colt mustang

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Mustang Colt with Heterochromia, “in explore” by David & Shiela Glatz
Via Flickr:
An individual with heterochromia has two different colored eyes. This young Mustang colt has this condition. His right eye is blue and his left eye is brown. Even his right eyebrow is a different color. This guy didn’t stray too far from his mother very often. Here his curiosity got the best of him and he approached very close to check us out. Black Hills Wild Horse Sanctuary, Hot Springs, South Dakota.

[Oh my gosh.
Oh my God.
Grape horse. That’s an easy one.
Grape horse. Obviously.
Grape. Horse. Grape horse.
Uh… cherrypick? Cherry… horse? Cherry… cherry?
Running. Grape running.
They’re not grapes?
They are… delicious?
Stallion! Colt! Mustang!
Running? Trotting? Cantering? Loping?
Galloping!
Running.
Sprinting.
Jump?
Jog?
Trotting?
Grape trot?
I’m looking at grapes. Like…
Berry trot!
Barry Trotz
BARRY TROTZ.
…a grapes’s not a berry.
Barry Trotz.
(assorted giggling)]

Tom is disgruntled that there were no eggplants.

(Source)

Brave

Title: Brave

Pairing: Dean x Reader

Word Count: 1,452

Theme Songs: Breathe by Alexi Murdoch, Stubborn Love by The Lumineers

**Imagine Dean showing the reader what it means to be brave**

Your name: submit What is this?

—————————

The shock of the rifle’s kick-back reverberated from your trigger finger all the way through the back of your shoulder, nearly knocking you back a step.  You lowered the gun and risked a peek at your paper target hanging 25 yards away down the range.

“That was pretty good!” Sam said from behind you.  

“I got the fake, paper target in the neck! On accident! I was aiming for the heart,” you argued.

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2

On May 26, 1994, 17-year-old Clay Shrout awoke at 5 AM to the sound of his alarm in his Florence, Kentucky home and retrieved his father’s Colt .380 Mustang pistol. He then proceeded into his parents bedroom shooting them both while they were sleeping. His two younger sisters had awoken, but remained in their rooms as he executed them. He shot his father two more times because he was still moving. All of them suffered fatal wounds to the head.

Shrout then left the house in his father’s jeep with the gun in hand, stopping at a gas station and abducting his former prom date as he made his way to his high school. At about 8:35 AM, they entered his first hour trigonometry class, and he took the 22 students hostage. He did nothing but sit at the teacher’s desk holding the gun. In an interview directly after his arrest, Clay stated, “I hadn’t stopped them from doing anything. I was just sitting there drinking a thing of apple juice.” At 8:48 AM, the assistant principal was allowed entry into the room, and Shrout let the students leave. A few minutes later, a police officer arrived at the classroom where Shrout gave up his gun and was then taken into custody. 

In the weeks prior to the murders, Shrout was caught with alcohol and marijuana by his parents, gotten in trouble for bringing a stun gun to school, and his grade in English had dropped to an F. Due to this, his parents grounded him taking away his phone, keys to his car, and various weapons he collected. He offered police many reasons for being upset, at one point saying, “Like colleges. Everyone decided that I had to go to college. This was decided for me before I was born. I resented them trying to make me out a special mold without asking me what I really wanted to be first.“ However, his parents taking his weapons was the bigger issue. He told authorities, “All that I resented was when they took my weapons away. They took my weapons and something happened.”

Shrout pleaded guilty by reason of insanity and was sentenced to life without parole for 25 years on October 14, 1994 for the murder of his family. He will be eligible for parole in 2019.

Brave

Title: Brave

Writer: brittanybee859.tumblr.com

Character: DeanxReader

Idea: This is an idea that I had about the reader being scared about going on her first hunt.

————————————————————————————————-

The shock of the rifle’s kick-back reverberated from your trigger finger all the way through the back of your shoulder, nearly knocking you back a step.  You lowered the gun and risked a peek at your paper target hanging 25 yards away down the range.

“That was pretty good!” Sam said from behind you.  

“I got the fake, paper target in the neck! On accident! I was aiming for the heart,” you argued.

“That was awesome! Just aim for the heart every time, you’ll get ‘em in the neck and slow ‘em down long enough to pop your kill shot off.  Plus, remember when you first tried shooting a gun?  This is a major improvement,” Dean encouraged.  

“I’m just afraid it’s going to be different when it’s an actual monster I’m aiming for and not a piece of paper. What if a shot to the neck isn’t good enough, or I miss completely?”

“Well, it will be different. But you’ll never be doing this alone; you’ll have Sammy and me,” Dean replied sounding, you thought, a little too nonchalant.

“And you’re really ok with this take-your-girlfriend-to-work thing?” You asked him, pulling him closer to you by his belt loops.  You heard Sam sigh behind you followed by his footsteps retreating. Dean smirked at his little brother’s reaction and then smiled down at you.

“You know I’m not thrilled. But we’ve had enough arguments about this that I know I’m not going to win. I’d rather you kick some monster’s ass than mine,” he said, eliciting a laugh from you. “Because you are a true ass-kicker. Which is making me wonder why you don’t seem to be doubting that all of a sudden tonight.”

“It’s just that…talking about going on my first hunt, preparing for it, shooting practice, it’s different than actually staring down the barrel of it tomorrow. Like, I’m actually going to see a real monster tomorrow. And be the one to help take it down. That’s scary,” you said meeting his eyes. “I’m scared.” And the words felt true as they fell between the two of you. In this moment and in this safe space you could finally say the words that you had been keeping plastered in the furthest corner of your mind since the day you told Dean you wanted to join him in fighting evil. 

This was a scary thing; it was easy to forget when he and his brother did it so easily. But they’d been raised in it, hadn’t known any other life. You had always had trouble with scary movies, an overactive imagination some nights when you lay in the dark and your mind refused to shut down for sleep, but you never imagined in a million years that the shadows you feared might be real. 

The closest you’d come to actually seeing one was the Djinn that had led to your meeting the Winchesters. But that was just a touch, someone grabbing your wrist from behind on a crowded sidewalk on a drizzly Thursday night while you were walking home. Poisoned, you hadn’t remembered anything else until you awoke to the blurred faces of Sam and Dean untying you in some rickety boathouse down by the docks two days later. You’d seen the Djinn lying dead on the floor as they helped you to the Impala and you had remembered the magic of the world it had sent you to as it helped itself to your blood, but so much of it felt like a fever dream, some imagined horror. So though you knew then that things beyond the ordinary were flesh and blood real, you’d still never actually come face to face with a monster.

Thinking about packing into the Impala tomorrow, driving away from the safety of the bunker with your borrowed handgun, and walking into a truly haunted house was beginning to form a knot in your stomach.

“You know you don’t have to do this, you don’t have to do anything you don’t want to. Believe me, I’d be relieved,” Dean said, breaking you out of your thoughts.

“I know I don’t have to, and I think it’ll be good for me to hunt and defend myself; feel like a real badass,” you smirked up at him. “I just need to get over these first hunt jitters. Or…first hunt terrors,” you amended. “Then I’ll be brave like you and Sam.”

“What’s that quote? Bravery isn’t not being scared, it’s thinking there’s other stuff more important?” Dean asked.  You wrinkled your nose and laughed.

“That was pretty eloquent, but I think I know what you mean.”

“Do you want to practice some more? I can show you some new fighting techniques,” he said, giving you an exaggerated wink.

“Yeah, I bet you could. But I think I’ll call it a night a little early. You going to stay up a little longer?”

“Yeah, I have some things I need to do to get ready for tomorrow. I’ll get all our gear packed so we don’t have to worry about it in the morning. Get your brave little butt to bed and I’ll be in in a bit,” Dean said wrapping you in a hug. 

This was it you thought as you closed your eyes and breathed Dean in; the other place you felt safe aside from the bunker was with him. No Devil’s Trap or salt circle could compare to his strong arms around you because you knew that nothing would ward danger away from you better than him. You really did have faith in yourself and were 90% sure you could handle tomorrow’s hunt, but it definitely helped to know you had such a reliable safety net. You tilted your head up and met Dean’s lips for a goodnight kiss and headed out of the shooting range.

——————————————————-

Your restless mind had finally allowed you a few hours’ sleep when you were stirred out of your dreamless state by Dean’s soft snoring next to you around 2:00 in the morning. He must have come in not long before and just fallen asleep. Staring up at the ceiling, those frightened thoughts began to circle once more; sharks in the water. You quietly threw your legs over the side of the bed and slipped out of your bedroom towards the library. Maybe a quick look at all the gear for tomorrow would help ease your mind; preparedness was something the boys did not lack and you thought if seeing the salt rounds all lined up might help get you back to sleep you’d give it a shot.

Padding quietly towards the table you saw where Dean had laid everything out. He had Sammy’s and his own bags lined neatly up, unzipped to add anything extra tomorrow before leaving. Sam’s bag held his Beretta and Ruby’s knife, some first aid supplies, a lighter, and salt. Dean’s bag, which you were sharing, was much the same only with his trusted .45 Colt along with some holy water and an iron poker. You also saw the 9mm Smith & Wesson that you’d been borrowing and the shotgun from earlier was laid on the table. But there was something else in the bag that caught your eye. It was a beautiful Colt Mustang XSP, just the right size, with a piece of paper on top of it that simply had your name written in Dean’s handwriting. Smiling to yourself, you slipped the gun out of the bag double checking it wasn’t loaded yet and the safety was on (the boys had hammered gun safety into you before even letting you touch one). Feeling the grip and the weight of it you turned it side to side admiring it. That’s when you noticed the engraving on the left side of the barrel: “Courage is not the absence of fear, but rather the judgment that something else is more important than fear.” ~Ambrose Redmoon.  You smiled to yourself at the small letters and slipped the gun back where it had been; you would let Dean surprise you with it tomorrow, keeping the quote and the knowledge of the gift to yourself and close to your heart tonight.

You slid back into bed, smiling at Dean’s sleeping form. You curled yourself next to him tightly, draping one arm across his chest and resting your head on the pillow with your chin against his shoulder. Instinctively in his sleep, Dean’s arm lightly curled around you as he shifted and sighed. You closed your eyes letting the feeling of safety relax the knot in your stomach slightly. You would be fine tomorrow; for Dean and for yourself you could be brave.

How the Other Half Lives - Chapter 2

TITLE: How the Other Half Lives
CHAPTER NUMBER: Chapter 2
AUTHOR:  theothercourse
WHICH TOM/CHARACTER: Jonathan Pine
GENRE: Drama, Mystery, Crime
FIC SUMMARY:  A year after Jonathan Pine helped Angela Burr capture Richard Roper, he is still working with MI6 to bring down some of the world’s most elusive crime lords. Undercover, Jonathan is running surveillance in New York City on Nigel St Clair, an ex-pat known as ‘The Accountant’ for the Wallace Empire.  Ten years ago, while charming NYC clients, Nigel met a young singer/actress, Kristiane Taylor. Enchanted from her first note, he became a mentor for her, enabling her to pursue a career as a Broadway star.

At the age of twenty-nine, Kristiane is about to take the theatre world by storm, stepping into the leading lady role of a highly anticipated new musical, unaware that her world is about to collide with one of NYC’s most prolific crime families and England’s most adept spies.
RATING: Mature (for smut, later)
AUTHORS NOTES: If you’d like to read the background where this story came from and why I’m writing it, you can click this link. Any likes, reblogs, comments, constructive criticism are all helpful. Thank you for reading! This story is dedicated to one person, and she knows who she is. This wouldn’t have been possible without her.

Book Cover | Chapter 1

How the Other Half Lives

By Tuesday morning, when Jonathan gulped down the last of his coffee and threw back the last of his stale bagel, Angela had some new information for him. Nigel St Clair had been spending his Sunday night with an actress, Kristiane Taylor, the current star of an off-Broadway show called Bat Boy and the upcoming star of Pretty Woman the Musical. The new musical was a vehicle for her, produced by Nigel, the very production Jonathan had started to investigate.

Within 36 hours of laying eyes on her, Pine knew more about her than he’d ever need to know, like her schooling (graduate of Tisch), her career (four Broadway shows, one off-Broadway and two national tours) and her accolades (a Tony nomination and two Broadway choice awards, whatever those were). She was well-known within the theatre community, but hadn’t pursued any television or movies to get any recognition beyond Manhattan.

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