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@alettesletters
WELCOME !
Alette, 19, (she/her)
Who I Write For:
| Billy Butcher (The Boys)
| Billy the Kid (Billy the Kid)
| Coriolanus Snow (TBOSAS)
| Clark Kent (Superman)
| Lucy Gray Baird (TBOSAS)
^ AUs AND REQUESTS FOR EACH CHARACTER! JUST ASK 💋
The Readers:
| mary jane!reader
| stiletto!reader
| sneaker!reader
| boot!reader
| doc!reader
OCs
| Marley-Jo Jack
| Sam Mirren
| Clementine Furte and Charlie Anders
| Louis Allard
CARTER JO PRICE — I WON’T LOSE THIS MOMENT CHASING ANOTHER
KNOWN AS: The Prairie Fox
BORN: c. 1860s, American Frontier
DIED: 1882, the Arizona Territory
OCCUPATION: Cowgirl, ranch hand, horsewoman, outlaw, diarist
NOTORIETY: One of the most infamous female figures of the late American frontier. Linked to numerous robberies, cattle raids, and disappearances across the Southwest
KNOWN ASSOCIATES: William H. Bonney ("Billy the Kid")
CLAIM TO FAME: Frontier lore maintains she was the great love of Billy the Kid's life, though historians continue to debate the extent of their relationship.
SKILLS (NOTED BY INDIVIDUALS AT THE TIME): Expert rider Skilled marksman, accomplished tracker, known for quick wit and exceptional memory, capable of out-riding most men of her era
PERSONALITY (NOTED BY INDIVIDUALS AT THE TIME): Fiercely independent, sharp-tongued, intelligent, and notoriously difficult to intimidate. Contemporary accounts describe her as equally capable of charming a room or starting a fight in one.
THE JOURNALS: Fifty-two surviving journals, discovered decades after her death, form the primary source of information about her life. The volumes document everything from cattle drives and robberies to frontier politics, personal relationships, and life in the dying Wild West.
HISTORICAL SIGNIFICANCE: The journals transformed Carter Price from a regional legend into one of the most extensively documented women of the frontier era, offering a rare first-person account of life beyond the law in the American West.
Long after sheriffs, bounty hunters, and gunfighters faded into history, Carter Jo endured through her own words — preserved in fifty-two journals that refused to let her be forgotten.
ARE YOU KIDDING MEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE
NO I’M NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOT 😁😁😁😁😁😁😁😁😁😁😁😁😁
I WON’T LOSE THIS MOMENT CHASING ANOTHER
P.2.
Two years later, Carter Jo Price thinks of herself as a spy. Living both outside and under the law. Disobeying but doing so right under their noses.
Her robbery of today had taken less than two minutes.
A payroll box.
Two armed guards.
One distracted shopkeeper.
And Carter riding out of town before anyone fully understood what had happened.
The money isn't much.
Enough to eat.
Enough to stay ahead of bounty hunters.
Enough to survive another month.
The trouble begins after.
She has barely cleared the edge of town when shouting erupts behind her.
At first she assumes they've discovered the theft.
Then she hears gunfire — a sound too dramatic for her crime.
Carter reins in atop a rocky rise and glances back.
The town has dissolved into chaos.
Men are running in every direction, someone is waving a rifle.
Half a dozen people seem to be chasing the same person.
Which is when she sees him.
A young man makes quick work of untying a horse tied outside the blacksmith before vaulting on.
Not his horse.
Very obviously not his horse.
The animal nearly throws him as he lands in the saddle.
The rider doesn't seem concerned but his body language isn’t eased either. He’s… aware? Alert.
He jerks the reins and the horse bolts straight through the middle of town. The blacksmith appears moments later, shouting furiously.
Three men take off after the thief, another two joining almost instantly.
The payroll robbery is forgotten entirely.
Carter stares after him as the rider vanishes into a cloud of dust.
For a long moment she simply watches the pursuit disappear across the prairie.
Then she shakes her head.
"Crazy bastard."
Three days later she reaches a town called Mesilla.
Though the term ‘town’ is generous.
The settlement consists of a church, a handful of businesses, several saloons, and enough dust to bury a small army.
Still, it has water — which makes it valuable.
Carter rides slowly down the main street.
People glance at her but nobody does so twice.
She's become skilled at appearing ordinary. The trick, she’s found, is confidence. Most people only notice someone acting suspicious.
She spots the horse tied outside the saloon immediately.
A large grey gelding with a wavy white blaze, a fresh scar along the shoulder that she only notices once she’s dismounted and stroking his neck.
The horse.
She'd watched it get stolen. She knows it.
The realisation makes her laugh — not because the horse is here.
Because the thief is here, a mere three towns away from the scene of his serious crime. Riding a stolen horse openly through New Mexico, as if being hunted is merely a minor inconvenience.
“Busy day, hm?” She murmurs.
The horse flicks an ear in her direction. Apparently even stolen horses develop questionable judgment.
The saloon doors swung open at the arms of a man.
Carter recognized him immediately. Not because she'd met him before. Because she'd seen his face nailed to walls from Texas to Arizona.
Wanted posters in sheriff's offices.
Wanted posters in train depots.
Wanted posters curling on saloon noticeboards.
Sometimes the sketch looked nothing like him. Sometimes it looked enough.
William H. Bonney.
Billy the Kid.
The outlaw every lawman in the Southwest seemed determined to catch.
Ironically, she hadn't expected him to be so young.
He paused when he saw her standing beside the gray gelding. His eyes moved from Carter to the horse. Then back again.
“Ma’am, would you mind not touching my horse?”
The remark was delivered so casually that Carter nearly laughed. Instead she raised an eyebrow.
"Your horse?"
"That's right."
She glanced at the gelding, then back at him.
"I watched you steal this horse."
For a moment Billy looked genuinely confused. And then understanding dawned.
"Oh." A hand rubbed briefly across the back of his neck while the horse nudged Billy's shoulder. He absent-mindedly scratched its neck.
The animal immediately seemed fond of him, which, Carter thought, was unfortunate evidence of poor judgment.
"You know," she said, "most men at least pretend the horse belongs to them."
Billy looked genuinely surprised. "Why would I do that?"
"Because admitting you stole it sounds ridiculous."
"I did steal it." The answer was so matter-of-fact that Carter laughed despite herself. Billy smiled at that — not a wide grin, just enough warmth to soften the sharp edges of his face. “Why would I lie when you already know I stole it?”
That earned another laugh. She could suddenly understand why so many people had helped him over his career.
The posters always painted him as a killer first.
A menace.
A wolf among sheep.
Standing here, he looked more like a ranch hand who'd wandered into the wrong life.
Though Carter suspected appearances were dangerous things.
"Weren't they chasing you?" she asked.
Billy sighed, leaning against the horse. "Probably still are."
"You're not worried?"
His gaze drifted down the street. A wagon rattled past. A dog slept beneath a porch. The town carried on around them.
"No sense worrying about people who aren't here yet." He shrugged, eyes on the reins he was fiddling with. “‘S what my mama used to say.”
There was no bravado in the answer. No excitement. Just acceptance. As if being hunted had become another fact of life, like weather. Carter found that strangely unsettling. Most outlaws she’d had the misfortune of meeting enjoyed the danger. Fed on it. Billy seemed tired of it.
"What happened in Silver Creek anyway?" she asked.
"You mean besides your robbery?"
Carter blinked before her eyes narrowed involuntarily.
Billy paid no mind to her expression and pointed toward her. “You robbed that payroll office."
"What gave me away?"
"Your hair.” He scoffed as if it was obvious.
“My hair?”
“It’s a beacon, Miss. Price.”
She froze when he addressed her by name, her mind quickly replaying their conversation to find out if she’d given that information away.
Billy's smile widened slightly at her predicament. He studied her for a moment. “Carter Price."
Any semblance left of a smile, however confused, faded from her face.
"The Prairie Fox.”
Now it was her turn to be surprised.
"Excuse me? How do you know my name—”
Billy looked almost offended. "Everybody knows your name.”
"That isn't true."
"It is where I've been."
“… Where the hell have you been?!”
I WONT LOSE THIS MOMENT CHASING ANOTHER
P.1.
Long before newspapers called her an outlaw, before bounty hunters learned her name, before campfires carried stories of the Prairie Fox from Arizona to New Mexico, Carter Price was simply a rancher's daughter.
She was born sometime in the late 1860s, though no surviving record agrees exactly when. The frontier had little use for precision. Children arrived, grew, and worked long before anyone thought to write their names in a book.
What was certain was her hair. Even as a babe it burned bright as fresh copper beneath the western sun.
Her father, Samuel Price, used to say she rode before she walked.
The claim was an exaggeration, however not by much.
Price had migrated west with little more than a wagon, a rifle, and enough stubbornness to survive both. He built the ranch himself beside a narrow creek north of Lincoln, New Mexico Territory. It was hard country — wind-scoured in summer, bitterly cold in winter, and unforgiving year-round.
Most men hoped for sons.
Samuel Price got Carter — and never once seemed disappointed.
By the time she was ten, she could saddle a horse faster than most grown men. By twelve, she could track cattle through rough country and shoot well enough to keep coyotes away from the herd. When neighbors questioned why he taught a girl such things, Samuel would frown.
"Because she's good at them."
Carter adored him for that.
Where other fathers spoke of limitations, Samuel spoke of responsibility. The ranch had to be run. Fences had to be repaired. Livestock had to be counted. The work did not care whether the hands performing it belonged to a son or daughter.
The work only cared that it got done.
Her mother, Elizabeth, worried more.
She was softer than Samuel, though no less strong. She taught Carter to read by lantern light during long winter evenings and filled the house with books whenever she could find them. Most came secondhand from travelers and merchants passing through town.
It was Elizabeth who placed a pencil in Carter's hand.
And Elizabeth who taught her to keep a journal.
"Memories lie," she would tell her.
At first Carter filled notebooks with childish observations. Weather. Horses. Arguments she'd overheard. Names of strangers passing through town.
Later, she wrote everything.
She had inherited her mother's beauty and her father's stubbornness.
The combination would prove dangerous.
Samuel Price died when Carter was fifteen.
The fever came in late summer and carried him off within a week.
Two winters later, Elizabeth followed.
The frontier had a habit of taking people before they were ready to leave.
After the funeral, neighbors quietly assumed the ranch would be sold.
Because a teenage girl could not possibly manage it alone.
At least that was what everyone said.
Carter spent the next two years proving everyone wrong. She learned which cattle buyers lied, which ranchers cheated, which merchants watered down whiskey and inflated prices. She worked harder than any hand she could afford to hire and earned a reputation for possessing both a sharp tongue and an even sharper memory.
People stopped underestimating her.
Most of them, anyway.
The day trouble arrived began with a horse.
A bay mare, mean-tempered and strong-legged, had decided she objected to being shod.
The argument had lasted nearly twenty minutes.
And the damn horse was winning.
Carter rolled backward through the dirt after a near-miss from one of the mare's hooves and muttered a colourful opinion regarding the animal's ancestry.
Old Tom Hargrove, mending fence nearby, laughed so hard he nearly fell off the rails.
"You'll never make a lady, Carter."
"I can live with that."
The mare attempted another kick which Carter dodged while Tom laughed harder.
The ranch settled beneath the heat of a cloudless afternoon. Wind moved through the grasslands beyond the corrals. Somewhere near the creek, cattle drifted lazily through patches of shade. It should have been an ordinary day. Depressing, scorching — but ordinary.
Then Carter spotted three riders approaching from the south.
Not neighbors.
Not buyers.
Not friends.
The way they rode told her that much. Men with purpose rarely brought good news.
She straightened against the fence and watched them come. Once close enough, the riders dismounted without invitation. Their leader wore a deputy's badge. And from the moment Carter saw him, she disliked him.
"You Carter Jo Price?" he asked.
"I am."
The deputy unfolded a sheet of paper.
"You are accused of livestock theft."
Carter stared.
For a moment she thought she had misheard him. Then he spoke the name.
Elias Granger.
And suddenly everything made sense.
Elias Granger was a cattle baron that had spent months trying to but her ranch. Twice she’d refused. The second refusal had been memorable enough that several witnesses still laughed about it in town.
“How many cattle?” She frowned, arms folding over one another.
“Thirty-two head.”
She laughed. A quick, loud, disbelieving ha.
But the deputy didn’t laugh. And neither did the men behind him. Her frown returned with the realisation that they were serious.
Serious was bad. Why? Because stupid Elias Granger owned half the county and the half he didn’t own usually listened when he spoke.
“Miss. Price, you can explain yourself before a j—“
The bay mare chose that moment to bite the deputy. Hard.
His shout echoed across the corral as he stumbled backward, clutching his arm. For one brief, glorious second, even Carter forgot about the accusation. Tom Hargrove nearly fell from the fence laughing.
The deputy's companions were less amused. One reached for the mare's mane — evidently a bad move based on how the animal panicked.
Everything happened at once.
The mare reared. Dust exploded beneath her hooves. A deputy jumped backward to avoid a kick. Another cursed as his horse shied away from the commotion. The lead deputy recovered his balance, his face burning red with embarrassment and anger.
"Get that damned animal under control!"
"I was trying to before you arrived," Carter snapped.
Another kick from the mare made the deputy stumble and a revolver slipped from its holster and struck the ground.
The metallic clatter rang through the corral.
For a fraction of a second, nobody moved… Then everyone moved at once.
A lawman lunged for the fallen weapon.
The mare surged sideways.
Tom shouted something.
Carter saw the deputy draw his revolver.
To this day, she would remember that moment more clearly than the gunshot itself — the flash of sunlight on steel, the fury on his face, the widening of his eyes.
And the terrible realization that he was pointing the weapon at her.
At her.
A seventeen-year-old girl standing in her own corral.
Accused of a crime she had not committed.
For a heartbeat, the entire world seemed to narrow to the dark circle of the gun's barrel.
Later, men would claim she should have remained calm. That she should have surrendered. That she should have trusted the law.
Those men had never stared down the barrel of a revolver, nor had they seen the look on the deputy's face.
This was not a man trying to make an arrest.
This was a frightened, angry man in the middle of chaos, and frightened men were dangerous.
Carter moved before she could think, instinct overpowering rationality.
Years around skittish horses had taught her subconscious that hesitation could kill.
She dove toward the revolver lying in the dirt at the exact moment the deputy did the same. One collision of hands later, the gun fired.
The crack shattered the afternoon. Birds exploded from the cottonwoods, the mare bolted across the corral.
Silence followed. A terrible silence. Dust drifted through the sunlight. The deputy stared at his leg, at the slow spread of a dark stain across his trousers above the knee. Carter stared too, the revolver hanging loosely in her hand. She could scarcely hear her own breathing
The wound wasn’t fatal, anyone could see that. The bullet had torn through flesh, nothing more. But the damage was paramount.
The shot had changed everything.
In an instant Carter understood exactly what would happen next.
Not what had happened — what would be said had happened.
By the time the story reached town, she would not be the rancher's daughter defending herself from an armed man in a moment of panic.
She would be an outlaw who shot a deputy.
The truth would be buried beneath rumors before sunset.
I WON’T LOSE THIS MOMENT CHASING ANOTHER
PARTS
- p.1.
- p.2.
ONE SHOTS
-
CARTER JO’S FACT FILE
CARTER JO PRICE — I WON’T LOSE THIS MOMENT CHASING ANOTHER
KNOWN AS: The Prairie Fox
BORN: c. 1860s, American Frontier
DIED: 1882, the Arizona Territory
OCCUPATION: Cowgirl, ranch hand, horsewoman, outlaw, diarist
NOTORIETY: One of the most infamous female figures of the late American frontier. Linked to numerous robberies, cattle raids, and disappearances across the Southwest
KNOWN ASSOCIATES: William H. Bonney ("Billy the Kid")
CLAIM TO FAME: Frontier lore maintains she was the great love of Billy the Kid's life, though historians continue to debate the extent of their relationship.
SKILLS (NOTED BY INDIVIDUALS AT THE TIME): Expert rider Skilled marksman, accomplished tracker, known for quick wit and exceptional memory, capable of out-riding most men of her era
PERSONALITY (NOTED BY INDIVIDUALS AT THE TIME): Fiercely independent, sharp-tongued, intelligent, and notoriously difficult to intimidate. Contemporary accounts describe her as equally capable of charming a room or starting a fight in one.
THE JOURNALS: Fifty-two surviving journals, discovered decades after her death, form the primary source of information about her life. The volumes document everything from cattle drives and robberies to frontier politics, personal relationships, and life in the dying Wild West.
HISTORICAL SIGNIFICANCE: The journals transformed Carter Price from a regional legend into one of the most extensively documented women of the frontier era, offering a rare first-person account of life beyond the law in the American West.
Long after sheriffs, bounty hunters, and gunfighters faded into history, Carter Jo endured through her own words — preserved in fifty-two journals that refused to let her be forgotten.
EMI THANK YOU THANK YOU THANK YOU🥹🥹
CARTER JO PRICE — I WON’T LOSE THIS MOMENT CHASING ANOTHER
KNOWN AS: The Prairie Fox
BORN: c. 1860s, American Frontier
DIED: 1882, the Arizona Territory
OCCUPATION: Cowgirl, ranch hand, horsewoman, outlaw, diarist
NOTORIETY: One of the most infamous female figures of the late American frontier. Linked to numerous robberies, cattle raids, and disappearances across the Southwest
KNOWN ASSOCIATES: William H. Bonney ("Billy the Kid")
CLAIM TO FAME: Frontier lore maintains she was the great love of Billy the Kid's life, though historians continue to debate the extent of their relationship.
SKILLS (NOTED BY INDIVIDUALS AT THE TIME): Expert rider Skilled marksman, accomplished tracker, known for quick wit and exceptional memory, capable of out-riding most men of her era
PERSONALITY (NOTED BY INDIVIDUALS AT THE TIME): Fiercely independent, sharp-tongued, intelligent, and notoriously difficult to intimidate. Contemporary accounts describe her as equally capable of charming a room or starting a fight in one.
THE JOURNALS: Fifty-two surviving journals, discovered decades after her death, form the primary source of information about her life. The volumes document everything from cattle drives and robberies to frontier politics, personal relationships, and life in the dying Wild West.
HISTORICAL SIGNIFICANCE: The journals transformed Carter Price from a regional legend into one of the most extensively documented women of the frontier era, offering a rare first-person account of life beyond the law in the American West.
Long after sheriffs, bounty hunters, and gunfighters faded into history, Carter Jo endured through her own words — preserved in fifty-two journals that refused to let her be forgotten.
alette this is SO COOL
RAAAAAH THANK YOU SM BLUE this is the first fic (intro at least lol) i’ve posted in a MINUTE so this means so so much
CARTER JO PRICE — I WON’T LOSE THIS MOMENT CHASING ANOTHER
KNOWN AS: The Prairie Fox
BORN: c. 1860s, American Frontier
DIED: 1882, the Arizona Territory
OCCUPATION: Cowgirl, ranch hand, horsewoman, outlaw, diarist
NOTORIETY: One of the most infamous female figures of the late American frontier. Linked to numerous robberies, cattle raids, and disappearances across the Southwest
KNOWN ASSOCIATES: William H. Bonney ("Billy the Kid")
CLAIM TO FAME: Frontier lore maintains she was the great love of Billy the Kid's life, though historians continue to debate the extent of their relationship.
SKILLS (NOTED BY INDIVIDUALS AT THE TIME): Expert rider Skilled marksman, accomplished tracker, known for quick wit and exceptional memory, capable of out-riding most men of her era
PERSONALITY (NOTED BY INDIVIDUALS AT THE TIME): Fiercely independent, sharp-tongued, intelligent, and notoriously difficult to intimidate. Contemporary accounts describe her as equally capable of charming a room or starting a fight in one.
THE JOURNALS: Fifty-two surviving journals, discovered decades after her death, form the primary source of information about her life. The volumes document everything from cattle drives and robberies to frontier politics, personal relationships, and life in the dying Wild West.
HISTORICAL SIGNIFICANCE: The journals transformed Carter Price from a regional legend into one of the most extensively documented women of the frontier era, offering a rare first-person account of life beyond the law in the American West.
Long after sheriffs, bounty hunters, and gunfighters faded into history, Carter Jo endured through her own words — preserved in fifty-two journals that refused to let her be forgotten.
as if tom blyth was at the harry styles show i was at.
as if.
no.
stop.
stop it.
no.
miss billy☹️☹️☹️☹️and writing☹️☹️☹️☹️
— alette
ALETTE MY DARLING I MISS YOU!!!!!!!!!! I miss Billy too but I mostly miss you <3 <3 <3
I MISS YOUUUU
i just want to write again but i have nish in my head
anywho
PUPPY
streets are saying evita is coming to New York. all i am saying is keep her off of any fucking balcony for the love of god protect our princess. this ain’t london.
when i saw her in the summer there were so many americans in the theatre the reception she would get there would go CRAZY
better yet: world tour
the loch ness monster is real
i need to be his controversially young girlfriend
⠀
IM CRYING
also BRITTANY BROSKI????? GET TOM ON ROYAL COURT
holy shit star wars is good
watched phantom menace for the first time yesterday for three reasons
• i love ewan mcgregor
• my friend has been begging me to watch star wars for years
• said friend told me to start with that one
obi wan kenobi GRRRRRRRR
watched phantom menace for the first time yesterday for three reasons
• i love ewan mcgregor
• my friend has been begging me to watch star wars for years
• said friend told me to start with that one
