#tlou2 horses

[animasolascreenshots]

The Last of Us: Part II (2020)

[abbysthighs]

He just really loves horsies.

[moved2fshfish]

rip shimmer i miss u every day

[animasolaoriginal]

[gallonofgoldfish]

Whiskey and Winning

It's easy to get distracted at the rodeo. At least, it should be, under the lights and in the crowded stands, but you've only got one thing on your mind. Champion bronco rider Abby Anderson could say the same.

Pairing: cowpoke!abby x reader (sort of)

Content: established relationship, fluff, poor attempts at depicting the rodeo, reader is barely described, i swear im not slut shaming i just think the term buckle bunny is funny, i don't think any warnings apply

A/N: wrote this last night in a haze. i hardly know anything about tlou and rodeos actually make me really sad but yk. the parasites. might make another part to this at some point. didn't tell my friends i was posting this so if you guys see this hello i love you thank you for hyping me up <3. also friendly reminder fuck neil druckmann and do not give that zionist your money!!!

WC: 1080

The blare of the announcer’s voice from the overhead speakers is deafening, but you haven’t heard a word he’s said. The lights are blinding, but you won’t squint against their glare. The stadium is packed full—roaring with the drunken cheers of thousands of strangers, glittering with the flash of every camera and belt buckle and rhinestone-studded hat suffocating in the stands—but it may as well be empty save for the two of you.

The world is quiet. Eerily so, though maybe the ringing in your ears is playing a part in that. It’s narrow. It’s tinged by the black splotches at the edge of your vision and strained by the clench of your jaw.

The world is the cowpoke settling onto the bare back of the bronc in the chute only a few feet away from you. It’s the wide-brimmed ten-gallon pressed firmly down over the dirty blonde braid hanging between her shoulders. The collared white shirt stretching over her back, quilted with Marlboro patches and brand logos. The crimson bandana you’d had in your hair an hour earlier, resting around her neck.

The world is Abby Anderson, from the freckles strewn over her scarred, sunburned face to the cold focus in her steely blue eyes that evaporates when her gaze settles on you. Ice turns to the warmth of Jack Daniel’s, neat in its absence. To the gray of campfire smoke winding into the white-speckled sky, burning away the chill in the air. Warding off the spectators and the clamor and the awful, twisting feeling of waiting.

This is what it’s about, right?

The rush. The thrill.

The hitch in the air as her hand tightens on the rigging one last time. 

A grin splits her features.

She winks.

And then she’s gone. The gate swings open and the bucking mare takes off with her on its back and the world bursts back into a mess of color and noise. Eight seconds.

You’re yelling—you’re not sure what you’re yelling, but it’s loud enough to leave your throat raw and earn some sideways looks from the flock of buckle bunnies pressed up against the railing alongside you. 

Seven.

Part of Pour Some Sugar on Me blasts from the staticky speakers, and Abby appears on the jumbotrons in perfect detail. 

Six.

The bay mare thrashes into the air, but Abby’s faster, stronger, the muscles in her arms pushing against the seams of her shirt as she holds her free hand held up in the air. 

Five.

The snarling wolves engraved on her belt buckle flash under the lights. 

Four.

Every kick whips the fringe along the edges of her shotgun chaps, but the timer ticks down anyway. 

Three.

She holds on, anyway.

A closer shot brings her face into focus: grit teeth, a furrowed brow, a muscle ticking along the edge of her jaw. 

Two.

Sweat runs down the side of her features and into the scar on her cheek beneath the shadow of her hat’s brim. 

She’s in the middle of the arena now, gritty sand flying up around her. 

One?

If you could tear your eyes off of her, you’d check the time to make sure you’re counting right.

The music stops. An airhorn sounds. She’s still the rider—some distant, mythical thing up on a screen and down in the dirt.

Abby’s mouth opens in a shout when the second set of floodlights kick in, raising her head only to lock eyes with the pair of wranglers who burst out of the chutes after her to rope the bronc back in. She rocks forward with the mare’s motion one more time before swinging herself off its back and bailing into the sand. 

You finally get a breath out, resting your head against your forearm on the railing and heaving a sigh.

The announcer’s words retreat to the back of your thoughts again, but not before you catch her score. 95.

Ninety–fucking–five. The day’s record.

Just as the stadium begins to die down, the strangers beside you erupt into another round of cheers. Abby’s on her feet again, dusting herself off and sweeping her hat off of her head to shake out the loose strands of hair framing her face. And she’s walking. Jogging. Full-on running, back towards the chutes.

Or maybe not. 

She vaults the rickety fencing at the edge of the ring like she’s been practicing and hauls herself up into the stands. You can’t bite back your smile at the sight of her, shoulders heaving, beaming, alive. The crooks of her boots expertly find the backs of the plastic stadium seats between spectators’ shoulders. As she makes her way over, the strangers along the railing surge towards her, arms outstretched over the section’s edge. 

Abby doesn’t even see them; her stare never leaves yours except to glance at the railing before stepping up on the platform and hooking an arm through the top metal rung. 

She’s real again then—the world in flannel and denim and muddy boots, inches away.

Abby. Your Abby.

You’re breathing it in. Smoke from the night before. Pine and sweat.

Then, you’re tasting it. Whiskey and winning.

Her hat settles atop your head. Calloused, resin-stuck fingers thread through your hair at the back of your neck and reel you in. Your lips are on hers—or maybe it’s the other way around—and you laugh against each other.

Heat creeps into your cheeks long before you pull away.

“You shouldn’t be up here,” you scold, but your smile chases off any thread of sternness your voice might’ve held.

“Agree to disagree.” She wipes her forehead on her sleeve and huffs, one brow arched. The rosy blush in her features lingers even when the sweat is gone. 

The screens over her shoulder change to show two familiar shapes. 

“We’re on the jumbotron,” you say. 

Abby doesn’t bother looking back. Just laughs “Good,” then kisses you again. This one is quicker, lighter, but your stomach flutters all the same.

“Go.” You squeeze her arm. “I’m sure you’re gettin’ somethin’ good for a ride like that.”

She scoffs. “I do this for no damn awards,” she drawls.

“Can’t all be adrenaline,” you murmur, tugging at her bandana.

That sly, smoky look creeps across her features again as the hat lifts from your head and sinks back down onto hers.. The corner of her mouth tugs upward. Her eyes dart over your face. Stepping down, she leaves you two more words and a pounding in your chest:

“It ain’t.”

[dinasangel]

IF YOU WANT .

cowgirl!abby x reader

summary ; after having seemingly nothing ahead of you for what felt like years but was really just months, your mother finds a new opportunity for you, a new purpose to linger in your life, but is it made for you?

cw ; switch!abby, switch!reader, slow burn, southern au, eventual smut, abby denying her feelings for the longest time ever, hair braiding!! , catching butterflies, will-they-won't-they, arguments but coming from a nice place , closeted/unsure!abby, sharing a bed, slight homophobia, teaching abby how to play a piano, cuddling on accident and on purpose, slight praise kink from both sides, abby teaches you how to ride a horse , dancing!!, baking, injury , reader is scared of dogs ok , NO use of y/n , rrrrrr idk this will probs be added to

a/n ; is it ok that i added stuff to the content warning that'll be in future chapters just not this one and isn't all smutty stuff or is that not ok????? also sorry the caps are ugly i feel improper without them.

A slick heat beat down on your hair, snuffing any previously made attempts at improving it's state, and the journey you had just taken had worn you of any care for it by this point. Growing up in England only made matters worse, severely unpreparing you for this sort of weather, and you dreaded the fact that this was all you'd be feeling for who knows how long. Suitcases were hauled from your mother's car , safely situated at your side before she brought you into a crushing hug, one that had you groaning at the pressure.

"Make sure you write, you know how worried me and your father'll be." She said sternly, hands holding your shoulders.

"Yeah, I know. I will." You replied just as adamantly.

"Okay, good. You make sure you have fun now, okay? Oh , and remember-" your mother rambled on , which you were sure was just her way of keeping you back longer.

"Remember my manners, yeah, I got it." You interrupted. You truly were going to miss her and your father, but you were sure if she was here any longer she might just cave and stay eith you, which you did not want. A warm smile curled against her lips, crows feet appearing at the corners of her eyes.

"Look at you, my sweet girl, all grown up." She sighed dreamily and you couldn't help but grin, eyes rolling lightheartedly.

"Yeah, yeah." You dismissed, bringing her into one last crushing hug before exchanging small 'goodbyes' and 'i love you's' before she reluctantly got back into her car and headed off, leaving you to sit on a bench, awaiting your ride.

Your mother had been friends with a man called Jerry Anderson for longer than you could recall, and after one of their most recent catchups, the topic of you had eventually been picked up. You had always been a good student, exceptional grades whilst maintaining a stable social life and everyone had always expected big things from you, only once you had graduated university, your whole life had come to a standstill and it was starting to look like you'd be living at home forever. That was until Jerry brought up the fact his daughter, Abby, could use some tutoring, and it was settled before you'd even known ; you were going to tutor his daughter.

You didn't know why, nor did you even care really. As long as it gave you something to do with your life , you would do it. Being a picture perfect role model and ending up this way was no short of humiliating , and no amount of concealing it from everyone else could hide the truth from yourself.

"Tsch, what the fuck is this signal?" You groan quietly as you attempt to do anything with your phone to distract you from the boredom looming over your body and the nervousness pooling in your stomach, filling the gaps between you organs in a sickly warm way. Thankfully for you, a truck pulls up , usefully arriving at the exact time discussed. This never would've happened back home. You hate the fact you feel homesick already.

A door opens and you stand up, shaking the hand of the man in front of you. He's taller by a few inches, maybe 3 or 4, hair which is seemingly quite long done up in a neat ponytail and you're almost jealous of the way it sticks better than your hair, messily braided by yourself, a skill you've never mastered. You're sure you could, but between studies and friends and family, you'd never had the time.

"So you're the one who's gonna be putting up with Abs, huh?" He teases playfully with an accent you weren't expecting, sounding far more Spanish than Southern, pulling his hand away to grab your suitcases, an act of chivalry you're not too acquainted with.

"Abs?" You questioned.

"Oh, Abby." He corrected. You nodded in recognition, slightly humiliated you didn't link the two.

"Yeah, I guess." You say, climbing into the passenger seat of his burgundy truck. The seats are slightly worn, objects strewn across here and there, but nothing grotesque. He gets in and starts the engine up before beginning to drive. A heavy silence hangs in the air, once he seems to be a lot more comfortable with in comparison to your agitated state.

"So...what's she like?" You ask reluctantly, unsure on whether making conversation is a food idea. You don't even know him, and you're not sure he's worth getting to know.

"Abby? She's smart, really, just not got the right knowledge to get outta this place. Listens real well too, always got an eye for seeing things about people. She's nice to be around, awkward if you don't know her though. Real funny too, but don't tell her I said that." He explains. His carefree attitude irritates you slightly. This is all business to you.

"Why's she want to leave?" You ask, testing the waters, unsure od where the boundaries lie. Manny shrugs his shoulders.

"I never really asked. Why'd you leave?" He counters, confusing you.

"Huh?"

"I mean, you had this whole life n now you're here, what's up with that?" He explains himself, eyes flicking to you slightly before returning to the road.

You shrug slowly, staring down at the objects you can see here and there.

"Dunno. Just...not much left for me back there, or something." You say vaguely. He doesn't pry, which you like.

"So, what's England like?" He asks.

You find yourself settling into a comfortable conversation with him, the soft sound of music playing on the radio as a mere background noise. You find you don't dislike him as much anymore.

The town is small, definitely smaller than anything you've ever seen, and it's equally shocking how friendly everybody is. Every person you pass says hey or at least waves. It should decrease your nerves and allow you to relax a little, but it has you even more jittery. You're noticing how much you stand out even more as things go on. Most people are dressed in shorts , dresses, tank tops, skirts, anything that let's what little cool breeze circulate their body and suddenly you wish you'd acquired more taste in clothes that go beyond your usual jeans , long or occasionally short sleeved shirt and converse combo. You make sure to make a mental note to go shopping as Manny continues to drive.

A wooden, clearly old house (though better described as a cottage) slowly emerged into view. The paint was cracked in some areas, however other parts looked freshly applied, so, putting two and two together, you assumed there was renovations being done.

"So...how many people, y'know...fit in that?" You asked Manny, unsure there was going to be enough space for everything.

"Oh well, Abby has her own place not too far from here so it's actually just been her dad." He explained as they pulled up into the dirt driveway before getting out. You went for your suitcases, slightly protective over them in such a unfamiliar setting, but Manny was quick to wave you off, getting them out himself. You followed awkwardly behind, unsure of yourself ; wondered if it was too late to turn back now.

"Manny, hey!" Jerry called out, leaving his position on the couch to wrap Manny up in a hug before holding his hand out to you.

"Hey, it's so good to see you." Jerry greeted politely. You have a slight smille, your mother's words lingering in the back of your mind.

"You too."

"I'll go check on your room. D'you want a drink or anything?" He asked to which you shook your head.

"No thank you."

"Alright." He said before heading upstairs, leaving your eyes to scan the house. The place was well painted, a stark contrast to the outside of the house. Lace curtains adorned almost every window, walls covered in random paintings, some hand drawn personally, some purchased from nearby stores. A few coffee mugs lay out, a couple records here and there. It was warm, obviously lived in and taken care of. The wooden floorboards creaked slightly as you slowly moved along, trying to remain inconspicuous and subtle in your curiousness which felt lot like snooping to you. Your fingers reached out to run along the record player held on a tidy shelf, only filled otherwise with a plant and some cds for the car before you heard scrambling paws on wood and, before you could even move, a dog jumping up at you.

Your first instinct was to instantly recoil, retracting your hand back as you stepped back unsteadily. You did not like dogs. Small ones were tolerable at the most, but big ones were crossing the line by a mile, and this was a big dog. In all reality it just wanted to play and was excited by the presence of somebody new, but you couldn't consider that right now.

"Hey, Alice, c'mon, get down." A soft , almost silky smooth voice laughed awkwardly, a voice you were not yet familiar with. The dog - Alice - retreated, allowing you to look up qt the woman who had just entered. Dirty blonde hair, probably considerably long however the proper length went undetermined due to it being tied up in a tight braid. She was a little like an ox ; viisibly muscular, slightly taller by 3 inches , yet her demeanour was anything but. Her hand reached out to yours. You stared at it, unmoving.

"Hey, s' good to see you. I'm Abby." She greeted as warmly as she could. Abby. The girl you were tutoring. Your lack of movement and response caused her to pull her hand back awkwardly.

"Not much of a hand shaker?" She asked, clearly desperate to fill the silence hanging in the air like thick fog, threatening to suffocate the two of you.

"Not really." You lied, knowing full well you could still feel the texture of everyone's hands you had shaken on your skin (yes, everyone was two people). Today seemed to be going your way for a split second as Jerry came in, however all hope was quickly disintegrated.

"So uh, bad news. There's been a leakage in one of the pipes , the one right above your room and I wouldn't wanna make you stay in that." He explains, features and tone nothing but apologetic.

"Oh." You say. If a long journey with an over-emotional mother and heat that had your clothes sticking to you in the mosf uncomfortable ways humanely possible wasn't bad enough, this was the final tipping point.

"We can pay for you to stay at a motel for you for now but-"

"She can stay with me?" Abby interrupts, quick to add onto her words for a reason you can't quite place your finger on.

"Cause, y'know, she's my tutor and all so it's just easier than going back and forth to different houses and I can take the couch." She explains, rambling on and on incessantly, hands moving and curving. It'd be annoying if you weren't so exhausted.

"Okay yeah, if that's okay with you?" Jerry asked you to which you shrugged absentmindedly.

"Sure." You agreed.

If you thought the silence in the house around two other people was bad, you were infinitely wrong. Being sat next to someone you barely know in dead silence, only provided the whirring of the car to fuel your thoughts, was a nightmare. You could briefly notice her opening her mouth every so often , and you assumed that she was going to ask why you were here and for some reason couldn't. Her eyes constantly flicked to you, desperate you would say something first to do you both a favour. You didn't.

"So uh, why'd you-" she began.

"Hey, Abby? I really don't want to be rude but, I'm exhausted." You interrupted, pleading with everything in you that she would take the hint and be quiet, which thankfully, she did. You almost felt bad. Almost.

The rest of the car journey was done in silence, and you didn't even bother looking at her house nor examining the contents of it as though you were doing a quick in-and-out shopping trip, walking in and being lead up to her room , suitcases placed down before she rambled on about something you couldn't even grasp the concept of the second she opened her lips to speak.

"Um, anyways, g'night." She murmured, awkwardly going to leave the room. Watching her walk out of the door like a dog with it's tail between it's legs was enough for you to give in and soothe her nerves slightly with an exaggerated sigh.

"Hey Abby?"

"Yeah?"

"Thank you."

It was the first time you'd seen her smile or look even slightly relaxed all day.

[darl1ngpearl]

SAVE A HORSE, RIDE A COWGIRL ,

RELIGIOUS!READER

coming soon…

[thetipsybison]

My spirit animal

[cowgurrrl]

Okay but I’m genuinely so excited to see more of Gabriel Luna’s Tommy because I know he’s gonna be so fucking scary in the second season

[kingoftieland]

“I’m gonna find… and I’m gonna kill… every last one of them.” 🏹

I’m ready to relive Ellie’s relentless pursuit of vengeance in The Last Of Us Part II with this 8” tall figurine from Dark Horse Deluxe! Sculpted by the artists at Naughty Dog and prototyped and painted by Gentle Giant Studios, this statue looks right at home with the rest of my collectibles from this iconic series!

[animasolascreenshots]

The Last of Us: Part II (2020)

[kblartplace]

Día 23: Shimmer y Japan.

This two took me a lot. I redraw horses like 6 times until I get to this picture. I sincerely love them.

[theghostbeaters]

who wants to hear me bitch aaaaagain? too bad lmao

this episode was just okay. “mid” as the kids say. until they had that whole stupid conversion with maria and ellie about joel. i literally couldn’t see and hear anything other then neils dumbass like listen guys joel bad he bad man he bad! get ready for season 2 cause he bad and what i do to him is okay cause he bad!!!! 

fuck off.

[ashmatashs]

I’ve been listening to a lot of cowboy western music lately, and I can’t get the idea of cowboy/ranger Abby off hunting down outlaws (and on a personal revenge quest) out of my noggin. Bonus points to anyone that finds the firefly tags

[animasolaoriginal]

[gallonofgoldfish]

Flowers and Fireworks

Returning to business as usual on the ranch is hardly monotonous with Abby around. New faces and old trails make for good company, even if it means getting sidetracked.

Pairing: cowpoke!abby x reader (sort of)

Content: established relationship, brief cowboy ellie, fluff, poor attempts at writing southern accents (i dont even think theyre in the south), reader isn't described, sort of a part two?, author needs a cowboy partner asap, i know less about horses than before, i don't think any warnings apply

A/N: the brainrot is brainrotting. i wanted to write cowboy ellie but then got distracted by both abby and the excitement of a motor vehicle. had a very specific song stuck in my head while writing this but now icant remember what it was (something colter wall??). anyway hopefully this is a fun read even tho its not too eventful (and also was not proofread lolz). planning to have more ellie in the next part if it ever gets written bc we're going to the CLERBBBB

WC: 1508

You haven’t met her yet, but you’ve felt the tension in the air like something’s about to snap into place.

She’s the rookie. The new kid. The hotshot from some bigger, richer ranch further west with a reputation that stirs more talk than her name—whatever it might be. She’s the racer on the back of a chestnut mare in a denim jacket with rolled-up sleeves and workboots that must’ve lost their shine long before she came here.

And she’s lunging in the ring outside the stables, faded black hat crooked, casting a stubborn shadow over the leafy tattoo wrapped around her forearm. Choppy brown hair brushes her shoulders and burns a color like coffee in the dying sunlight. 

Not that you care. You’ve got places to be, and she’ll fall in with the rest of the wranglers eventually.

Gravel crunches some ways down the road behind you, but Abby doesn’t kill the ATV’s engine in time to sneak up on you completely. She comes coasting down the dusty path, toothpick hanging from the corner of her mouth as she grins sideways at you and rolls to a stop. 

“You talk to ‘er yet?” she asks, and the sun flashes over the lenses of her aviators when she tilts her hat out of the way. 

“Not yet. You?”

Abby shakes her head. “Heard she ain’t done too much talkin’ to anyone yet.”

“Uh-huh.” You plant your hands on your hips and nod. “What else’d you hear?”

“Well, what’d you hear?”

“I asked you first.”

She bites down on her bottom lip, jerking her head at you. “Get over here and I’ll tell you.”

“You’re an ass,” you tease, but hop up onto the quad’s grate so your back leans against hers. 

“What, I get one record and you think we’re some big-timers?” Abby scoffs, nudging you with her shoulder. Her braid shifts in the humid breeze. “We got work to do.”

“Yeah, yeah,” is all you mumble as the ATV purrs back to life and jolts towards the barns in the distance. “Tell me what you heard.”

“Not much,” admits Abby. “I mean, not much you don’t already know. She’s got just about the same story as the rest of us. Some ribbons under her belt.”

Dust kicks up from the tires, funneling right past the mudflaps to gather on your jeans. “She got a name?”

“Relax. I’m gettin’ there.” Abby leans to the side to shoot you a skeptical, if halfhearted, glance. “What’re you tryin’ to get under her belt, too?”

“Abby.”

She laughs, then turns her focus back to the road. “Ellie,” she finally says. “Ellie Williams.”

“Alright.” The smell of fuel mingles with the freshness of the tallgrass scrolling by on either side, either one a welcome break from the tinge of manure drifting in from the neighboring fields. 

“Just alright?”

“Well, what the hell else am I supposed to say?” you ask. “I don’t know the girl.”

“I got a good idea.” The engine cuts again. The two of you come to a stop in the shadows just outside one of the stables, before the open sliding doors that stare right out over the mountains. Abby twists to look at you head-on. “How ‘bout you just tell me when we’re good to go?”

----------

“Y’know—” Your nose crinkles as you squint against the sun, shifting in the saddle with every step the horse beneath you takes. “I thought Manny was helpin’ you with this run.”

It’s muscle memory—tacking, adjusting, swinging up into the seat. Practiced. Routine. But it never gets old. Not the cool tones of the mountains shattering the skyline on the far side of the valley, or the steady gait of the horses as they fall into step beside one another. And definitely not Abby.

“He was,” she confirms. One hand holds the reins while the other settles her sunglasses on the brim of her hat. “‘Til he got busy.”

“With?”

The corners of her eyes crinkle with a smile. “The usual.”

“Sure.” You raise a brow. “And who’s the usual this week?”

“Beats me,” says Abby with a shrug. “Long as it ain’t you, it ain’t my problem.”

“Speak for yourself. The last usual kept leavin’ him notes.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah. In the wrong fuckin’ bunk.”

Another grin creeps across her lips as she looks back. Gold falls over her freckled face, flooding the scar on her cheek with light. 

“A little light readin’ never hurt nobody,” she teases. 

“You think?” You tilt your head, unable to avoid the same expression writing itself into your features. “Then next time—”

She’s drawing away, picking up pace.

“Hey, now,” you call, but she doesn’t seem to hear. You nudge your horse’s side to urge them on. Still, though, Abby’s got a good lead. She passes under the low-hanging branches of the trees bordering the path, through a set of rusted iron gates. 

Then, she flicks the reins and takes off. 

“Abby!” you shout, and with no choice left but to do the same, chase after her. 

A cloud of dust stirs up behind her, but you ride right through it, and soon, the trail falls away. 

“I thought you said you got work to do!” 

She laughs, easing up and straightening to drop back and match your pace when you slow. Tallgrass rises on either side of the makeshift path—trampled dirt and dust and the curled-up bodies of flowers unlucky enough to fall into the path of passing hooves. 

“We do,” she says. “That don’t mean we can’t take our time.”

“It’ll be dark soon, yeah?”

“Not that much time.” Abby rolls her eyes and smiles. “We’re just takin’ the scenic route.”

“You know where we’re goin’?” you check.

“Just c’mon.” Turning back to the trail ahead, she nudges her horse to a quicker gait. The unbuttoned front of her flannel flutters around her, giving way to the thin white tank top underneath. 

The ground slopes down, further into the field, as the sun fades over the jagged peaks. Through the yellowed straw and the waves of rippling green, pops of color appear where bright flowers have pushed through the soil and bloomed.

“You ever been this way before?” asks Abby.

You shake your head. “Not that I remember.”

The field is glowing, burning under dusk’s light. She’s glowing with it.

“Well, then.” She shoots you a wink. “You’re in for a treat.”

Just like that, she’s off again. 

The rough path winds down the ridges in the hill, between weeping trees with lazy, swaying branches that force you to duck. Over wooden planks laid out across the marshier parts of the lower pastures and a bridge where a dried-up river leaves a gash in the ground. Back up another slope, another patchy flower field, another grove. 

Until Abby stops to look back at you.

The Ranch sprawls over the acres of land before the two of you, windows lit in the bunkhouse and the barns and lanterns burning alongside the settled paths. The dark shapes of other hands wander like ants across the grass, while the mingling shadows of cattle fill the squares of plains just below. 

“Wait,” Abby urges. The horses paw boredly at the dirt, but, like you, remain in place as the warm summer breeze snakes around you. “Heard about this from a friend last time I was in town.”

You shoot her a curious glance.

“Don’t look at me.” She waves you away, grinning, and points towards the horizon instead. “Over there.”

The first stars are peeking through the bluish parts of the sky, just where it meets the hills. There’s a flash. A burst of red sparks. 

“Fireworks?” Even from afar, their light unfurls over your face. 

“Sure are.” Abby falls silent as the bang from the explosion crashes, muted, through the valley. “They had some leftovers from the fourth.” She sighs, then asks: “Some view, ain’t it?”

Another smattering of colorful bursts erupts over the hills. Another chorus of pops thunder over the grass. The sky changes from one color to the next, smoke gathering in thin gray wisps along the skyline, before you look away.

The lights dance in the lenses of Abby’s aviators where they’re still sitting on her hat, but don’t quite reach her eyes. She hasn’t been watching the fireworks at all; she’s been looking at you instead.

“Yeah,” you murmur, leaning over to kiss her. “Some view,” you say against her lips.

“Anyway—” Clearing her throat, she straightens, then jerks her chin towards the cattle in the field below. “Race you down there.”

“Hey—”

But she’s already gone. Racing back down the hillside, still bathed in the far-off lights.

“You’re gonna owe me a drink!” she calls, though she’s already dropped out of view.

After a last glimpse at the fireworks blooming over the ranch, you pick up the reins again and turn to follow.

The flowers and the fireworks blur, blooming and bursting against the shaded countryside. Lining the hills and lighting the sky and leading you.

Leading you right back to her.