Apple's Note : surprise, Bitch, Thought you'd seen the last of me? nah but I'm trying a different setup to take up less space with my posts! The drawing will be at the bottom of the post. I hope it looks alright! Also, while this doesn’t imply any gender for the reader, I did write it with a male reader in mind.
Trigger warnings : Violence, reader injury, alcohol, Death mention, religious implications, yan makes fun of reader, reader implies yan to be a father-figure, age gap, reader is straight up not having a good time right now.
Owning and tending to a ranch pretty much by yourself was hard work, but it was something you've had to do for a long while. When your Pa had passed five years back, it left you as the only one left to take care of his cattle and your grandmother.
You had taken the responsibility seriously, waking up before dawn, going to sleep well past midnight sometimes. You worked tirelessly, getting your hands dirty, to try your best to honor your old man, but the work began to grate on you. You figured that you could set a bit of money aside to hire help if you let them use the guest room in the farmhouse.
Despite your odd hours, your grandmother always had warm food ready for you and clean clothes neatly folded and set on your bed. You felt bad, making an old woman like her work, but any time you brought up the idea of her resting, she’d just smack your hand and tell you that if she wants to do something, she will.
It was a calm night, one where you had actually managed to get everything together before sundown, and you were even able to help your grandmother with dinner (despite her chasing you out of the kitchen a few times.) As you sat at the table after setting it and saying grace, a knock came on the farmhouse door. You set your silverware down, excusing yourself as you answer the door.
A tall stranger stood at the door, leaning down a bit to fit in the frame. He looked to be about the age of your father, with hands calloused from years of hard work.
“Um- who-?” You’re cut off by a wave of his hand, and he hands you a paper. One of the posters that you had messily slapped up in the town square nearby, asking for someone who was good with animals and could help your granny pick up heavy things. You glance up at him, “Ah, you’re here for the job! Well, it’s so nice to meet you. No one else has responded to the posters yet. My Granma Hellen just finished some chili and cornbread. Would you like to sit down with us while we talk?”
He nods as you ramble. Ah, the strong and silent type. You hope that doesn’t translate to rude.
“Oh, I’m getting ahead of myself. Did you ride here? We’ve got space in the stables if you need.”
Again, a nod, and you lead him out to where he should put his horse, rambling about the responsibilities, the history of the ranch, and whatnot. You glance at him, then realise, “Oh my, I forgot to introduce myself, Mister! I’m (Y/N)!” You hold out your hand, and he pauses before shaking it. He’s warm and his grip is strong. You hope that means the cattle will like him.
“Name’s Emmet Amos. Pleasure.” He regards you with a nod as you lead him inside.
“Mister Amos, this is my Granma Hellen,” You gesture to the older woman, “She makes the greatest food you’ll ever get to eat, I’ll tell ya. And she’s always busy with something, makes me wonder if I’ll ever be able to run the ranch without her!” You chuckle as he greets her.
“Granma, I’mma grab our guest another bowl, you can keep eating.” You head off to the kitchen, returning with another bowl of chili and some silverware to hand to him. “I’m glad you showed up, actually! We’ve always got too much food, so this is a good surprise.”
Throughout dinner, you ramble on more about what's expected. He can stay in the empty room on the first floor if he makes sure to clean himself off each day and make the bed each morning. Food and other necessities will be taken care of, but he’s welcome to make his own. Waking up with the first cock-call is a given, and if he gets hurt, he’s gotta tell you right away to take him to the clinic so he doesn’t risk getting sick.
After a while, you notice they’re both done eating, and you’ve barely touched your bowl. You chuckle bashfully, “Ah, but look at me rambling, what made you wanna come to the ranch? I’m sure a cool fella like you might make a good living anywhere.”
He hums, swallowing his food before replying, “I needed a fresh start. Place where no one knows me,” He glances between you and your gran, “It helps that the people are friendly.”
You laugh, “Well, I’m sure there’s lots of people like you, Mr Amos. Everyone who lives out here is runnin’ from somethin’. Where’re you from?”
“Nowhere very interesting.”
You tilt your head, but don’t press it. Farm hands, especially those who travel, can be a touchy bunch, whether they think it or not, and you learned growing up not to ask a rude question twice.
“Mr Amos, I’ll go get your room ready. Can you do the dishes? Granma can’t lift that cast iron too well, no matter what she tells you.” That earns you a smack, which you laugh at, then smile at him, “Don’t matter where you’re from, Mr Amos, you’re here now.”
You don’t see it as you leave, but that makes him smile.
—
Months went on, Spring became Summer. The heavy sun beat down on you, burning the back of your neck and the tips of your ears as you fed the pigs. You glance at their trough, noting the need for more water as you head to the well.
Over the months, you and Emmet had developed a routine, waking up and eating breakfast together (Usually just bread and eggs) before starting on the daily needs. It was nice to have less of a workload, tasks that would normally take a whole day getting finished before evening.
Emmet started talking more at the table and receiving his own lighthearted smacks from your grandmother. He was settling in well, and that made you glad.
Each week, when you’d ride product into town to collect, you’d hand him his pay in an envelope and give him a pat on the shoulder, thanking him for helping you. You’re sure he could make more money somewhere else. That he’d have less work comparatively. But he didn’t complain as he did the dishes each night and even took care of your weekly trips to town for your grandmother’s medicine.
Emmet was a quiet guy still, sure, but he was more friendly now. Joking with you while you fed the pigs together, pushing you in the mud, then helping you up after you laughed at him for falling.
It had been a while, but you wonder if this was what it was like when you and your dad would work together.
On the anniversary of the fire, you sat on a hill overlooking the valley out west. You had buried your father beneath a tree at the bottom of that hill, but today you couldn’t handle looking at it. You took a swig of shine from a flask as you heard heavy boots on the grass behind you,
“Didn’t take you for a fast drinker,” He holds out his hand as he sits beside you, and you pass him the flask to take a swig. He grimaces, “Straight shine, Bud? Less of a kid than you look, I guess,” He chuckles, handing it back to you, “What’s got a talker like you making me start a conversation, hm?”
“It’s been six years.” You say simply, taking another swig,
“Since what, Kid?”
“Pa died in that barn over there,” You nod towards the wrecked remains of the barn, mostly reclaimed by the wildlife around it. You left it be, didn’t have the heart to go near it, “He was tryna save what he could. Kept going in and coming out with calves. Then he went in… and uh..” You frown, taking another swig, “I realised it’d been too long when the roof fell.”
He goes quiet, as he often does, but it isn’t unwelcome. The rustle of the summer breeze goes past, brushing the long grass past you two. Awkwardly, he pats your back, “So that's why someone so small was running this all by themself.”
You nod, “He killed himself for these cows. I can’t let them just waste away.”
He nods, and you both take a swig from the flask as the sun sets, crickets already chirping away through the night, “He’d be proud, I’m sure.”
You smile at that, “Thank you, Mr Amos.”
He nods, “‘pleasure.”
—
Your grandmother hasn't been doing well lately. You had taken over cooking, and even though you felt guilty, that meant you had to leave more of the farm work to Emmet so you could bring your Gran her food on time. If he was bothered, he didn’t say, and you made sure to pay him a few dollars more to thank him for it.
You’d wake up early, get ready, feed the chicks, then go in and make your grandmother soft porridge. It was really more water than grain, but it was all she could swallow.
She stopped responding to you when talking or leaving the bed at all. That was how you knew what was coming.
One Saturday, when Emmet was about to go to town as he usually does, you flagged him down.
“Hey, Mr Amos.. I don’t think gran needs the medicine no more. Can you just do me a favor and pick her up some of these?” You hand him a list. It’s got some of her favorite foods on it, some alcohol, and what stands out is a green tomato you listed.
“Kid, why would Hellen want an unripe tomato?”
“They’re firmer. Better for frying. She liked it a lot.” You say, and hand him a few dollars, “I hope the multiple stops ain’t too much.”
He looks at you, and you swear you see his eyes soften as he shakes his head, “Not at all, kid. I have a few things to do in town anyway.”
You nod, then step away, waving him off as you go back inside.
You don’t say it out loud, but Emmet noticed the shaking in your shoulders anyway.
—
Your Grandmother passed on Sunday, and you already knew it would happen. Her last word was your father’s name, spoken gently as she pet your hair, and you cried.
Emmet watched from the doorway as the reverend closed her eyes, crossing her and sending her off.
He helped dig the hole beside your father’s grave so she could be with her son.
And he didn’t mention the times he caught you sniffling when you thought you were alone.
—
When fall rolled around, you sat on the front porch, sitting in the chair that was once her’s, in a house that was once your father’s.
You sigh, shoulders hunched, but perk up when Emmet comes out through the creaky door. You should oil it, but your dad used to do that. You were worried you wouldn’t do it the same way he did, and silly as that sounded, that scared you.
Emmet sat beside you, and you both silently watched the grass flow in the wind.
A few minutes passed like that before Emmet spoke up, “You know, kid, you’ve gotta be one of the most unlucky people I know.”
You glance at him, confused. He chuckles, going on, “Pa died in a fire, Mom’s outta the picture, Grandma died...” He trails off, “And to think I came here to rob you.”
The silence comes back, but now it feels wrong. Cold. You frown, “I don’t appreciate the jokes, Mr Amos. Grandma's only been buried a week.”
“I ain’t joking, kid. I came here thinking, Hey, this is a place with an inexperienced owner and a weak old lady, it’ll be easy money!” He laughs, and that comforting feeling you used to get from it is gone. He’s laughing at you, not with you, “But ah.. I froze up when I saw ya, Kid. Naive to a comedic degree and willing to give a stranger the shirt off your back. I found myself making an honest living.”
You stay quiet, and he smirks, “Come on now, usually you’re the one ranting on about something. What’s got you quiet?”
“Why’re you telling me this?”
“Well, cause your old lady is gone now, so it's slightly less wicked what I’m about to have to do.”
“What do you mean-”
Something hard hit the back of your head, and you fell out of the rocking chair, curled in on yourself. You hold your head, feeling blood on it. You glance at him dizzily, as your vision blurs and multiplies. You see him pull the shovel back up one more time, but you don’t feel the impact when you faint.
—
You wake up to a throbbing in your head. You’re in your bed, and the sun beams in through the window. You must have overslept. You grunt, throwing your feet off the side of the bed to get ready, already planning on how to apologize to Emmet for making him do the morning alone.
That’s when you feel it. The bandages on your head and the shooting pain through your skull. The ropes around your wrists on the headboard.
That wasn’t a nightmare. You were trapped with this guy, and you realized that he had been living with you for almost a year. You had let this man into your home, near your grandmother. You had let him get her medicine, you had paid him, and your heart sank.
You thought you had made a friend. That you had met someone who cared about your father’s ranch as much as you did. You felt stupid.
The door creaks open as a breeze comes in through the window, and you glance at him as the old floral drapes swish in the wind.
“Hope I didn’t hit your head too hard, sweetness. Doc made a house call when I told him you let the ladder fall on you in the barn.” He chuckles, pulling the armchair closer to the bedside and sitting as he stares at you, “You look mighty cute when you’re angry, Kid. All puffy cheeks. You look like you’re trying not to cry.”
“I don’t get why you’re still here..”
“Didn’t wanna leave my cute little boss to heal on their own.”
“You could have just killed me and taken everything in the house- what’s the point of all of this?”
“Sh-sh-sh,” He hums at you like you’re a horse, and pats your head much the same way as you shiver, “Your head hurts real bad, and you’re thinking mighty fast. Doc said you need rest, kid. You’re slow even when you haven’t been hit in the head, so don’t go pushing yourself.”
You frown, wishing you could push him away, smack his condescending face. You wish you had shut the door on him. You wish you hadn’t posted for help in the town square.
“I’ll be honest with ya, Kid, I’m kinda shocked you didn’t know about me. My poster was right beside yours. You ain’t too good at reading, are ya?”
You stay silent, staring away from him as you clench your hands in your lap.
He chuckles, “I ain’t gonna kill ya, if you’re worried about that. And I didn’t kill Granny Hellen either,”
That makes you see red, and suddenly you’re thrashing, cursing at him, trying to kick him and break the ropes from your wrists, “Don’t you dare call her that, you pig! She ain’t you’re granny, she took care of you and you lied to her! You get her name out of your damn mouth-!” A smack silences you, and you sit, stunned with your face to one side.
He glares, “Don’t go acting like a brat on me, kid. I could always change my mind bout keeping you around.”
“...What would you even need me for?” Your voice is quieter now, and you’ve stopped thrashing.
“Need? Nothing. I want you, bud.”
There’s a cruel glint in his eyes, and you lower your head to look away from it, wondering how you never saw it before.
“It’d be nice to settle down after all these years. Think about it, your daddy killed himself for those cows,” he grins at you, “I can’t let em waste away.”
guys whoever reblogs this gets a random question in their ask box. literally random. it could be “would you pet an isopod” or “is god real” (nothing too crazy)
edit: IM GOING TO SLEEP SORRY IF I DONT RESPOND I WILL GET AROUND TO THIS
edit 2: okay im overwhelmed i did not expect this to reach so far. im not gonna give any more questions unfortunately and i might delete this post all together
my deepest apologies but im a pretty small blog and i didnt think id get so many reblogs
being strongly demiromantic yet experiencing basically every other type of attraction is so funny to me. yes we can fuck. yes i'd love to be in a qpr with you. yes i'd enjoy just being physically close to you. yes i'd love to be friends. yes i'd form a bond so strong with you we practically become siblings.
Romance? Nah. you haven't unlocked that Ability yet. you must reach 1000 Emotional Connection Points first. and even then, this doesn't guarantee a romantic outcome. try being uhh [hyper-specific list of physical and character traits] or something. you probably statistically have more chance of winning the lottery twice in a row than me reciprocating romantic feelings for you. i do experience romantic attraction, just... not today. try again in like 5 years
I think this destiel/sulemio ship war is funny because the destiel front liner is a literal child who I don't even know how they know what supernatural is, and the sulemio fans are also largely adults beefing with this weird 12 year old over what racism and sexism mean.
