how to handle Y/N, the usually so spirited mare now timid and calm, picking up on the despairing energy.

Jo, who had silently slipped into the tack box to get a bottle of water and some tissues, comes back into the stable, tearing up at the sight of the two who have such a strong bond. The thousand-pound animal has curved her neck around her human, resting her large head on the cowgirl’s shoulder. As if trying to comfort her, Meadow twitches her lips, gently rubbing them against her owner’s back, her way of showing affection. People can be cruel sometimes, to others, to horses. Jo has witnessed it, and she knows Dean has too, which has ultimately led to his dreadful decision to cut Y/N loose, and by doing so he has hurt her in terrible ways himself. But at least the girl has her horse.

Meadow, who is oblivious to the reason behind her owner’s sorrow, offers solace nonetheless. Quietly, she waits until the cries die down and the tears begin to dry, and even then she stays close to her person, having a better sense of direction than most humans do. Y/N’s four-legged friend is honest, treats her with kindness, and loves her unconditionally. It’s a special connection no man can ever steal away, yet many can learn from. This incredible being is her soul horse, a term Dean has taught her, the one who she thought was going to be her partner in life until he decided otherwise. He is right, though; it is over between them. She has lost Dean’s heart, but at the end of the day, no matter what happens, she will always have Meadow.

That’s that then. They are over...

Read part twenty-five here

144 notes · View notes