#mustang: wild spirit of the west

[book--brackets]

Summaries under the cut

Les Chevaliers d'Emeraude by Anne Robillard

Apprenant que l'Empereur Noir s'apprête à envahir le continent de nouveau, le Roi d'Emeraude, soucieux de protéger tous les peuples d'Enkidiev, ressuscite un ancien ordre de chevalerie. Choisis pour leurs dons particuliers, dotés de pouvoirs magiques, les nouveaux Chevaliers d'Emeraude sont au nombre de sept : six hommes et une femme.Au moment où les compagnons d'armes se disent enfin prêts à combattre, la Reine Fan de Shola demande audience à Emeraude Ier et lui confie Kira, alors âgée de deux ans et encore inconsciente du rôle qu'elle sera appelée à jouer dans le futur des hommes. Ce jour-là, Wellan, le grand chef des Chevaliers, tombe profondément amoureux de la reine. Malheureusement, le Royaume de Shola subira les attaques féroces des dragons de l'Empereur Noir et tous les Sholiens, y compris la reine, seront massacrés.Le coeur brisé, Wellan devra organiser la défense d'Enkidiev et repousser les forces du Mal...

I Am Not Esther by Fleur Beale

After her mother unexpectedly leaves her with her uncle's family, members of a fanatical Christian cult, Kirby tries to learn what has become of her mother and struggles to cope with the repressiveness of her new surroundings and to maintain her own identity.After her mother leaves her with her uncle's family, members of a Christian cult, Kirby tries to learn what has become of her mother and struggles to cope with the repressiveness of her surroundings and to maintain her own identity.

Regarding the... by Kate Klise

The Dry Creek Middle School drinking fountain has sprung a leak, so principal Walter Russ dashes off a request to Flowing Waters Fountains, Etc.

...We need a new drinking fountain. Please send a catalog.

Designer Flo Waters responds:

"I'd be delighted...but please understand that all of my fountains are custom-made."

Soon the fountain project takes on a life of its own, one chronicled in letters, postcards, memos, transcripts, and official documents. The school board president is up in arms. So is Dee Eel, of the water-supply company. A scandal is brewing, and Mr. Sam N.'s fifth grade class is turning up a host of hilarious secrets buried deep beneath the fountain.

Mustang: Wild Spirit of the West by Marguerite Henry

Horses were in Annie Bronn's blood. For as long as she could remember, she had been fascinated by the spirited wild mustangs that roamed free throughout the West. So when greedy cattlemen started to round up the mustangs for slaughter, Annie knew it was up to her to save the breed.

Ghost Knight by Cornelia Funke

Eleven-year-old Jon Whitcroft never expected to enjoy boarding school. Then again, he never expected to be confronted by a pack of vengeful ghosts, either. And then he meets Ella, a quirky new friend with a taste for adventure...

Together, Jon and Ella must work to uncover the secrets of a centuries-old murder while being haunted by terrifying spirits, their bloodless faces set on revenge. So when Jon summons the ghost of the late knight Longspee for his protection, there's just one Can Longspee truly be trusted?

The Roman Mysteries by Caroline Lawrence

The dogs on Flavia's street have started dying mysteriously, and she is determined to find out why. Her investigation leads her to three extraordinary people: Jonathan, her new neighbor; Nubia, an African slave; and Lupus, a mute beggar boy. The four embark on a search for the killer ... and that's when the excitement begins

The Cloak Society by Jeramey Kraatz

The Cloak

An elite organization of supervillains graced with extraordinary powers. Ten years ago the Cloak Society was defeated by Sterling City's superheroes, the Rangers of Justice, and vanished without a trace. But the villains have been waiting for the perfect moment to resurface. . . . Twelve-year-old Alex Knight is a dedicated junior member of Cloak who has spent years mastering his telekinetic superpowers and preparing for the day when Cloak will rise to power again. Cloak is everything he believes in. But during his debut mission, Alex does the He saves the life of a Junior Ranger of Justice. Even worse . . . she becomes his friend. And the more time he spends with her, the more Alex wonders what, exactly, he's been fighting for.

Barnen pa Brakmakargatan by Astrid Lindgren

Look out -- here comes trouble! Jonas, Maria, and Lotta Nyman don't mean to make trouble, but because their idea of fun is to stick salami on the windows, keep the water running from the kitchen faucet until the sink overflows, and lower meatballs down through the chimney, trouble just seems to follow them....

With the Nyman kids around, anything can happen!

The Water Horse by Dick King-Smith

The story begins with a mysterious egg washed up on a Scottish beach, the morning after a great storm. Kirstie and her brother Angus find the egg and take it home. The next day it has hatched into a tiny greeny-grey creature with a horse's head, warty skin, four flippers and a crocodile's tail. The baby sea monster soon becomes the family pet – but the trouble is, it just doesn't stop growing!

Silver Brumby by Elyne Mitchell

A silver brumby is special, but he will be hunted by man and horse alike, and must be stronger than both. Thowra, the magnificent silver stallion, is king of the brumbies. But he must defend his herd from the mighty horse, The Brolga, in the most savage of struggles. But that is not the only danger. Thowra needs all his speed and cunning to save his herd from capture by man. In a desperate chase through the mountains, it seems there is no longer anywhere for him to run to...

[johnnyslittleanimalblog]

Paint Horses in Autumn by Daniel Eskridge Via Flickr: Prints: daniel-eskridge.pixels.com/featured/paint-horses-in-autum... Several pinto coated mustangs wander in fields of golden grass somewhere in the wilds of the American West. It's autumn and fall colored trees dot the landscape under a hazy sky.  How I make art like this: fineartbydaniel.com/2017/12/18/how-i-make-art-3d-rendering/ Tools I used to make this: fineartbydaniel.com/resources/ How I sell art: fineartbydaniel.com/quick-start-guide-selling-art-online/ Thanks for looking! Daniel Eskridge

[hydrasluncheon]

Echo

Daughter of Spirit & Rain.

Background painting by Nathan Fowkes.

[astridhoff03]

A underrated Masterpiece from DreamWorks in the 2002s.

The Best Horse-Movie I‘ve Ever Seen, beats Stormwind, Flika & Black Beauty (Second favorite After Spirit). It’s so different and that in My opinion makes it so Special, also because how they Portrait the American West (which I Love dearly, because I was there on my winterholidays along time ago) and how they Show the War between the native Americans and the US Calavary (because this is how it really was, as a History Freak you have my garanty). I‘ve never seen another Western Movie doing that, (and also they treated everyone as real People) this so rare and should‘ve been Done way more often. The Horse Characters Are amazing but the best I think is our Main Stallion.

[peaceandnature]

why the heck isn’t there a movie adaptation of Marguerite Henry’s “Mustang: Wild Spirit of the West”??

[zepskies]

The Honorable Choice - Part 1

Pairing: Dean Winchester x OFC 

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

AN: I got inspired after a recent rewatch of Spirit: The Stallion of the Cimarron (literally a perfect movie), as well as having Yellowstone in the back of my brain. I thought this idea might be a good fit for this @jacklesversebingo prompt.

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

Jacklesverse Bingo24 Prompt: Western AU

Song Inspo: The Spirit Soundtrack

Word Count: 4.6K

Tags/Warnings: 18+ only to be safe. Racism/racial slurs, attempted sexual assault (not successful), protective Dean, angst, some violence and some action.

🐎 Series Masterlist || Bingo Masterlist

🎙️ Listen to the podfic version here!

Part 1: Pride & Prejudice

June 1872

Dean hears some of his men shouting, along with the telltale cracking of bone that would make a less seasoned soldier wince. He spares a look to Benny, his Lieutenant, and sets down his glass of whiskey.

Dean’s path takes him brusquely out of his office and toward the stables. He grabs his gun and his hat on the way there, setting the latter on his head.

Is it too much to ask for one night where he can drink in peace?

Dean comes to find a young woman being detained by two of his men, Kline and Novak. Roman sports a bloody nose and his eye is already beginning to swell. The woman fights against their hold.

Even under the pale moonlight, Dean notes the way she’s dressed: a deer skin dress cinched at the waist, over thin pants and shoes. He surveys her tan skin, her black hair that blends into the night, twisted into a long braid, and the anger in her dark eyes.

“What have we got here?” Dean says. He stows his gun in its holster as he approaches her, resting his hands at his belt.

“I caught her breaking into the stables, Captain,” Roman says. He prods with a hiss at his busted nose while trying to stem the bleeding. That’s going to be a bad break.

She remains tight lipped, stubborn. 

“Probably doesn’t even understand English. Savage bitch,” he says. Dean shoots him an impassive look to cover up his annoyance.

“Put a cork in it, Roman,” he orders. Then, he focuses back on her. “You’re a Lakota, aren’t you?”

Aside from their main mission here in the Dakota Territory, the Colonel has been fixed on fighting back against the Lakota Indians, especially after they sabotaged the supply line last month.

The proud tilt of the woman’s chin is her only answer to Dean’s question. Her gaze drags down his form with disdain, like he’s the savage. His mouth twitches mirthlessly. 

“The Lakota rear up their own horses pretty damn well. Why would you want to steal one of ours?” he asks.

She glances away from him, first at her feet, then over at the camp’s latest “guest.” Dean, Benny, and a few of his men wrangled up a horse a few days ago. He’s a beautiful Kiger mustang with a nasty mean streak. He barely got through a trim this afternoon, and almost took a chunk out of Rufus when he tried to brand the horse.

The Colonel ordered them to tie the horse up to a post just outside the corral—no food or water for three days. He’d turned to Dean with a firm set to his face and issued a single order.

“Break him.”

Now, Dean catches the furtive look the Lakota woman gives the horse, who flicks his tail. The animal stares right at her, as if into her eyes.

“Oh, don’t tell me you here for him,” Dean says with a chuckle. “That thing’s a little too much for you, sweetheart.”

That earns her attention, steely and unimpressed.

“He is too much for you,” she says. Her voice is smooth, and would even be pleasant, if not for the circumstances. “He is one of ours. You will never break him.”

Dean's eyes widen a fraction. He glances back at the mustang.

So that's why she's here, he thinks.��She's trying to mount a rescue. Dean feels a twinge deep inside, but he can't allow himself to care about that. They've collected a strong horse that will be a good support for their objectives here, once he's broken.

“Ah, well see,” Dean says, tipping his Stetson up to meet her gaze. “That’s kind of our specialty.”

“Sir, should we take her to the stockade?” Novak asks. He seems reluctant to do so to a woman, even an Indian, but he’s always been good at following orders.

Dean opens his mouth to reply, but another voice cuts him off. Colonel Asmodeus Sanderson steps out and takes a look at their captive.

“Not the stockade,” he says, with that Southern drawl that betrays his Kentucky roots. “Not yet.”

He approaches her with a slow, calculated gait. His hands gather behind his back. Dean gives her credit for looking Sanderson in the eye. She seems rightly wary, but not afraid.

“We won’t hurt you. I give you my word,” the Colonel says, “if you’ll lead us to your people’s camp.”

He takes a hold of her chin, turning her face this way and that, like he’s examining a dirty animal, and all that he’ll have to do to make it clean. She spits in his face.

Dean bites the inside of his lip against a smile. She’s got as much fight in her as the mustang. However, he has to school his face back into stoicism when Sanderson rears back in anger.

The harsh smack rings out in the clearing, along with the woman’s cry. Dean doesn’t allow himself to outwardly react, but inside, his spine tightens as he fights his instincts.

Only Kline and Novak’s hold on her arms keeps her upright. She pants for breath, but again, she meets the Colonel with a face that doesn’t give away anything, despite the reddening mark on her cheek.

“The post,” he barks. “Three days. No food or water.”

Dean is kept busy by his duties. He makes sure the camp is running in order, accepting shipments of supplies and ammunition, among other things. Cas Novak is in charge of the stables, caring for the horses and putting them through their training. Jack Kline is young and strong and a good assistant, along with others in his unit.

Right now, Dean and Benny are going over the plans with Colonel Sanderson for continuing construction on the railroad, from here to the Black Hills. It’s a path that cuts straight through Sioux territory—the bands of Dakota and Lakota Indians that occupy the land.

“The natives are fightin’ us tooth and nail,” Sanderson says. “But maybe our guest will be able to help us…negotiate.”

Dean remains quiet, ignoring yet another uneasy twinge in his gut. He didn’t join the army to fight the Indians. He doesn’t always understand their way of doing things, but he understands why they fight—to protect their land, and to protect their own. It’s the same reason Dean fights, when he has to.

He joined the army because…well, it felt like the right thing to do at the time. His father had been a Cavalry Major, and he’d died an honorable death, now about a decade past.

Has it really been ten years? Christ.

Dean wipes his brow. Even with the windows open, the office is humid and smells like ass. He glances outside, where both the mustang and the woman are tied to their posts under a sweltering sun at high noon.

Not for the first time, Dean wonders what his dad would think of him now. 

After the meeting, Dean and Benny fall into step together to inspect the camp. The summer sun shines hot on their blue uniforms, and occasionally they raise their hats to mop the sweat from their brows.

Things are running as usual, but many of the men’s eyes occasionally turn to the posts. Dean’s attention wanders there too without him realizing, catching on the woman’s dark hair. It shines even blacker in the sunlight, like a raven’s wing. He knows the shade because his dad used to have a feather kept in his journal, like a bookmark.

“You okay, brother?” Benny asks. Dean realizes what he’s doing, and his attention returns to the task at hand. Get it together.

Always forward, never backward.

“Just fine,” Dean replies. Benny gives him a knowing look.

“A bit unsavory, ain’t it?” he says. “Keeping her chained up without even a lick of water.”

“The Indians are getting smarter, bolder. They’re ambushing our men, going after our supply lines, and now, stealing our horses,” Dean says. “This is strategy.”

Benny shrugs slightly, making a sound of agreement. Dean hesitates, his gloved fingers flexing against his sides.

“If she was a man, you guys wouldn’t give a shit about putting a bullet through her head,” Dean says.

Benny’s gaze shifts downward. He doesn’t reply, but he concedes the point all the same.

They continue their route, and Dean keeps the rest of the conversation on the work at hand.

Mila has gone far longer without drink, but the sun is particularly unforgiving today. She’s prayed and prayed for even one cloud to glide overhead and shield her for a while. It’s not much better for her companion. He paces in place, occasionally tugging his head against the rope that binds him to his post.

She makes a clicking sound at the horse, getting his attention. She calls him by his name, and his ears flicker in her direction. He offers her a short whinny in response.

“I see you, Mato. I am with you,” she says in her native tongue. She hopes the sound of her voice will soothe him. He looks tired and hungry, but his eyes flick hard and untrusting on any man who comes near him. His spirit isn’t broken.

“Hey! Shut the hell up over there,” Roman shouts at her from where he and Cas are taking a short lunch break. Cas gives him a certain look, crossed mostly with annoyance.

Mila resists the urge to roll her eyes. Instead, she closes them and tilts her face back to the sun. In a way, it feels cleansing. Maybe it can wash away the stench of the White Men’s hands on her body, manhandling her, checking her for weapons.

She spends the rest of the day watching the camp. One of their leaders, the Green Eyed One, called this a fort. It does look fortified, with tall walls made of thick wood constructed to form a cage—whether to keep others out, or to keep the men and horses in.

She identifies the Colonel as their chief, of a kind. Green Eyes is second in command, followed by the Bearded One with a strange voice. Even the scruffy Blue Eyed One has some authority, mostly over the Child Faced One. There are too many others to rank them all, but she knows the Loud Mouthed One is arrogant, even after she broke his nose. The way he carries himself, he clearly thinks he has more power than he actually has.

In her mind, Mila conjures up different plans of escape. All of them fall short in some way. The men didn’t find all of her weapons; a small knife is hidden deep in her boot. She could saw at her binds within an hour, but even with Mato to carry her out and away, the problem is escaping this camp without alerting the men. Without getting shot.

She has three days to think.

That night, the moon refuses to give her clarity. Her stomach is too empty, her throat too dry, her tongue thick in her mouth. Her attention shifts in and out of consciousness, until the sound of boots crunching in the dirt trills unease down her spine. More alert, she sits up straighter.

The Loud Mouthed One. The one they call Roman comes to taunt her, offering her water, then drinking for himself instead. He comes closer to examine her. He has a small bind over his broken nose.

“You know, you’re a pretty one,” he says, taking another cold sip as his gaze drags over her form. “For a wild thing.”

His face nears hers, clean shaven, though his thin smile reminds her of a rattlesnake. Dread and repulsion churn at odds in her stomach as she realizes what he's really here for. It doesn't matter if he truly wants her, or just wants to pay her back for his face. Either way, he means to take her here in the dirt.

She looks away, not wanting to let him see her fear, or the dread tightening her stomach, rising into her throat. He winds long fingers into her hair. At first the hold is gentle, deceptive. Then it's tight against her scalp. She hisses in pain when he tugs her head back and forces her to look at him. Her breathing quickens as she tries to pull away.

He draws in close to try and claim her in a kiss, but she head-butts him, hard.

He cries out and stumbles back, his flask falling to the ground.

He angrily grabs her and hauls her up to her feet. He pushes her hard against the post and unbuckles his belt, just to stuff it in her mouth. With his free hand, he begins to undo his pants.

She refuses to cry out, even though she spits out his belt and fights him, trying to kick out his knees.

Suddenly, the man’s body is ripped away from her. Mila loses her footing and falls to the dusty ground, sliding against the wooden beam she’s tied to. The wind is knocked out of her, but when she raises her head, she watches with wide eyes as the Green Eyed One beats the other man into the dirt. It doesn’t take much, just a few well-placed fists.

Roman lies there catching his breath, and he spits a wad of phlegm and blood. His left eye will match his nose, that’s for sure.

Green Eyes looks angry and disgusted. He huffs and puffs while staring down at his subordinate. He pushes back his short brown hair and points an ungloved hand at Roman.

“Get back to the goddamn barracks. You’re gonna be mucking out stalls until shit’s coming out of your ears,” he growls.

Roman doesn’t argue, though it’s obvious that he wants to. He just picks himself up, makes a show of straightening up his open uniform jacket while catching his breath. He walks past Green Eyes with a resentful, angry look. Green Eyes watches him until he disappears inside.

Then, he turns to her. His gaze softens somewhat, but it’s still unreadable. He crouches down in front of her, resting his arms on his thighs. Mila’s gaze briefly falls to his hands. They’re calloused, the hands of a laboring man. He carries himself like a warrior.

“Sorry about that,” he says.

It’s not what she expected. Mila eyes him warily when he moves closer. She presses her back against the post until it hurts her spine. He raises up his hands placatingly.

“I’m not gonna hurt you,” he says.

“That is what your Colonel said,” she says. Her voice cracks with dryness. “I didn’t believe him either.”

His lips flicker at a rueful smile. It wrinkles crow’s feet around his eyes, breaking his stony face.

“Fair enough.”

He reaches for his belt and retrieves a flask, similar to the one his subordinate carried. He extends it out to her.

“It’s water, unless you prefer whiskey. I know I do,” he says.

She raises a brow at him, but hearing the sloshing inside the flask, her thirst takes over her wariness, and even her pride. She tentatively leans forward. He brings it closer so she can press her lips to the opening. Despite his Colonel’s orders, he lets her drink as much water as she’s able. When she’s done, he pockets the flask and sighs, running a hand through his hair.

“What’s your name?” he asks.

That, she will not give him. Names are sacred to her people, and this man, while seeming to have a shred of honor, isn’t worthy.

“Don’t wanna even tell me your name?” he says. He nods slightly. “Okay, well, I’m Dean. Captain Winchester, to this band of delinquents.”

He gestures around the camp with a dismissive hand. Mila only watches him. She’s never seen a White act like this, breaking his leader’s rules, being…kind.

What a strange man.

But if he had any real convictions, he would untie her and let her go, along with Mato. She won’t hold her breath.

Dean’s brows raise up toward his hairline, and his full lips form a pout. Realizing he’s not going to get anything more from her, he lets out a tired huff and straightens up.

“Well, goodnight,” he says.

He finally leaves her alone, but she can’t help but follow the swaggering path of his bowed legs and heavy boots. They carry him away and back indoors.  

A strange man.

By the morning of the third day, Dean is ready to do what he does best. Or at least, one thing he does best.

He’s no stranger to horses. He grew up on a farm in Lawrence, Kansas, where he and his brother would help take care of the animals. Dean was older, so he helped his father till the land and train the horses. Sometimes he and Sam would sneak off and race their favorite ones, until their mom called them back for dinner.

In fact, part of what earned Dean his rank in the U.S. Cavalry was how well he could command a horse. His own is resting in the stables.

Today, he’s getting in the ring with the mustang.

…Well, not right away. He lets a few of his guys go first to tire him out. Even after three days of no food or water, the horse is living up to his bad attitude. He bucks each of them off after just a few seconds in the corral. Dean can tell it’s becoming a kind of game for the horse. His dun-colored coat shines in the sun, his brown socked legs kicking up dust and manure as he brays angrily at whoever tries to mount him.

Dean notices the Lakota woman watching with an amused smile on her face while she sits with her hands tied to her post. She’s enjoying the show, like she knew this would happen. It seems to give her energy every time another man is thrown off the horse and limps out of the ring.

Dean shakes his head. Pitiful.

He puts two gloved fingers to his mouth and whistles the entire clearing to attention. He saves Kline the chance to bruise his spine and pats him on the shoulder. Dean steps into the corral and positions himself into the stirrups, wrapping the reins around his hand. The horse is breathing hard, but he’s not done. He’s still got fight in him. Dean sees it in his brown eyes.

“All right, mustang. You’re big and bad. I get it,” Dean says lowly. “But I don’t scare easy. Gimme your best damn shot.”

Cas and Benny give him wary looks from where they stand outside the gate.

“Hold onto your hat, Cap,” Benny mutters.

Dean adjusts his hat and rests his gun on the post for safe keeping. He wants to feel as natural as possible, like it’s just him and this horse, out back in his family farm. He holds on tight to the reins. He’s fully prepared for how the mustang takes off at a galloping clip around the ring. He twists and bucks, but Dean claps his thighs tight and holds on for the ride.

The horse gets smarter.

He runs for the water trough just outside the ring. He slams Dean against the side of it once, twice—and manages to throw him off, with Dean landing right in the water trough.

He bursts out from the dirty water, sopping wet and spluttering in anger. He looks over at the horse trotting around, whinnying and tossing his head like he’s laughing. Dean can’t help it. His anger fades, and he smiles.

This guy’s got some brass balls, I’ll give him that.

The Lakota woman laughs. Dean hears it and his head swivels toward her. She bites her lip, but she knows she’s been caught. Despite his injured pride, Dean’s lips curve with a smirk. Just gonna laugh at me, huh?

“I see things are going well,” comes a familiar drawl.

Dean’s face falls as he looks up and finds Colonel Sanderson. Dean pulls himself out of the trough and tries to squeeze some water out of his uniform. He clears his throat.

“Well, uh, it’s going, sir. Just gonna take a little more time than I thought,” Dean says. He quickly reclaims his hat from the ring, giving the mustang a smart berth. After he climbs back out, he goes over to the post where he left his pistol.

“Hold him steady,” Sanderson barks out the order, but not at Dean. The other men wrangle the horse back into the pen, where Sanderson climbs up and mounts the horse himself.

To his credit, he stays on longer than even Dean thought he would. The mustang gallops and circles. He tries slamming Sanderson on the sides of the corral, tries bucking him and bucking him, but the man clings on, even when his hat falls into the dirt.

The horse is exhausted. He eventually stops in the middle of the ring, panting for breath, his legs shaking slightly. Dean straightens at attention.

So does the Lakota woman, he notices. She looks worried, her brows furrowing.

Sanderson swipes a hand over his graying hair and moustache to collect himself. He raises his head with an arrogant smile.

“You see, gentlemen. Any horse can be broken,” he says. He kicks the horse with his spur. “Move along, mustang.”

To everyone’s amazement, the horse obeys him. He moves forward at a slow clip. All the men applaud, even Dean, belatedly.

“There are those in Washington who believe the West will never be settled,” Sanderson continues. “The Northern Pacific Railroad will never breach Nebraska.”

His gaze draws over to the woman. Her eyes are filled with tears as she watches the Colonel makes his rounds.

“A hostile Lakota,” he says in derision, “will never submit to providence.”

She stares back at him with steel in her watery eyes.

Dean doesn’t realize his jaw is clenched tight until he feels the strain in his jaw. He forces himself to relax, with his hand on his dampened belt.

“And it’s that kind of small thinking that would say this horse would never be broken,” Sanderson says. “Discipline, time, and patience. That’s all you need to level a wild thing.”

Just then, the horse stops abruptly.

“Mustang?” Sanderson asks in warning.

Dean tenses. He knows what’s about to happen.

“Sir!” he calls out.

But it’s too late.

The stallion revs and charges, bucking even wilder than before. He swings his head and rears back high on his hind legs with a powerful bray. Sanderson yells in fear and strain, but he stays on the creature’s back.

The horse’s angry eyes take on a darker shade of conviction. When all four of his hooves hit the ground, he finally bucks hard enough to get the Colonel off his back, though he still clings to the reins near the animal’s head. He comes face to face with the horse’s crazed eyes. His own are wide and full of terror.

Hot breath heats Sanderson’s face. Then the horse swings his head and tosses the man out of the ring. In the process, the horse falls on his side and shatters a section of the wooden beams that fenced him in.

While he shakes his head and gets his hooves under him, Dean and Benny help the Colonel up to his feet. His uniform is a wreck, and now, with a bruised body and likely a couple of broken ribs, the man is fuming.

Kline and Roman wrangle the horse’s reins and keep him more or less in place. The Colonel shoves Dean and Benny off of him. He reaches for his gun at his belt and aims it at the mustang. Dean goes rigid in shock, but he knows he can’t interfere. If he does, it could warrant some major discipline.

The Colonel pulls the hammer back on the revolver, but before he can pull the trigger, the sound of cutting rope and a feminine yell breaks the silence in the clearing. The Lakota woman pulls the Colonel’s arms down, and the gun goes off into the ground. Her elbow comes up quick to strike the man between the eyes. He careens back into Benny, who catches him.

Meanwhile, the woman swings up onto the mustang. She grabs a stronghold by the neck and barks something in her native language. It spurs the horse onward, and he breaks through the crowd of men at a gallop.

Dean watches with widening eyes and furrowing brows. “Shit!”

He runs to the stables where he finds Baby waiting for him. Her black coat ripples as she stamps impatiently.

“Come on, sweetheart,” he beckons. He leads the mare out of the stable, and after grabbing a coil of rope from the supply bench, he mounts her smoothly. With a subtle kick of his heel, she picks up speed to follow the mustang and his rider.

They’re already approaching the gate where the men are quickly trying to close it. There’s still a window of opportunity for escape, but not only is Dean on their heels, Roman also stands on a pile of crates filled with iron parts that are due to be shipped out in the morning for continued construction on the railroad. Roman holds a rifle. He trains his weapon on the woman, taking deadly aim.

Dean’s jaw clenches and his brows furrow. He knows then, in the breadth of a few seconds, that he has to make a choice. If he does nothing, both she and the horse are as good as dead.

Sam used to call him reckless, stubborn as the horses he spent long hours taming.

Right about now, his brother is probably right.

Dean reaches for his gun, aims, and shoots within the span of those seconds. Roman goes down before he even knows what hits him. His chest plumes with blood after he slides down the crates and flops heavy to the ground. His eyes stare unseeing at the crisp blue sky.

The mustang tears through the narrow opening in the gate, and Dean isn’t far behind. The woman is an excellent rider, far better than he expected her to be. She clings to the horse’s neck and mane, and she doesn’t even use the stirrups. She clings on when the horse leaps over rocks, and when she notices Dean tailing her, she urges the horse at an even faster gallop.

Dean’s face furrows with determination. Baby is built for speed too.

He gives her a little kick with his heel. “Come on, Baby. Go!”

He’s able to keep up with the mustang just a few yards behind, even when they reach rougher terrain, going further up and into a canyon. He follows them through every curve and dip, guiding his horse just as much as she's guiding him.

Dean takes his rope in hand and turns it above his head, but his attempt to lasso the mustang's neck fails; the woman saws straight through the rope with her knife.

"Damn it!" Dean mutters.

He's forced to let go of his frayed rope when he and Baby nearly careen off the edge of a cliff. His heart settles high in his throat as he grits his teeth, but he pulls back on the reins hard and leans in the opposite direction. Baby's able to bank left, saving them from a long way down to certain death.

They continue up the narrow path the mustang has trod ahead. It carves around and through the mountain.

Dean mentally grasps for a plan, aside from just keeping up. Without even a bit of rope, he doesn’t know how he’s going to slow the woman down without hurting her or the horse. He doesn’t want to have to use his gun.

Eventually, the canyon breaks into a patch of desert, and then, grassy plains and tall forest trees. The mustang begins to tire and slow to a stop. His rider murmurs soothing things to him, stroking his neck. She turns back to look at Dean over her shoulder in dismay. She knows she’s caught.

“All right, sweetheart. That’s enough,” Dean says.

He sidles up next to her and intends to grab the mustang’s reins.

That’s when her swift kick comes, dead in his forehead.

AN: And here we go! 😅 Feels right that November is Native American Indian Heritage Month. 🫶🏽 For that reason especially I've done my best to do the Lakota people justice, even in this little series and complete work of fiction.

There's a lot packed in this first chapter, and yep, I did borrow a bit of scene from one of the best scenes in Spirit as an homage. From here on out, we're literally going off road...

Next Time:

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

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

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

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

Dean has a problem.

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

▶️ Keep Reading: PART 2

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[lokirulzart]

WILD WEST AU!!!!

You ever notice that when fools do a western AU, they cheap out on the horses or ignore them entirely??? WELL NOT HERE, FOLKS. ONLY THE HIGHEST QUALITY HORSE CONTENT. BECAUSE I LOVE Y’ALL AND ALSO HORSES.

Frank has a snooty Appaloosa because he’s fancy, but also appaloosas are reliable trail horses, so that means he can go bug collecting without worrying much. His insect collection is the envy of all the rich collectors in the whole county.

Wally ended up with a chestnut Arabian mare, because Wally is too small for a bigger horse and I just think it’s funny. HANG ON THERE, PARDNER!! SHE’S A WILD ONE!!! Luckily, Wally is usually unaware of his own horse acting up, and the mare ends up tiring herself out just because Wally simply doesn’t even notice her… he’s too busy spacing out. But he’s one of the best Bronco Busters around thanks to her!

Hunter/trapper/fur trader Barnaby has himself a lovely Shire mare with a sweet and patient disposition. She has no trouble carrying whatever Barnaby has hunted as well as big ol’ Barnaby himself… but he still feels bad about making her work, so he only ever hunts what he needs to in order to get by.

Julie and her mustang are BOTH wild. Julie had the chance to tame her, but instead she just fed off of her spirited energy and now the two of them just tear around being crazy together, getting into trouble, rolling in the dust… Julie wouldn’t have it any other way.

What better steed for a Pony Express postal worker than a sure footed mule?! Seriously, mules are the mountain goats of the equine world. Eddie’s mule might not be as fast of a sprinter as some horses, but this animal can trek over ANY terrain, ensuring that all of the mail gets delivered on time. They have yet to miss a single delivery.

(Snake oil) Salesman Howdy Pillar has a general store in town as WELL as a covered wagon to travel around, ensuring that everyone gets the best deals on their pork ‘n’ beans, biscuits, tobacco, and tonics. You want it? Howdy’s GOT it… and his team of 3 dapple gray Connemara ponies, and one brown one, will make sure that you can get it… also the tallest character having the smallest horses makes me giggle.

Poppy doesn’t have a rideable horse yet, which is perhaps for the best. She spends a lot of time at Howdy’s general store or riding in his wagon. She is his best customer. But she has recently come by a thoroughbred foal that she is now raising from a bottle. So perhaps one day very soon Poppy will have her own tall and elegant steed to carry her around… let’s just hope he’s not too fast for her.

Sally is a performer at the local saloon by night and helps out with cleaning during the day… she knows NOTHING about horses… but one night, after all the local drunks went home, a poor American Paint got left behind. Nobody came back to claim the animal, so Sally boards him at the local ranch and visits often. She hopes one day to learn how to ride him, but it’s slow going. She is, after all, a singer and actress first.

AND THEN HOME THE SALOON!! YOU DIDN’T THINK I’D FORGET HOME, DID YOU?? He has a small stable in the back and a second floor, where Wally lives! Wally gets to spend all his free time hanging out, meeting up with his friends, and drinking all the apple juice he wants! (Just don’t tell him it’s apple juice, he’ll get confused. He thinks he’s just drinking whiskey like everyone else. It’s easier this way.) Also Home is the only saloon that can kick out belligerent drunk people itself!

Also Bonus OCs, Luna O’Hare the bilingual cartographer (created by @m0stlygh0st) and Simon, my boy, the ranch hand! Luna has an Andalusian that she likes to dress up, braid it’s mane, and stick flowers in it-… as snacks for later. They’re also grazing buddies and Luna can often be found eating the horse feed because it’s so similar to rabbit food. Simon has a gelding Quarter Horse with golden retriever energy and not a single braincell to his name. Poor Simon… but at least his horse loves him.

YEEHAW!!!! 🤠

[rjzimmerman]

Excerpt from this story from Rolling Stone:

The iconic palomino stallion died on the same open lands he had roamed for years, but they looked unfamiliar to him in his last desperate moments. The dust from the helicopter kicking up behind him, the roar of the blades ceaselessly bearing down — it was enough to make him flee as fast as he could despite the leg he had snapped in half while trying to regain his freedom. His pursuers eventually tired of the chase, and a wrangler felled him with a rifle shot.

Sunshine Man was one of 21 wild horses killed at the behest of the Bureau of Land Management during a 2023 roundup in Nevada. And 2024 is looking to be even bloodier as the agency seeks to capture 20,000 horses by September. At least 11 horses died in a single northern Nevada roundup as of June 29. Few people know that wild horses are being driven to near extinction by inhumane roundups perpetrated by the federal government and funded by taxpayers. Unless we do something to end this antiquated, barbaric practice, wild horses will disappear forever.

A few years ago, my film crew and I set out on what would become a five-year journey across the American West to capture footage of wild horses for a film I was directing — an adaptation of Anna Sewell’s classic, Black Beauty. I have been a horse person since my youth; but it was on this trip, in the heart of the wild, that I first encountered the enduring magic and astounding beauty of these sacred symbols of American freedom.

I also experienced the chilling conspiracy that was threatening to permanently eradicate them in the cruelest way imaginable. 

Under the Wild Free-Roaming Horses and Burros Act of 1971 — which established federal protections for wild horses — the Bureau of Land Management is authorized to remove “excess” animals to protect the health of the range.

For decades, the BLM has captured thousands of wild horses and burros, claiming that an overpopulation of wild horses is causing land degradation or that the horses are in danger of starvation. But a landmark 2013 study conducted by the independent National Academy of Sciences found that the Bureau’s own justifications for removing wild horses and burros are not supported by science. 

The sinister truth is that wild horses are being used as a scapegoat for the multibillion-dollar livestock industry.

Numerous independent studies and experts agree that livestock grazing, not wild horses, is the major cause of degrading public lands. A 2022 analysis of the Bureau’s own data found that livestock outnumber wild horses and burros on public lands by more than 125:1. Livestock grazing is identified as a “significant cause” of land degradation in 72 percent of the areas that fail to meet rangeland health standards. 

Yet thousands of wild horses are still subject to violent roundups. In 2023, more than 5,000 wild horses and burros were removed from public lands, costing taxpayers about $160 million.

I witnessed these horrific roundups firsthand while filming my documentary, Wild Beauty: Mustang Spirit of the West. 

The BLM uses helicopters to chase wild horses — including pregnant mares, elderly horses, and foals no more than a day old — for miles, sometimes in extreme heat, on grueling and dangerous terrain to the point of injury, exhaustion, and death. More horrific injuries occur as the terrified horses are forced into “trap sites” — narrowly fenced-in areas on the range where the horses collide in the melee, sometimes breaking their legs or necks as they try to escape.

The BLM repeatedly refused my film crew and journalists from the Associated Press access to the trap sites where deaths and injuries often occur. When we were eventually allowed access, we documented the horrendous conditions. We saw pain and terror in the horses’ eyes as blood streamed down their faces. I’ll never forget the sound of their cries as they were separated from their families.

The BLM insists helicopter roundups are humane — but there is nothing humane about using a helicopter to chase a highly intelligent, federally protected animal to its death. This is abuse. 

[insipid-drivel]

Ahoi, horse question -

I knew most facts on your list but it’s a fun read, thanks for that.

I also knew that horses can overeat themselves to death but I always wondered:

What’s different with wild horses, how do they regulate themselves? And didn’t they occasionally eat bad plants and mushrooms, too, that poisoned them?

Wild horses can and do poison themselves by eating toxic plants, it's just that herds of wild horses are remarkably rare to see EVER, so the whole "toxic plants in reach of horses" discourse is almost entirely limited to domestic settings. Tansy, especially, is a poisonous herb that can appear to blend into other safe grasses and herbs a horse may eat, and the horse will eventually die of colic (intestinal spasms that cause the horse's GI tract to literally tie itself in knots, cut off bloodflow, and result in an agonizing death; it's one of the most common causes of premature death in horses). That's why responsible owners pay out the nose to have their paddocks ID'd and and cleared of any toxic plants the horse may accidentally graze on. Most experienced horse/ranch owners practically qualify for an honorary botany degree, because the best owners learn how to identify most - if not all - of the toxic plants their horses may encounter in their area, and keep their horses far away from them until/unless the plants can be removed.

With many wild horses you may see in photos, those are the ones that made it to adulthood. Horses are prey animals, and so wild horses you see in film or pictures - even babies - may not have survived to the publication of the picture you're looking at. As prey animals, only the strong and lucky survive to old age without human intervention on some level to improve their mortality rates. Foals are just as vulnerable to predation as baby deer, and usually can't survive if they're injured or sick in any way that keeps them from keeping up with their herd. The herd usually follows the dominant mating stallion, who typically decides when it's time for the herd to move (unless the mares decide he's not worth listening to, which happens sometimes). There aren't really that many places in the world where you'll see truly wild horses, so most people don't think of them as prey animals that are as vulnerable to environmental dangers as any other prey animal.

It's well to remember, too, that pretty much all true-blue, wild horses today are the descendants of domestic horses to some degree. In the American West, wild herds of Mustangs were captured by the US Army and westward-bound settlers in the 18th and 19th centuries so voraciously that wild mustang populations pretty much went entirely extinct (Spirit: Stallion of the Cimarron is very much taking place during the final years Spirit will ever know freedom as a wild animal. A few years later, the horses will end up broken and domesticated by soldiers if they aren't tamed and separated by other humans, and there will be no more mustang herds to see on the western frontiers for well over a century).

All horses are thought to descend from the OG horse, the Przewalski's Horse, aka Those Cave-Painting Horses:

The very first true horses to ever appear were initially native to what is now steppes and grasslands in Mongolia and Russia - so basically Central Asia. It's theorized that, thousands of years ago, these horses gradually migrated into North America via the Bering Land Bridge that once joined North America to what is now Russia, and evolved and were domesticated into now what we recognize as the American Mustang:

American Mustangs don't bear a very clear resemblance to their Przewalski ancestors due to thousands of years of domestication, separation from their original species, and selective breeding practices by humans.

Both the Przewalksi's Horse and American Mustangs have recently been on the rise thanks largely to conservation methods when it comes to wild populations of them. The Przewalski's Horse was so rare that it was functionally extinct in the wild in the 1960s, with the only significant populations of surviving horses being kept in zoos and wildlife conservatories. Now, the horses have made such a big comeback that some of the first wild herds have been released back into their home environment in Central Asia.

The main difference is in how the horses are treated by their human protectors, or if they have humans looking after them at all. Domestic horses that are raised privately and kept essentially as very expensive pets spend their entire lives having humans providing them with most, if not all, of their required resources and care, so they don't typically get the same experience with food that they would in the wild. Herds of wild horses can have roaming territories of hundreds, if not thousands, of hectares and be comprised of a dozen or more individual horses, while most domestic "pet" horses are usually limited to much tighter pastures that only span a couple of acres, maybe in the double or triple digits if there's money-money involved, but the horses still largely have their dietary needs and daily routines decided for them by their owners - not natural instinct and rearing by other horses.

A horse really can't get everything it needs nutritionally or behaviorally in a paddock-and-stable setup without humans to feed and look after them, because they don't have a huge range of places they were evolved to travel between to sustain their health; horses, like other ungulates, need vital minerals like those found in natural salt deposits to maintain their health, and the soil in your horse's paddock may be so nutritionally deprived that the grass your horse grazes on doesn't actually contain enough nutrition for the horse to survive without supplementation to their food. They also need more than grass to be nutritionally stable; horses will seek out and eat fruits, veggies, grains, herbs, and especially love molasses and other forms of sugar for their sky-high amounts of carbohydrates (and because they taste good). But they don't know how to properly regulate what they eat when presented with an unlimited supply without a human to handle the portion control side of things, so it's easy for them to overeat to the point that it kills them.

Wild horses are born and raised feeding and taking care of themselves and each other in highly maternal, matriarchal communities (mostly females of reproductive age and their babies with only one or two adult breeding males; the stallions are usually the ones that lead the herd, but the mares really have the final say). Aside from eating something they didn't know was toxic, wild horses learn from their peers and elders when it comes to where they can find the best food and when, and rely heavily upon their understanding of their territory/range when it comes to knowing where and what they should eat to stay healthy. They also have to share resources with other horses in their herd, and don't get access to huge 200lb barrels of oats or 150lb bales of pure feeding hay, so they usually don't find opportunities like domestic horses do to find Enormous Stores Of Unprotected Food and make themselves sick.

Horses have a muscle at the top of their stomachs referred to as a French Tie. It literally makes it physically impossible for a horse to throw up, even if they've eaten something bad or overeaten and would stand a better chance at surviving if they could spit up what they ate. Being grazing animals with long necks, they can't have the internal structure to throw up with, because otherwise they would never be able to get their food or water from their mouths to their stomachs. Gravity would prevent them from being able to eat without constantly raising their heads up to gulp down food like an alligator with a chicken drumstick (seriously, try taking a drink of water while you're dangling upside down; that's why NOT being able to regurgitate is more valuable for horses), which is not what grass-eating animals want to do: grass and plant life is very hard to digest efficiently, horses only have one stomach compared to other ungulates like cows, and horses and similar grazing animals spend so much time chewing on their food in order to make it easier to digest and draw nutrition from that it generally makes their food intake pretty steady for their digestive systems to cope with.

Domestic horses that live their lives in paddocks and barns know where things like the grain store/feed room are, and don't really understand why we stingy humans will only give them a scoop or two of oats as a treat and not give them as much as they want 24/7. Their instincts almost always are to graze, graze, graze, so what's wrong with going face-down in a barrel full of oats? It's just tasty food!

Except we know that overeating means they can't puke up what they don't need or can't digest the way your dog can if they managed to rip open your 50lb bag of cat food while you were away at work. They don't know better, and there's no way to teach a horse NOT to eat when food is right in front of their noses, so farm-horses essentially have their entire diets managed for them to keep them safe and healthy, while wild horses just don't have access to that sheer quantity of unguarded food to overeat at all under typical circumstances.

[virtie333]

14 & 21 on the horse asks.

14. Faroe Pony - What place(s) do you want to visit?

Oh, so many places. I think if I had unlimited funds, the first place I would go would be Ireland. An acquaintance of mine just took a riding vacation there, and I am so envious. Closer to home, I'd love to visit the Civil War battlefields, especially Gettysburg. Then there's Australia (NSW and Victoria specifically), England, any African savanna, the ancient temples in Central America and the Yucatan... I could go on. I can dream.

21. Brumby - What's your favorite book(s)?

Ironic that the Brumby is used for this question, as one of my favorite books is Marguerite Henry's Mustang: Wild Spirit of the West. While Mustangs are the feral horses in the U.S., Brumbies are their Australian counterpart. I also love To Kill a Mockingbird and The Secret Garden. My favorite romance is Justine Davis' The Morning Side of Dawn, where the heroine is a famous model that is being stalked and the hero is a double amputee with an attitude. She doesn't take any of his shit, nor does she pity him because of his disability, and that's more than enough to make him fall in love.

Thanks for the asks! My anxiety is getting the best of me tonight and this was a nice distraction.

[cowpokeomens]

bomens as wistern tingz

Under the cut you'll find my interpretation of Bad Omens as different western things that my silly little yeehaw brain associates with them. Enjoy!

Jolly

Jolly is a damn good pair of boots- soft leather and a sturdy heel, aged like a fine whiskey, but obviously taken care of. Jolly is a pair of boots that work all day in the blistering heat, covered in cow shit and mud and raw cotton and who knows what else, and is then gently cleaned off and conditioned after dinner. Reliable, versatile, classic. He doesn't buy into the whole pointy-toe business for going out, and can dance as well as he works with just a square toe, thank you very much! The kind of boot you can wear anywhere.

Nicholas

Nicholas is a mustang. No-not the car, what the hell? A mustang, a wild male horse. Today's mustangs descended from Spanish horses, ran off west like everyone else and never looked back. This technically doesn't make them wild- it makes them feral. I think that better encapsulates the spirit of a mustang: Feral. They're unbreakable, wild as hell. Arguably skittish, but fully aware they could stomp you out. Nicholas is a mustang because when you see one, you stop everything you're doing. Your whole world freezes because you've seen a damn horse, and it's the most beautiful horse you'll ever see, and you'd do anything for that horse to drag you away to wherever it came from and never look back, too.

Noah

Noah, in my mind, is a brand new pair of spurs. Shiny, catches the light, bites the shit out of you if you handle it wrong. Spurs were a sign of rank for awhile- you'd have your everyday spurs, your spurs for nice occasions, and your dancing spurs, which were incredibly lightweight and mostly just for show. Spurs can also vary in sharpness, but I think Noah would be a damn sharp pair of 'em. He wouldn't believe in the gilded spur bullshit of the people around him, thinks that something should first and foremost serve a purpose. But he'd still be polished to mirror finish, silver as the moon.

Nick

Nick is the fishing boat you see on a lake and think: Who the hell left their boat here?" But then, hey! Some scraggly old man emerges and asks if you'd like some of his fish fry- largemouth bass. It looks like a death trap, right? The boat, not the fish (The fish is amazing, ask anyone.) Anyways, this boat looks like it's just waiting to kill someone, but the owner knows it like the back of his hand, untethers it from the dock and sets out on his merry way and for a second, you see the boat as it was new: Gleaming as it slices through the sparkling waters, and you realize it's not dilapidated, it's just loyal.

[book--brackets]

Sea Star and Mustang by Marguerite Henry

I only added Mustang as Sea Star is part of the Misty series, which is already on the list

[allrandomfandoms]

Spirit: Stallion of the Cimarron, Spirit —Aesthetic

Spirit's Character & Personality

Spirit is a Mustang stallion who's the leader of the Cimarron herd in the wild west. He's quite courageous and free. Spirit has a fiery spirit, which he never allows to be tamed. However, he's able to balance this with the love for his mate, the paint horse, Rain. In addition, Spirit is confident, charming and caring. He knows he's handsome, but his charm is endearing rather than arrogant. Spirit is driven by his selflessness and empathy, especially for his mother, Esperanza. More than anything, he's honest and vulnerable. Thus, Spirit never fails to say what’s on his mind.

[msftsn]

THE RYDER FIVE .

in the sun-baked deserts of arizona and new mexico, the ryder 5 carved their name into the annals of outlaw history. these outlaws were no ordinary gang; they were the stuff of legend. together, the ryder 5 rode the devil’s herd—robbing banks, waylaying stagecoaches, and laughing in the face of the law.

their exploits echoed through canyons and whispered across campfires, immortalizing them as legends of the wild west, now, decades past the time of outlaws and the wild west the ryder five remain; not as gun - wielding outlaws but as the people "behind the scenes".

THE LEADER : buck ryder.

the enigmatic leader of the ryder five, buck ryder was a man of few words but swift action. his sun-weathered face bore the scars of countless gunfights, and his eyes held secrets deeper than the canyons. buck's code was simple: loyalty to the gang above all else. he rode with a purpose — to defy authority, protect the downtrodden, and leave his mark on the rugged landscape.

nowadays he remains as enigmatic as ever, only sharing with his fellow outlaws the story of his immortality, however a few decades ago he's founded his own company which skyrocketed well beyond his own belief, causing buck to become one of the richest people in the world. ironic, as he distributes his wealth to help those less fortunate, much like he would have done during the golden age of outlaws.

THE RIGHT HAND : mikhail "butch" fedotovskih

born in the heart of moscow, mikhail fled the tumult of the russian revolution, seeking refuge in the vast american west. his accent was thick, his eyes haunted by memories of st. petersburg’s snow-covered streets. but beneath that stoic exterior lay a fierce determination. butch earned his nickname for his no-nonsense approach to outlaw life. he didn’t waste words; he let his colt speak for him. mikhail’s loyalty to the gang was unwavering.

now, his accent remains, the only reminder of the gangs golden years as he travels in the name of buck; still his unwaveringly loyal right hand, taking over the duty of representing his closest comrade in arms. he remains a unwavering figure; except now his fight with the law is about the unfair treatment law enforcement has against specific groups.

THE HEART AND SOUL : evelyn "bailey" kayne

evelyn was the fastest draw west of the mississippi. her silver-streaked hair matched the gleam in her eyes when she faced down lawmen. she had a soft spot for lost causes—a wounded mustang, a stolen locket, or a desperate farmer. but cross her, and you’d find yourself staring down the barrel of her colt. she was as deadly as she was beautiful. her sharpshooting skills were unmatched, and her fiery spirit kept the gang on its toes. she rode alongside buck and butch as a founding member, and one of the core five, her silver hair fluttering in the wind as they galloped toward infamy.

remaining one of the core members evelyn has taken her immortality to run several dozens of shelters for women across the world; though together with the other core five members she also runs several humanitarian operations as well as several sancutaries for animals (and several hidden sanctuaries for endangered creatures of myth and legend).

THE NATURALIST : "beau"

beau was the tracker, the one who could read the desert like a well-worn map. his sun-kissed skin bore tattoos, each marking a life saved or a debt owed. his laugh echoed through campfires, and his loyalty to the gang was unbreakable. but when the moon was high, he’d slip away to commune with the spirits of the land. he was a force of nature. his lightning-fast draw made him feared by lawmen and respected by fellow outlaws. while his true name remained a mystery, he learnt to love being beau.

nowadays his endeavours are focused on protecting and preserving nature and wildlife, running multiple sanctuaries and actively going against poachers. he remains in close contact with the core five after having gained immortality and is in charge of most of the sanctuaries (of which he shares responsibilities with evelyn as butch and buck tend to simply fund their operations).

THE DOCTOR : scarlett "bonnie" o'donnell

scarlett was the wildcard of the gang. with fiery red hair and a penchant for mischief, she could charm a rattlesnake out of its den. her weapon of choice? a pearl-handled revolver, engraved with delicate roses. but don’t be fooled—those roses concealed deadly thorns. also working as the gangs resident doctor, her medicine bag filled with herbs and ancient wisdom. her eyes held the vastness of the prairie sky, and her touch could mend bones and hearts alike.

nowadays with the funding of buck she runs several non - profit hospitals while also funding education in the medical field for women to give them a chance to learn; especially in countries where they might be discouraged.

[foxsumo]

The Mustang Horse is a breed of feral horse that originated in North America and is known for its hardiness, stamina, and wild spirit. They are descendants of horses that were brought to North America by Spanish explorers in the 16th century, and have since lived and adapted to the harsh environments of the American West. Mustangs vary in size and appearance, but are generally between 13 and 15 hands in height and can weigh up to 1,000 pounds. They have a sturdy, compact build and are known for their endurance, agility, and ability to survive in rugged terrain. Mustangs are often found in wild herds, but can also be adopted and trained for various equestrian disciplines, including trail riding, dressage, and jumping. They are known for their independent nature and courage, and are admired for their natural beauty and untamed spirit. Mustangs are a symbol of the American West and have a special place in American history and culture.

[zepskies]

Series Masterlist: The Honorable Choice

Pairing: Dean Winchester x OFC 

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

AN: I got inspired after a recent rewatch of Spirit: The Stallion of the Cimarron (literally a perfect movie), as well as having Yellowstone in the back of my brain. I thought this idea might be a good fit for @jacklesversebingo.

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

Jacklesverse Bingo24 Prompt: Western AU

Series Tags/Warnings: 18+ only. Racism, angst, violence, protective Dean, eventual smut, perilous situations, fluff and spice, along with other chapter-specific tags.

🎵 Listen While You Read: The Spirit Soundtrack

Chapters:

Part 1 - Pride & Prejudice

Part 2 - Death & Sacrifice

Part 3 - Worthy

Series Complete!

🎙️ Podcast Fics:

A “podfic” is where you can listen to the story narrated - in this case by my amazing friend Sandra - @talltalesandbedtimestories.

Listen to Part 1 -

Listen to Part 2 -

Listen to Part 3 -

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