cowboy riding

Photographer Ann Sophie Lindström spent several months documenting  a group of horsemen in North Philadelphia who have been countering crime through their love for horses.  For more riveting photos of the equestrians of North Philly, here’s this week’s Spotlight essay from Emily Anne Epstein.

A stallion named Dusty rears up as Jamil Prattis, 25, leads him to the lot across from the Fletcher Street Stables, October 19, 2013. Jamil became involved with the horses when he was 12 years old, after he saw a group of urban cowboys riding through the streets of North Philadelphia. (Ann Sophie Lindström)

Jamil Prattis sits in front of his house on French Street, May 23, 2014. (Ann Sophie Lindström)

Stephfon Darnell Tolbert, 31, teases a pony named Harlem, making him rear up, October 2, 2013. Harlem is known for being aggressive when someone gets too close. (Ann Sophie Lindström

A horse is tied up in front of a vacant lot on Fletcher Street while horsemen clean the stalls, October 6, 2016. (Ann Sophie Lindström

Stable manager Edward E. Ward cuddles a horse named Maverick, September 29, 2013. (Ann Sophie Lindström

Tymeir Sanders, 17, stops by a friend’s house on West Harold Street while out on a ride with Rosie, June 1, 2014. (Ann Sophie Lindström

Stephfon Darnell Tolbert, 24, prepares feed for the horses, October 16, 2016. The horsemen have tack rooms where they keep supplies, feed, and hay. (Ann Sophie Lindström

Donnell Glenn takes Cash out for an evening walk, October 9, 2013. (Ann Sophie Lindström

Stevie Spann, 50, checks on the horses before closing the stable for the evening, August 22, 2014.  (Ann Sophie Lindström)

Jamil Prattis, Stevie Spann, and Nate Benson sit inside a horse trailer to escape the sun and smoke, May 25, 2014. (Ann Sophie Lindström)

There is no indoor arena at the Fletcher Stable, so the horsemen like use the vacant lot across the street to train their animals, October 6, 2013. (Ann Sophie Lindström

Romere Burch,13, rides bareback on a stallion named Ace N da Whole on Glennwood Avenue, October 3, 2013. (Ann Sophie Lindström

10

give these to ur special someone and u have a 99.99999% chance of courting them I swear @penguinz-can-fly

“Keith tears his eyes away and focuses on Lance, whose mouth is slightly agape and eyes wide in awe. Lance has always loved the stars… Lance’s gaze is firmly on him, silent and serious and -

“Can I have a ride, cowboy?””

cue my sweet, northern usa tears over sweet, southern usa boys.
inspired by @tidalance ‘s red down a dead end!! its really nice (and so is she), please give it a look!!

commissions

This is just fluff!!! Inspired by 13.06.

The first time Castiel nudged Dean awake in a motel in Boise, he quickly found himself staring down the barrel of a gun with the silhouette of Dean’s ridiculous bedhead behind it. “Dean?” he raised both hands, mostly out of imitation since bullets meant nothing. He watched as Dean stared back and blinked the sleep from his eyes before groaning, “Shit. Sorry, Cas” and lowered his gun.

He’d already known that Dean had lightning-fast instincts, instincts he’d honed since he was a child and had to protect Sam all by himself. Later that morning, after his coffee, Dean looked a little sheepish and pink around the edges. Cas could only assure him that it was okay, filling Dean’s mug and kissing his cheek.

Cas eventually learned that Dean didn’t startle when they woke together, their limbs loosely tangled. That Dean just snuffled and pulled him closer, muttering, “Five more minutes” while Cas softly laughed. “Who’s making me coffee?” he always asked, already on his way to the kitchenette. It was rhetorical and Cas would merely huff, taking in his fill of Dean in his boxers.

Dean slept especially well when they turned in early to watch a movie, propped against the pillows. Dean used to talk a big game about drinking at bars - and Castiel knew that had once been his life - but these days, with their base at the bunker, Dean preferred to stay in unless they were on the road. He liked to rest his cheek on Cas’ shoulder, gesturing excitedly at the screen. He knew his trivia cold when it came to westerns and made Cas watch his favorites whenever he could. He didn’t mind persuading Cas with smiles and kisses, and Cas certainly didn’t mind being persuaded. Though that never stopped him from occasionally sighing and grumbling at the guns and tuberculosis.

He remembered passing through a town with a touristy gift shop, their route more leisurely after a hunt. He saw Dean linger at a rack of hats and asked Sam to distract him while he purchased two. The sound Dean made when Cas wore one that night was a memory he logged away with incredible smugness. It was worth Sam glaring at them the next morning, made worse by Dean’s innuendos about riding cowboys. Cas knew better than to step into the middle of it, but kept his hand on Dean’s knee underneath their table.

He knew what it meant to indulge Dean like this, to be so well-acquainted with someone and allow his entire world to revolve around him. He knew what Dean was like in the morning, at night, in between, and could sometimes predict the words he’d say before he said them. They would bicker and kiss and let their spaces overlap and Cas was all too happy to keep it that way.

So, now, when Jack turns to him and says, “He… really likes cowboys,” he just replies, “Yes, he does” while they both watch Dean examine the hotel room like a kid in the candy store. He wears the cowboy hat Dean hands him later and calls it “absurd” though he goes along with it, because if this is something that’ll make Dean smile, then that’s what truly matters. It’s been that way for years.

At one point, back at the hotel, Dean still in his getup - bolo tie and all - Cas is crowded gently against the wooden paneling with an armful of cowboy and playful green eyes. “Hey, there, handsome,” Dean quirks his lips, and Cas fights the laughter bubbling from his chest. “I’m a hunter and it’s ‘you’ season.”

Castiel laughs for real then. “Then catch me, cowboy.”