#Amber Montana

[supreme-99]

[heartlandians]

Heartland - 17x03 - The Heart Wants

[venusimleder]

Claude Montana, S/S 1994.

[dippedanddripped]

French Montana, Amber Run - Dirty Bronx Intro (Official Music Video)

[hellishjoel]

wild like the west

3.3k / pairing: cowboy!joel miller x cowgirl!reader

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summary: joel and his cowgirl warnings/information:  MA 18+ (minors DNI), implied but unspecified age gap, joel is technically reader's boss (so power dynamic stuff), swearing, dirty talk, pet names (baby girl, brat, etc.), unprotected p in v, pussy pronouns, asphyxiation kink, multiple orgasms, overstimulation, clean up on aisle reader's stomach, reader is described having hair but otherwise (I believe) reader is a blank slate, no use of y/n, barely edited A/N: I unfortunately have not stopped thinking about a game joel miller x yellowstone crossover, and I feel like he would like this to be his long, happy life. I also haven't written for joel since may which feels like a sin! sorry baby!

It doesn’t matter how many ass bruises you get, or the pain of repeated thrashes to your knees from getting bucked off; this unruly horse will bend its spirit to your will. 

Half the job of purchasing new horses for the Miller Ridge Ranch is breaking them in like a pair of new shoes. 

Any cowboy, or for you, cowgirl, knows that a horse can sense your personality and fear from a mile away. If you sprout fear, it won’t trust you to be the guide on its back. It’s a mutual thing to trust one another. It’s the trust Joel thrust upon you after loyally working at the ranch for a handful of years. Sure, you were young, but you had a good head on your shoulders.

He perches his cowboy boot on the low fence rail, teeth gnawing at a toothpick as he watches you with careful eyes. The morning dew settles over the long grass and tall trees, untouched by man, fostered by nature. With the sun clawing at the horizon, the land turns from a pale blue to a beaming orange glow.  It’s beautiful here, peaceful. You imagine this is the life that Joel always wanted, craved. He’s not from around here, he’s got too much Southern twang to be from these northern Montana woods. 

Life guided him up here and he never turned back. 

You can feel the horse grow agitated under your haunches, whinnying with anxiety as it takes a few rough steps backward in the ground-up dirt. 

“S’okay, boy, take it easy, easy,” you coo in a gentle voice that lets the horse breathe through its panic. You grip the colt’s mane at the very base of his neck, right by the horn of your saddle, gently scratching that sweet spot that seems to bring him some tranquility.

You’re the only one who seems to calm these beautiful boys. 

“You got a habit of gettin’ in’ta trouble before it even knows to start lookin’ for ya.” Joel’s southern drawl rumbles deep from his chest, stepping into the training ring and crooking his first two fingers in your direction. 

“I got it, Joel,” you say insistently, guiding the horse by a little squeeze of your boots to its belly in Joel’s direction. 

“Know ya do.” Joel stops at the horse’s chest and pats its neck, large and calloused hand stroking down its coarse mane as he stares up at you, squinting from the morning sunlight. 

His eyes are starkly brilliant in this light, typically a dark brown, now a glowy amber under the brim of his black cowboy hat. “You know that part of learnin’ how to be a cowboy is lettin’ them break in their own horse. Hop down.”

A sigh leaves your parted lips as you unhook one boot from the stirrups and throw yourself off. Taking the reigns, you walk with Joel back to the main fence. 

“You’re too nice to ‘em. I hired you to be a bit more…” He pauses indefinitely, tilting his head.

“Ruthless. I know.” Your eyes connect, both hardened after years of this long life. One day of being a cowboy felt like a year at any other job. 

The plan was plain and simple, a route you’d taken a hundred times with a crew that changed on and off for the past couple of years. The cattle were in need of fresh resources, lush grass to graze on, and streams of pristine crystal water. Up through the valley they’d go. 

The cowboys and cowgirls were gathered on their horses, Joel sat atop his beautiful black mare, eyes piercing his crew even behind his tinted sunglasses. Any season besides summer in this state demanded thick, warm work wear. Joel adorned a chocolate brown Carhartt and thick denim jeans under old, worn-out brown chaps. 

“I want Wyatt and Jack to take front, Bo and Sadie, swing, Jess and June on the flank, Tucker and Sammy on the drag. Wear your bandanas, it’s gonna get dusty back there,” your eyes flick up to a string of confused faces, “any questions?” 

“Why do we have to go through the valley? We’d have to push hundreds of cows through open water,” Bo mutters, disdain for a woman making all these choices for him, perhaps. 

“Yeah, n’I can’t swim. Never learned.” Another pipes in. 

“Then you’re a goddamn idiot,” old man Wyatt gurgles up a chuckle. Wyatt has been a cowboy longer than you have been alive. He raised you up to be tough with a streak of kindness that could never be washed away. He gives you a tight nod of reassurance as you sigh weakly. 

All this tomfoolery seems to be a bit much for Joel’s taste. “She’s takin’ questions about the plan, not your ‘pinions on it. I tell her what to do, she tells ya’ll what to do. You question her, you question me. So do as she says, or you answer to me.”

Joel’s always had a tight hand on the crew. He intimidates them. He is their boss, after all. They have a problem with you or this ranch or anyone else, they answer to him. Joel takes off his sunglasses and narrows his eyes on Bo, the newest cowboy with a pretty big mouth on him who bucks just as bad as your new colts. And his dead eyes are set on you. 

The rest of the crew sets off towards the direction of the cattle herd, everyone except Bo. 

Your head jerks upward in his direction, your own eyes narrowed. “You wanna say somethin’?” You ride alongside Bo, who seems to be wrestling with his stupid thoughts. But before he gets a chance to say anything, Joel intervenes. 

“Got a fight in you? It starts an’ ends with me.”

Bo looks between both of you, simply scoffing before he backs his horse off and trots along towards the crew. 

The view from the top of the valley is beautiful, all yellow and golden, with a pale blue sky and tall trees that harbor the secrets of the forest. Joel used to tell you it would whisper to him, warn him. Your chestnut-colored horse stands tall next to Joel’s, and both of you are overseeing the herd and the crew working together. 

“Not as bad as I thought this was gonna be,” Joel mutters, turning his head in your direction. You’re unrecognizably quiet. He’s never known you to be so still. 

He watches as your fingers anxiously twirl your horse’s mane. “You undermine me in front of them, and they don’t respect me, Joel.” 

So that’s what got you so stiff. He takes in a deep breath of mountain air, crossing his wrists over the horn of his saddle and glancing over at you out of the corner of his eye. Your hair blows in the wind, gentle and flowing. Almost graceful if it wasn’t in this wild west. Your beauty was city beauty, he was surprised you ever found your way out here. 

“Bo’s as green as grass. He needs to learn not t’talk to you like that. And if he needs to learn from me, so be it.”

Keeping your lips zipped, your eyes scan the points that use the dogs to guide the herd in the right direction. The swings and flanks work the mid to back-mid to maintain movement, and the drags stationed at the back ensure that any loose stragglers keep up. 

Joel rolls his eyes and sighs, reaching his hand across to your horse’s reigns, keeping your horse tucked to his side. 

“C’mon, Cowgirl. Spit it out.” 

“You go about defendin’ me, it looks like we’re sleepin’ together,” you gripe, “and I don’t need our crew slingin’ the slander that I got my job fuckin’ the boss. I don’t want that shit, Joel.”

Joel shifts his jaw from side to side, silent as he usually is. His tongue muscles over the right words, the words that will settle that ball of uncertainty you have nestled in your gut. 

He settles on the truth. 

“We are sleepin’ together.” 

Shaking your head, you steal your reigns back from Joel and gently nuzzle your boots against the horse’s underbelly. “Well, maybe that should end.” 

Joel watches on with a small smirk as your horse is set in motion down the grassy hill. He shouts loud enough for his voice to carry down from the high ground. “You set those boys straight, or I’ll have to keep doin’ it for ya.”

You sling back your middle finger in his direction, both of your horses riding side by side now as you follow the crew through to the valley. 

Joel sighs upon entering his large, private cabin, resting his cowboy hat to air out on a hook by the front door. His clothes wreak of his musky sweat, and the shower calls his name. He walks stiffly. Joel’s thick thigh muscles are as strong as iron from riding his horse, and his back cracks each time he inhales.

But he can’t deny that this life was made for him. 

Training to be a carpenter, earning pennies on the dollar to work in the hot Texas sun, and for what? Building someone else’s dream property? He had his own dreams. 

The ranch was his dream.

He always had a profound appreciation for nature and the outdoors. 

Fuck the city, fuck car horns honking obnoxiously, fuck the traffic. He found more fulfillment in listening to the wind flutter through the trees and would much rather hear the moos of his cattle than impatient commuters at six in the morning. 

Plus, he’s never felt more free or independent. This was his land, and he made the decisions on how it was run. Hiring the sassy cowgirl from the metropolis just happened to be a nice bonus on lonely nights when there wasn’t much left to his whiskey bottle, and the ride into town was more than twenty minutes for a new one. She sated him all the same, better, even.  

Despite years of riding and wrangling, you’re so fucking soft. You have soft eyes, a pretty voice, and satiny thighs. Your lips are plush against his weathered ones, and you don’t seem to mind sitting in his lap with his rougher-than-barbwire hands feeling over your body. 

But in turn, you’ve made a little soft spot in his wild like the west heart of his. And he swore he’d never settle down; you seem to have the same intentions. 

Things were easy. Nice and easy. Almost routine. 

The bunkhouse would be busy with cowboys and cowgirls playing card games, drinking their beers, singing to the music on the radio, and talking nonsense. You’d slip out after dark and wind up upstairs in his bed. 

He recalls you saying something about how his bed is more comfy than the ones in the bunkhouse. 

“Whatever you say, darlin’.” 

Tonight was no different. Fresh from his shower with a towel secured low on his waist, he hums curiously at the sight of you sprawled out across his bed. No more than a minute later, you are tugging it loose from his frame and letting it pool around his ankles. 

“Thought you said you were done,” Joel muses with a hint of teasing. You sit up from the bed on your knees and wrap your arms around his broad trap and shoulder muscles. 

“I ain’t a quitter,” you mutter against Joel’s mouth, feeling his tongue glide along yours as he explores you freely. 

He sheds your clothes, feeling your freshly showered skin and hair under his rough palms. He can’t help but touch you like you’re his, like he owns you. But no man can possess the wind. 

You kiss as he slips you under the bed’s cool sheets, drunk on the way you move so pliantly under his guidance. His lips move to the slope of your neck, his greying whiskers scratching your skin before he washes over the irritation with more kisses. 

Joel’s hands slip between your legs, cupping your clothed center in one hand. Your eyes light up at the friction, mewling up a moan of his name as he massages over the wet spot growing on your panties. 

“She’s already soaked, darlin’. You been thinkin’ ‘bout this?” Joel muses, sitting up properly to peel your shirt off your body, two fingers curling around the hem of your panties and chucking them mindlessly on the floor. 

“Joel,” you whisper breathlessly as he’s about to slip down between those pretty legs of yours. 

“What?” He asks, damn near annoyed. 

“I can’t wait,” you beg breathlessly, his eyes meeting yours. “I-I can’t, I’m beggin’ you, please. It’s been a long day.” 

Joel sighs but ultimately nods. It’s not what he wants, but sometimes you both need a quick fix. 

Joel’s body parts your legs, a grunt escaping the depth of his throat as he ruts his hips against your own. 

“Good idea,” he mutters against your mouth, leaning down and distracting himself with your kisses as he lines his length up and down your soaking center. 

You sharply inhale as he enters and the sound is music to his ears. He feels your nails carving into his back muscles as he sinks himself in deeper deeper deeper, both of you panting with eagerness by the time his hips are flush with your own, lost in where you end and he begins.

You let out a string of moans as he reels himself back, only to return to your depths with a snap of his hips that releases a shrill whine of his name from your throat. His forearms are buried in the fluff of the pillows on either side of your head, forehead against forehead, his hips grinding against you now. 

The friction is enough to make your head spin. You can feel the coarse hair of his happy trail tickling your already anxious pearl. 

“Fuck,” you huff out, letting your hands slip down his back, knowing that if you want him to pick up the pace, you’ll have to ignite his fire. In one quick movement, your hands drag themselves up Joel’s back, your nails creating etched lines that raise red once you finish at the very tops of his shoulders. 

Joel releases a long, low groan in response as his eyes snap open to meet yours. The sting of pain creates heat along Joel’s spine. His jaw is wound tight as he brings his large hand to wrap around your pretty throat, thumb on your chin to force you into staring straight at him. 

“Such a goddamn brat,” he growls, adding pressure to the column of your throat as he begins to pound into you harder and harder with each thrust of his hips. You cry out his name, a cacophony of your panting moans and your slick squelching against his hips fill your ears. The ecstasy of losing just a smidge of air is enough to make your eyes roll into the back of your head. 

He’s obsessed with the way your eyes gloss over in lust, your body jerking up the bed with each powerful thrust he gives you. Your mouth hangs open, gasping for air that’s just out of your reach. 

“You take it, baby girl, you keep takin’ it. She’s so fuckin’- goddamit, so fuckin’ good for me,” he pants, feeling the warm air dissolve against your skin as Joel begins to swell fatter inside of you. 

Perfectly slick and warm, he loses himself in your pussy. You squeeze and choke him, his orgasm only building as you whimper how good he feels. 

“Holy fuck, Joel, please please please, right there, ohmygod you’re gonna make me-” you gasp, your back arching off the mattress as you grip onto his forearm that’s still holding your delicate throat, your other hand gripping the hair at the nape of his neck. He knows to squeeze a little harder as you fall apart, the euphoria of the combination sending you over the edge. 

Joel’s holding on for dear life, always focused on putting you first, always trying to prove your jokes of him being an old man wrong. But he can’t deny he’s nearly finished twice now, your pretty cunt all nice and warm for him. 

What’s wrong with pushing you over the edge a little?

Joel abandons the hold on your throat as you still are witnessing the aftershocks of your orgasm, his two thick fingers circling over your swollen clit. 

Joel smirks as your eyes snap open, your jaw dropping wide as you silently scream in pleasure. He nods sadistically, smirking as he overstimulates your already twitchy clit.

“You’re gonna give me another, right here, right now,” Joel grunts, stilling his hips as he’s buried to the hilt inside you, feeling your pussy clench around his cock as your gasps and strangled moans fill the room. 

“Fuck, Joel I don’t think I can,” you cry out, bracing the wrist of the hand that’s still working figure-eights around your pearl. Joel watches as your chest rises and falls quickly, nipples at peaks as you continue to clench repeatedly around his cock. 

 “Know you can, baby, cum on this cock again. You’re a strong cowgirl, ain’t’cha? You been thinkin’ ‘bout this all day, getting this pretty girl drilled by me, know ya have.”

And he’s right. Shamefully so. Denying Joel looks good in and out of his cowboy attire is just nonsense. The way he rides his horse with his thighs snagged tight around its middle, gnawing on his toothpicks to ward off the need to smoke a cigarette or chew; at this point, it’s everything that he does that turns you on. 

And maybe that’s why it’s so easy to give him a second one. 

Your nails pierce into his skin as your hands grip his biceps, mewling and moaning something wrecked, feeling the warmth gather deep in your belly once more. 

“Keep fuckin’ me, I didn’t say to stop,” you pant.

Joel disguises his laughter by meeting your lips with his own, giving you messy kisses that taste better than perfect ones. His hips and fingers work in tandem to force you over the edge. You’re shaking under him, your thigh muscles twitching with excitement, legs wrapping around his middle as he grows closer to his own finish. 

Just as he feels like he’s going to give way, he can feel your pussy clenching around his aching cock, his tip brushing so perfectly against that spongy spot that sets your insides alight. 

“Fuck,” he grits, ripping himself loose of your perfectly wasted cunt as he yanks over his length. One, two, three more times, and he’s spilling warm spend across your belly. The pretty splatters are like a Jackson Pollock. He stares in awe at how pretty you look getting finished on. 

The bed dips as he falls into place beside you. He doesn’t lay idle. He reaches for some tissues from his bedside table, politely wiping away his mess as you stare at him with lustful eyes. You were so fucked out. Sorta cute. 

“Quit,” he mutters, avoiding your eyes. 

“You ain’t as old as I thought you were.” You whisper, a smirk tugging on the corners of your mouth. 

Joel chuckles softly at your familiar tease. He's heard it countless times, but it never ceases to make him roll his eyes and pull you closer to him. He kisses your forehead affectionately, his voice carrying a hint of playful banter.

“You gonna keep remindin' me about my age every chance you get? Don’t stop ya from comin’ back each night.”

You lay your head on his chest and listen to his heart thump. 

Joel’s got one arm slung around your shoulders, the other on your thigh that’s draped across his middle. His strong hand works slowly into your tired muscles. You play with the greying curls on his chest, taking note of the dark, nearly black ones still speckled throughout. 

“Goodnight, old cowboy.” You say, patting his chest, hearing his slow laughter rumble from his chest. 

“G’night, pain in my ass.” 

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[stainedvermillion]

like this post for me to send some memes.

[rainbowgothdisaster]

Amber: Jason would be sad if you guys left, so were inviting your families here for a vacation Lucille: do you have vacation money??? Amber: yes.

[wildbeimwild]

Hobby-Jägerin tötet Husky statt Wolf und häutete ihn

Hobby-Jägerin tötet Husky statt Wolf und häutete ihn

Kanadische Hobby-Jägerin Amber Rose Barnes aus Montana postete auf Facebook stolz ein Foto von sich, auf dem sie lächelnd mit dem Kadaver eines Hundes posiert, den sie im Wald getötet und gehäutet hatte. Da dachte sich noch, dass es sich bei dem Tier um einen Wolf handelt. Aber viele User wiesen sie schnell darauf hin, dass es sich nicht um einen Wolf handelte, sondern um einen Hund – einen…

[yeslordmyking]

Random Amber and Ashley Spinoff Pitch

The show takes place in modern day. Amber Addison is a successful businesswoman in the wigs industry. She is happily married to a wealthy businessman and on the outside, her life looks perfect, just like it did in middle and high school. But on the inside, Amber is disappointed that she decided to go for a more stable career choice, rather than pursuing her dreams as a singer. She hides this because everyone around is her so satisfied and proud of her. Also her marriage is struggling because her husband works internationally and is often hundreds of miles away, causing her to feel alone at times.

Ashley Dewitt is quite the opposite of Amber. She dropped out of college early due to her father getting sick, gradually drifting out of Amber’s busy life. Her dad’s illness zapped the family of all their finances, and took his life as well. Ashley and her mother are now lower middle class, much below their comfort level. They share a tiny apartment together, and neither of them can earn enough money to keep them afloat. Ashley’s relationship with her mother is very strained due to her disappointment that her daughter continually fails to get her makeup brand off the ground, putting lots of pressure on her to succeed so they can be wealthy again. But failure after failure after failure doesn’t get Ashley down. She becomes an influencer to draw attention to her business, in hopes that the right person will see and give her the boost her brand needs to become financially stable.

The show could be called So Yesterday, and the main theme could be around how your 30s is not too late to start over, and exploring how the characters changed and developed since college (the end of Hannah Montana Forever) from shallow snobby teenagers to more mature women. Other episodes could touch on the rekindling of friendships even though you haven’t spoken in years, how just because a marriage is dulling doesn’t mean it has to end, the financial and emotional struggles of influencers and small business owners, ageism on social media, and accountability of your past behavior as a minor that still effect your current life, even if that’s not who you are anymore.

Minor additions: 

- Ashley had developed a genuine friendship with Lily Truscott. After hearing about her sick father, Lily regularly checked up on Ashley, and they still hang out from time to time. Learning about this makes Amber jealous, as she has had to cut off so many relationships to get ahead in her career. 

-The twinning must continue somehow! These two were the best dressed characters from Hannah Montana and we are not forgetting it!!! Maybe not full outfits, since it doesn’t seem like a grown woman thing to do, but maybe certain elements of their outfits should coordinate somehow!

-Yes I have come up with a mini theme song for the nonexistent show in my head!

[heartlandians]

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Heartland - 17x05 - How to Say Goodbye

[sillymeter]

does anyone else ever get nervous about like. hobby lobby having things that should be in a museum. like just the concept of Rich People owning Artifacts . and the fact that they could just destroy them if they wanted. has always bothered me. 

[waywardxwords]

The Fix - Part 2

Summary: Everyone has a past, but yours seemed to haunt you. You've tried to move forward with a normal life, but the day comes when that's not possible anymore. When Sheriff Beau Arlen enters your life, you're certain he is going to judge you just like everyone else in town does. But something about Beau is different.

Warnings: Child abduction, brief mention of domestic violence, language

Word Count: ~2.8k

Beau had met you at the entryway of the elementary school within minutes, concern etched across his face in the way of worry lines that likely matched yours. 

“You alright, darlin’?” He asked gently as he approached with a tentative hand on your shoulder blade. 

Under the weight of his hand, you felt the ultimate collapse. Everything tumbled out of you in a way you didn’t expect (nor did he, by the look on his face). But either way, he used that hand to pull you flush against his chest and wrapped his other arm around your waist. He held you as you sobbed into the lapel of his brown jacket. The material was cool from the bitter wind just outside the door. 

“It’s gonna be alright,” he coaxed softly with his mouth close to your ear. “We’re gonna get her back.” You tried to nod and speak, but only shaky breaths came out. Beau pulled you to his side and stepped forward towards one of the agents. “Beau Arlen, Sheriff,” he put his hand out to greet the agent. 

“Matt Donahue with the FBI,” the man shook his hand. 

“What can you tell me?” Beau asked. He refused to break eye contact with the agent as he asserted his position of caring for the people in this town. 

Matt’s gaze moved back over you—your tear-stained and reddened cheeks, disheveled hair. He knew you wanted answers, but he also knew he couldn’t provide any right now. “Sheriff, as you know, the case of Jackson Lyle is ongoing. There’s nothing I can share right now.”

“I understand the Lyle case is off limits,” Beau spoke confidently. “But now, a five-year-old girl is missing. That changes things. Where are you at with a search party? An Amber Alert go out yet? At this point, Montana, South Dakota, North Dakota, Wyoming and Idaho should all be on alert. Have you talked to border patrol? He could be headed to Canada, for all we know.” 

“Sheriff, we are handling it,” the agent tried to assure. Something told you Beau didn’t trust the agents anymore than you did. 

“Then why the hell haven’t I seen an Amber Alert? As you know, agent—the first twenty-four hours are crucial. The decisions made now could make or break this,” he lowered his voice but you still heard him. 

“We are working on it, you have my word,” Matt sighed. 

“Your word doesn’t mean a whole lot ‘round this town,” he said firmly. “With all due respect, of course.” He added with a smirk that didn’t quite reach his eyes. He didn��t stick around to go back and forth any longer. He turned to you and wrapped his arm back around your waist again as he led you to the door. “Let’s go.”

“Where are we going?” You stumbled over your words but didn’t fight him as you braced yourself for the cold. The air practically took away whatever breath you had left. His grip tightened as you walked towards his truck. 

“We’re goin’ to the station. I have a plan,” his words were firm and his gaze didn’t waver from his truck. Your head whipped to look at him as he guided you. 

“Beau, they said to leave it be,” you didn’t know what the right answer was, and while you didn’t agree with leaving it alone, you also didn’t want to be in any trouble with the FBI. 

“Yeah, well, I say I’m the Sheriff and I can do as I please,” he opened the passenger door of his truck for you to step in. 

“My car’s here,” you thumbed to the parking lot where your truck was still parked. 

“I’ll have a deputy come by and pick it up,” he waved it off as he closed the door and headed to the driver’s side. 

You took a shaky breath. As he pulled open the driver’s side door, you stared blankly straight ahead out the windshield. Every bit of you felt numb, completely wrecked by the events that had taken place. 

“We’re gonna get her,” you realized Beau had been staring at you. 

“How? You heard the agent, they’re running this show,” to say you felt defeated would be an understatement. 

Beau slipped the key into the ignition and turned. As he pulled out of the parking space, his words were clear. “I’m doin’ a press conference,” he said firmly. 

This wasn’t the first time you had found yourself in the local police department, but this was by far the worst. A steaming cup of coffee had been set in front of you, but you didn’t feel like drinking it. You blinked as your eyes focused on the opposite white wall in the tiny interrogation room. 

The door opened, but you didn’t bother fixing your gaze. It wasn’t until he stepped into view and pulled up a chair that you adjusted your eyes. 

“I know you’ve been through this a hundred times,” he started slowly with a sigh. “But I need you to tell me what she was wearing today, and any descriptions. If you have a recent picture, that would be great.” Beau’s words were gentle—more gentle than you’d heard them before. Even though it was always clear Beau felt bad about your circumstances, this seemed different. 

“Do you have any children?” The words fell from your lips with little emotion, but there was a reason you asked and Beau knew that. 

“I do. A daughter,” he cleared his throat. “And I know if I were sittin’ where you are, I’d be absolutely lost. Hell, I’ve been there before.” 

Your eyes bolted to reach his gaze. “She went missing?” There was hope in your words as you realized she must have been found. 

“Sure did,” he nodded. “And we got her back. Just like we’re gonna get Bailey back, you hear me?” He seemed hesitant for the first time that day as he reached out and held your hand in his across the table. “I’m going to get her back.” He said firmly. 

You nodded once and broke eye contact. As you pushed the tears out of your eyes, you spoke. “She’s 43 inches tall. About 39 pounds. She had on denim jeans, with a daisy patch sewn on the pocket. A white daisy, with some green petals,” you closed your eyes as you pictured it. “Bluey sneakers…”

“Sorry, Bluey?” He asked, confused. 

You smiled through the pain of the moment. “It’s a cartoon. A little blue dog,” you continued. “She had on a long-sleeve pink t-shirt, I think it says ‘GAP’ on it in a darker pink. And a lavender puffy coat. I braided her hair today—one braid down the back.” You looked back at him to make sure he had captured it all. 

“You did good, sweetheart. You got a recent picture?” He asked. 

“Of course,” you fumbled through your phone and found a picture you had taken just the night before. Your heart nearly crumbled at the memory of playing hide and seek just after dinner. You handed your iPhone over to him and nibbled on your bottom lip. 

“I’m gonna send this to myself, alright?” You nodded at his question. “Jackson hasn’t tried to reach out to you, right? No family members? Anything?”

You shook your head ‘no’. “It’s been radio silence. I called the last number I have for him but it’s disconnected. I’ve tried his mom, sister, best friend…most didn’t answer, but his mom says she hasn’t heard from him.”

He nodded his head as he sent himself the photo of Bailey. “Alright, thanks for hanging with me, darlin’,” he gave your hand one last squeeze before he slid your phone back to you. Even in the haze of everything happening around you, your body couldn’t deny the feeling of warmth that simple squeeze cascaded through your veins. 

“Now what?” You murmured as he stood from his seat. 

“Now,” he started as he glanced at the door to the interrogation room. “I’m about to piss off the FBI and do a press conference.” He gave you a small smile. 

Beau had decided not to include you in the press conference, even though it was a fairly common practice to showcase the family members. He had said it was too dangerous, but he also didn’t want you in any trouble with the FBI. “I’ll take the fall, don’t you worry,” he had said to you as he headed for the front of the Sheriff’s office. “What’re they gonna do, fire me?” He had almost chuckled, but you didn’t know if that was a possibility. You couldn’t imagine Beau would actually risk his career for this—for you, the ex-wife of a con man he had been trying to hunt down for the last three months—but then again, you didn’t know Beau Arlen. 

You watched from the confines of Beau’s office where he had set you up with a television dialed in on the local news. 

He stepped up to the podium and looked as confident as ever. “Now we have Sheriff Beau Arlen with an important press conference,” the news anchor stated. “Let’s listen in.” 

“Afternoon, folks,” Beau greeted as he looked down at the notes in front of him. “We have a missing five-year-old girl tonight out of Big Sky and we’re askin’ for the public’s help in locating her. We’ll post this photo just after this conference, but she is five-years-old, approximately 43 inches tall and 39 pounds. She left home this morning wearing jeans with a daisy patch on the pocket, a light pink long-sleeved t-shirt that says ‘GAP’, a lavender puffy coat and sneakers with a little blue dog on them, called Bluey.” 

Your heart raced against the confines of your chest as he spoke and more tears yet again flooded your eyes. 

“She is in the presence of Jackson Lyle, who is considered to be armed and dangerous. If you have seen anything or heard anything, please contact the Sheriff’s office immediately,” he said. “We’ll be coordinating a search and rescue team in a few hours and are askin’ for the public’s help, and anyone who may want to volunteer. If interested, you can meet us at the Sheriff’s office at five o’clock.”

You felt an overwhelming sense of gratitude. The FBI had hardly attempted to coordinate with the public, but now the word was out and people could start looking for your daughter. 

“Here’s the photo, and this will be posted across news pages and social media here shortly,” Beau finished. “I’ll take any questions now.” 

“Sheriff, is this the same Jackson Lyle who has been on the run the last few months?” A reporter asked. 

“It is,” Beau replied. 

“What is the girl’s relation to Jackson Lyle?” Another reporter asked. 

“Jackson Lyle is her biological father,” Beau stated simply. There were murmurs from reporters in front of the podium. “We aren’t going to discuss anything regarding Jackson Lyle further. Our goal is to get this little girl home as quickly as possible. If you see Bailey Lyle or Jackson Lyle, please call our office immediately. Thank you.” He stepped away from the podium and the screen cut back to the local news. 

They didn’t miss a beat to show the photo Beau had shared—it felt surreal to see your baby girl on the local news. The tears fell from your eyes as they began to talk about the conference. 

“For our viewers who may not remember, Jackson Lyle is the man who was arrested almost a year ago now for drug trafficking and domestic violence,” and there it was. The painful past that made you want to vomit. You reached for the remote and muted the screen, your eyes steadied on the photo of your daughter. 

Almost instantly, you heard the door to Beau’s office open. Your gaze darted there and tried to focus on him, but it was a challenge through the tears. 

His firm demeanor fell when he saw you. “You alright, darlin’?” You shook your head back and forth. “I know it’s a lot, and I’m real sorry for that.” A heavy sigh fell from his lips. “But we need to get you outta here. We’re gonna go out the back to avoid the press.” You stood to your feet and wiped at your eyes with the back of your hand. 

“Aren’t we setting up the search party here?” You asked him, confused. 

He paused and diverted his eyes to the floor below his boots. “I just need to get you somewhere first,” he hesitated, and you knew that he was trying to skirt around whatever it was he wanted to say. 

“Beau…” you started, the pain in your voice strengthened so it was firm. ���I’m joining the search party.” 

“I just need you to get in my truck,” his tone was pleading. “I need you to trust me.” His eyes bore back into yours again and you thought if you stared hard enough, you might be able to see his soul. 

Even though trusting people wasn’t really your thing, you nodded once and followed him through the door to the back exit of the building. His steps were long and quick, and for every stride he took, you took two. He threw open the driver’s door and you did the same to the passenger. As soon as you were in and your door was closed, he peeled out of the lot. 

Your eyes studied the side of his face. The worry lines he had acquired over the years, the freckles that matched his green gaze, plus some he had probably gotten from spending his days in the sunshine. His hair swooped to the side of his forehead haphazardly and you realized this day had taken almost as much out of him as it had you. 

“Beau, where are we going?” Your voice was soft but your tone was firm. You didn’t want to be mad at him—he seemed to be the only person taking initiative at finding Bailey. 

He didn’t say anything, and that scared you. But you knew these roads better than anyone, and you knew the direction you were headed. 

“Don’t you dare take me home, Beau,” you could hear your heartbeat in your ears. 

“I need you to listen to me,” he gripped the steering wheel tightly as he turned onto your private drive. “We need someone to stay at the house in case Bailey comes home. Havin’ you out there isn’t gonna change anything. I need you here. It’s the safest place for you.” 

“I don’t give a fuck about being safe, Beau!” Your voice raised as the anger boiled in the pit of your stomach. “All I care about is finding my kid. Did you sit at home when your daughter was missing?! And don’t you dare lie to me.”

“This is my job,” he emphasized. “And in order to do my job right, I need you here.” He shifted the gear into park. You noticed the two deputies already parked just outside your home. 

“You’re something else,” you scoffed, anger flowing freely. “How dare you.”

“You know what, sweetheart? I know you’re pissed. I hear you, and I’m sorry,” he sighed. “You can be mad at me all you want. Hate me, even, I don’t care. But I made you a promise that I’m gonna get your girl back, and I intend to keep it.” 

Your door opened and you recognized the deputy on the other side, it was Deputy Mo Poppernak. 

“Ma’am,” he greeted you with a nod. He was nervous, and you could tell Beau had prepared his team for this moment.

“You told me to trust you,” angry tears settled in your eyes and at this point, you didn’t think it was possible to have any tears left after how much you had cried that day. “I don’t trust anyone–you know that! How could you do this to me? He’s not bringing her back here, Beau. You have to know that. I need to be out there looking for her!” Your voice was broken and tired, but you begged anyway. There was no dignity left, and you didn’t care.

Beau reached across the center console area of his truck and grasped your hands in his. Slowly, so he enunciated every word, he said, “I’m going - to get - her back. You have my word.” He held your gaze for a moment before he looked just over your shoulder. “Get her outta here, Pops.” 

You tirelessly struggled against Mo Poppernak’s hands as he tried to ‘help’ you out of the truck. “I’ve got it,” you grumbled. As soon as your feet were safely on the gravel, the deputy closed the door and Beau flipped it into reverse. 

You prayed he knew what he was doing. 

Surprise! I’m dropping this a day ahead of schedule, because tomorrow is super hectic for me and I just can’t wait any longer (Team No Chill, over here). Thank you for all of the feedback, likes and shares on the last part. I hope I am keeping you hooked! As always, I would love any feedback you may have for me, or just your thoughts and feelings as you read <3. I appreciate you! New installments posted on Wednesdays and Saturdays! (Minus today, where I’m posting a day early [depending on where you are in the world when you read it!]).

A preview of the next chapter:

There were multiple deputies coming and going from your home. Mo seemed to be the constant—he was the only one who actually came inside. He wanted to make sure you had water and he tried to get you to eat (tried being the key word). But you were glued to the television. The search had begun, but they weren’t showing much. You had only seen Beau once on your screen, but you assumed they were trying to be inconspicuous with where they searched, just in case Jackson was watching. 

Matt, the FBI agent, had stopped by. You assured him you didn’t know anything about the press conference or the search. The anger you felt around Beau ditching you had mostly diminished. But now it was replaced by anxiety, fear and despair. 

Mo had been gracious enough to close Bailey’s bedroom door when he spotted you staring from the doorway with tears falling down your face. 

“She’s probably cold and tired,” you muttered as he approached. 

“It’s going to be okay, ma’am. We’re going to find her,” his words were meant to be comforting, but you knew he couldn’t make you any promises.

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[bitchface24-7]

Exasperated!Dean w/ Oblivious!Sam

——————

Dean knows Sam is smart. With the amount of knowledge he has in hunting, lore, and being a straight A student in school even though they move constantly throughout the year. Sam is undeniably smart.

But he’s oblivious as shit.

He doesn’t see the looks, leers, and lusty check-outs he’s constantly receiving. Dean doesn’t understand how. Sammy is beautiful. He was such a cute kid, turned pretty teen to handsome man. His personality makes it even better, he’s snarky and sarcastic; but it always has an undercurrent of sweetness.

Dean doesn’t get how his little brother can be so oblivious.

Okay… so Dean teased Sam throughout the years. His knobbly knees, his “princess hair”, the very odd time Sam experienced teen boy acne and stink. Dean wasn’t being serious, he was being an asshole older brother. Like how all older brothers are.

But maybe Sam took it to heart.

That just won’t do.

——————

Dean confronts Sam when he has no chance of running. When they’re in the impala driving to the next state over for their next hunt.

“You’re dense as fuck.” Dean casually stated as he continues to drive serenely down the highway. It’s 3:00 in the morning, they’re the only vehicle on the road right now.

“What?!” Sam incredulously questions, his tone sluggish and eyes bleary. Dean woke him up to insult him? What the fuck?

Dean repeats himself, “You’re dense as fuck.” Sam scoffs, rubbing his face with his hands; and trying to tame his messy hair from his tossing and turning, “No I’m not.”

Dean snorts a laugh and the indignant tone Sam has, his pouty face isn’t helping either.

“Yes, you are. Do you know how many times I’ve had to direct you to someone who wants to climb you like a tree? ‘Cause for some reason, you never seem to notice them? Too many times Sammy. It’s getting embarrassing.”

Sam’s eyebrows furrow as he looks at Dean, “Look man, you’re over exaggerating. There haven’t been that many people.”

Dean actually laughs now, before bringing out the receipts, “Shirley from Montana, she was the waitress at the diner we went to after hunting some werewolves. She looked like she wanted to eat you. You didn’t even notice.”

Sam rolls his eyes, “She was being friendly. Waitresses don’t get payed well, they rely on tips.”

Dean continues on, ignoring Sam’s defences, “Amber from Nashville, she was the receptionist at the motel we were staying at. She was pretty flirty. Noelle from Chicago desperately wanted into your pants, she practically wrote it on her forehead. Didn’t matter her husband was just killed by a vengeful spirit. Ashley from Detroit was eye-fucking you the whole night as she served us drinks at the bar. Don’t get me started on the men. You’re as blind as a bat Sammy. There’s been a few times I’ve had to step in cause these people didn’t understand the concept of No or didn’t see your disinterest.”

Sam’s mouth subconsciously gaped open at Dean’s assessment. There’s no way there’s been that many; especially right off the top of Dean’s head. Dean can barely remember what he ate for breakfast that day. There’s no way he remembers all these girls that tried to… “get in Sam’s pants” as Dean so aptly put it.

“You’re bullshitting me. There’s no way there’s been that many.” Sam states as he laughs in confusion. Dean smirks, “Oh yeah. Let’s make a bet. The motel we’re staying at is about 20 minutes away, you’re going to do the whole spiel about getting us a room if the receptionist is a girl. Let’s see how quickly she flirts with you. $50 bucks it’s within 5 minutes of you talking with her.”

Sam wants to laugh at the confidence his brother has in him. Sam barely gets flirted with, not like how Dean does. But Sam really wants to prove his brother wrong.

“Deal.”

——————

That 20 minute drive seemed to go way too quickly in Sam’s opinion. He’s not even sure what to feel right now, he’s on autopilot. Dean glides the impala smoothly into a parking spot before stopping the car and turning the engine off. The two brothers go to the trunk and grab their duffel bags, Sam is startled when Dean snorts. Sam looks up to see where Dean is looking and sees through a window that there is in fact a girl working the front desk. Sam internally groans.

Dean hits Sam on the shoulder with a big ‘ol smile, “Go get ‘em tiger!”

Sam wants to choke Dean.

Sam sighs as he enters the lightly run down motel. The girl at the front desk doesn’t react to the two men entering; she’s too busy doing something on her phone.

She’s pretty, Sam admits to himself. She’s got brown hair lazily thrown up in a ponytail, quite a few pieces frame her face. From what Sam can see she’s tall, about 5’10 if he were to guess, green eyes, and clear skin.

She doesn’t look up at them until Sam and Dean are standing right in front of her, “Hi, welcome to the Lazy River Inn. How can I help yo—“ she cuts herself off as she looks up at the two men. Her eyes widen as she looks between the two of them, she lightly bites her lip.

“A room please, two queens if possible.” Sam states with a sweet smile, his dimples popping out at the flustered young woman.

She giggled airily before inputting the request into the computer, “What name do I put that under Mr…?” She trails off as she hungrily looks Sam up and down. This can’t be happening, Sam thinks to himself. He uses his periphery to glance to Dean; who just looks smug.”

“Uh, Smith. Sam Smith. Sorry about that.” Sam stutters, the girls eyes light up, “My names Veronica. So, any correlation to the singer Sam Smith?”

Sam laughs nervously, “No. But I can’t tell you how many times I’ve been asked that.”

Veronica giggles sweetly at Sam, Sam has no idea why though. He didn’t say anything funny.

“So,” Veronica starts, twirling a piece of hair, “What’re you here for?” Veronica smacks her gum a bit before blowing a pink bubble.

“We’re here to investigate the unusual murders that have been happening. You know anything about them?” Dean finally cuts in. Oh that god. Sam felt like a deer being hunted by a wolf with the way Veronica was looking at him.

Veronica turns her stare from Sam to Dean, still appreciative; but not as much as her previous gaze. Dean doesn’t know if he should be offended or not. “Unfortunately no. I’ve only been here for a few weeks now. I’m on break from college trying to make a few extra bucks before the next semester starts again.”

Veronica looks back towards Sam, “You guys cops? You’re too handsome to be a cop.”

Sam coughs a bit at the blunt statement before replying, “FBI actually.” Veronica smiles, her eyes sultry as she hands Sam the room key, “That makes more sense, you got cuffs on ya big boy?”

Sam just stares at her for a moment before answering, “… Yeah.” She looks victorious at his confirmation, “Well if you ever need any practice using them, you know where to find me.” She trails off as she blatantly checks Sam out.

Sam feels like he’s going to die. His face feels like it’s burning, his palms are sweaty, and his sweater feels restrictive. He needs to leave. ASAP.

“Good to know.” Dean replies with a small chuckle before ushering Sam to leave the front desk. Veronica glares at Dean, her arms crossed over her chest as she pouts at him.

The two brothers quickly make it to their room before all hell breaks loose.

——————

“What the hell was that?!” Sam damn near yells as Dean closes the door behind the two of them. Dean just starts cackling at his baby brothers disbelief and embarrassment.

“That Sammy, is me being $50 bucks richer.”

Sam throws a glare Deans way, “Shut up Dean. I felt like she was going to eat me.”

“Yeah you would’ve enjoyed that, huh?” Dean pats Sam on the shoulder as he snags one of the queen sized beds for himself, ruffling through his duffel bag.

“Screw you Dean!”

“You wish. Go ask Veronica, she seems more than happy to get screwed.”

“Dean!”

“What Sammy?” Dean questions. “I told you you were dense as fuck. You’re a handsome guy Sammy, I don’t get why you don’t see that.”

Sam pauses his little bitch fit. Dean thinks he’s handsome? He’s not handsome. Dean is handsome. Sam is… okay. Attractive on a good day. He doesn’t have that irresistibility that Dean has.

“You think I’m handsome?” Sam questions quietly, Dean scoffs, “Do I have eyes dipshit? Yes you’re handsome.”

“Don’t call me a dipshit you jerk!”

“Don’t act like one then, bitch.”

The two have a minor stare off before Sam sighs, “Alright, you win. I don’t know why you bet money though. We share the stolen accounts.”

Deans mouth opens and closes like a fish, “Shit you’re right. Uh… I’ll figure something out. I won the bet; so I deserve a prize.”

Sam just fondly rolls his eyes at his brother, before claiming the other queen sized bed and going through his own duffel.

Sam Winchester is a handsome man, it’s about time he realized it himself.

(RAHHH HE SO HANDSOME IN THIS PIC!!! ME TOO VERONICA ME TOO)

[charlicpace]

name masterlist: love island uk edition ! some folks like to stick to names that are more 'realistic' & my favourite place to look for those names is reality tv, because... well, that's their names ! so here's a list of every name that's ever popped up on the uk version of love island ( seasons 1-8 ) so all these names are perfect for characters aged 18-40 if we're going off ( uk-based ! ) actual likelihood.

aaron

abigail

adam

afia

alex

alexandra

alexi

amy

anna

andrea

andrew

anton

amber

amelia

arabella

belle

ben

bethany

billy

biggs

brad

brett

callum

cally

camilla

cara

caroline

charlie

ched

cheyenne

chloe

chris

chyna

clarisse

coco

craig

curtis

daisy

dale

dami

dan

daniel

danielle

danica

danny

darylle

davide

dean

deji

dennon

demi

dom

ellie

elma

ellisha

emma

eva

eve

ekin-su

eyal

faye

finn

francesca

frankie

gabby

gemma

george

georgia

grace

greg

hannah

harley

harry

hayley

hugo

iain

idris

ikenna

india

jack

jacques

jade

james

jamie

jake

javi

jay

jazmine

jess

joanna

joe

john

jonny

jordan

josh

kady

kalia

katie

kaz

kazimir

kem

kendall

kieran

lacey

laura

lauren

lavena

lexi

liam

liana

liberty

lillie

lucie

lucinda

luis

luke

malia

malin

marcel

marino

maura

maria

mary

marvin

matthew

maya

max

medhy

megan

michael

mike

molly

montana

nabila

naomi

nas

natalia

nathan

niall

olivia

oliver

ollie

omar

ovie

paige

paul

poppy

priscilla

priya

sam

salma

samira

savanna

scott

shannen

shaugna

sharon

sherif

siannise

simon

sophie

summer

stephanie

stevie

steve

rachel

rebecca

remi

reese

rob

rosie

rykard

tasha

teddy

terry

theo

tina

toby

tom

tommy

tony

travis

troy

tyla

tyler

tyne

wallace

wes

yewande

zara

zoe

[katz-chow]

of apple pies and bloody knives chapter one: a haze in the fields

warnings: pilot to slasher!graves x fem!reader, hallucinations, hauntings, paranoia

word count: 1,000

Amber waves of grains only applied to two parts of the United States, the Midwest, and Texas. Even with being one of the most well-known lines within American patriotism, one must see the image of urban life rather than endless fields of golden. Flat plains rolled by the windows of her small Chevy, the peaked window caused strands of brown hair to dance in the warm, late summer air. Over her shoulder in the back of the Impala, boxes of essentials clinked and clattered whenever the pavement proved to be porous

Sporadically hitting small towns on the way to her destination, fields turned into hills and then back to drier, rougher patches of empty land, a white dot of a house on the horizon. Orange clouds illuminated the sky as she turned on her lights, and a wave of dread washed over her. The rear view mirror showed nothing but sun-bleached tar and rocky hills behind her. For a pretty girl, even in the absence of men, she will never find peace, now or ever.

The familiar glow of a 7-11’s enthralled her like a moth to a flame, welcoming her back to civilization and the safety net of a crowd. The chill of a Montanan night shivered through her, arms tight on her chest as the wind whistled a soft tune. ‘No more than 20 minutes…’ She promised herself, stepping through the blast of air.

It didn’t even take 15 when she was back on the road again, tank full, bladder emptied, and switchblade thankfully still closed. Making good time, she started up her ending journey to Marburn, Montana. Never heard of it? Good. She checks the time on the dash of her car, ‘11:32 PM’ it read. It was late and late is always bad for a girl. She steps on the gas.

“How long you gon’ be here for, Sweetheart?” The extended-stay motel clerk asked as he thumbed the toothpick between his lips. The teal paint smothered the crackled walls behind him mixed with the fluorescent lights made him look greenish, hair flowing from the desk fan not escaping this effect either.

She fished for her credit card from her wallet and slid it across the counter to him, “Hopefully for a while, but let’s just say 2 weeks for now.”

Her eyes darted over his face, taking in his image just in case. His patchy stubble and tired eyes lent the appearance of a raccoon.

The man shrugged and swiped her card, a satisfying ding echoed from the machine. “$79 for the first week, then it’s $65 for the next, you got that?”

She continued to stare at him, her eyes empty and dead set on the space between his eyes, almost as if in a daze. “Yes, sir.” She whispered.

She took back her card from his hand and the small key to her room. The clock hit midnight as she tugged on her luggage into the damp and dingy motel room.

Locking the door behind her, she also closed the blinds, hanging up a tarp covering the windows as well. She hid. The room was small, with a bed, a pull-out couch, a bathroom, and a small kitchenette with a gas stove, fridge, and microwave. It was doable for the next few weeks, until she can confirm her work and boarding. That, however, was a task for the future. It all resembled a college dorm except if the student had paid extra to get a suite; she smiled just knowing she wasn’t back in that dump, but her smiled dropped into a thinned-lipped frown knowing she was never far from him.

She thought about the boxes of dishes and other necessities in the back seat of her car, debating on whether or not to risk the trip. Her fingers opened the blinds, face nearing in on the dust and eyes peaked between the plastic. Her eyes traveled to the white Chevy parked upfront, the diamond frame of her license plate peeled off. The empty voids mixed with the glittering crystals reminded her of the emptiness in beehives; some filled with honey and nectar while others were left abandoned, hollowed out as if only there to just be there. She sympathized with them as she looked away, catching sight of the innate feeling of danger.

A pair of eyes stared at her, a figure just out on the other side of the parking lot. The figure stood, hunched over a car trunk and turned backward towards her, eyes peering in like a mannequin. His face etched an image of a familiarity, a far she could never forget as he wore the faded red hoodie that she had stolen from him just months prior, laughter bubbled up in them both.

Now, even that thick, old hoodie couldn’t shield the chill than sprinted down her spine, her ears pooling with blood as her heart drummed a solid allegro in her chest. Her stomach growled. It was getting too late in the night, she thought, not worth the trip. Her fingers relaxed as she pulled herself away from the empty parking lot, only her white Chevy in front.

If there she could describe the room in one mood, unsettling would be the word. Dim, yellow lights caused all the shadows on the peeling wallpaper to enhance itself with long shadows, always looming over her seemingly small form. Despite this, she still found the warmth and comfort of tight sheets in a made bed. It wasn’t heavy like how she would remember her bed at home–or well, what was home, but it was better than the back of her car.

Sleep cradled her in its arms, rocking her to a blissful, silent slumber–which was appreciated in comparison to the long nights of sweat-drenched nightmares and paranoia. She was okay, she chanted in her head, convincing herself and the monster that is anxiety and intrusive thoughts. New environment, new life, new identity, she is truly scattered to the winds; a field of dandelions.