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Mickey Mantle The Real Natural Podcast
Mickey Mantle – The Real Natural – Podcast - Oklahoma country boy Mickey Mantle was one of the greatest clutch performers ever in any sport, and the greatest in baseball history. He still holds nearly… Read the full story at John Dwyer’s The Oklahomans https://www.johnjdwyer.com/post/mickey-mantle-the-real-natural-podcast
Designing a custom home in Oklahoma, step by step. What each phase covers, how long it takes, and how to see your home in 3D before you break ground.
Designing a custom home in Oklahoma, step by step. What each phase covers, how long it takes, and how to see your home in 3D before you break ground.
@mogxp
Did this a while ago, this is the Enid, Oklahoma tornado that hit Enid on July 5, 1966, I believe it was an F2.
The Oklahoma City Bombing Courage & Providence Podcast
The Oklahoma City Bombing – Courage & Providence – Podcast - “Where was God at 9:02 AM?” on April 19, 1995, as OKC broadcaster Robin Jones asked in her inspiring book of that name. Many emotions went through John’s heart… Read the full story at John Dwyer’s The Oklahomans https://www.johnjdwyer.com/post/oklahoma-city-bombing-podcast
𝐰𝐡𝐞𝐫𝐞 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐫𝐞𝐝 𝐝𝐢𝐫𝐭 𝐥𝐢𝐞𝐬 - 𝐩𝐫𝐨𝐥𝐨𝐠𝐮𝐞
❈ 𝘱𝘢𝘪𝘳𝘪𝘯𝘨: Oklahoma rodeo star!Dean Winchester x cowgirl!reader
❈ 𝘴𝘶𝘮𝘮𝘢𝘳𝘺: the Winchesters were well known in the professional rodeo industry. First through John, until an injury abruptly ended his career. Now, it’s Dean’s turn to make a name for himself.
Dean had spent the first twenty years of his life trying to earn the approval of a man who kept moving the finish line.
This was going to be the season where his career took off. He was sure of it.
Until he saw you. You were chasing big dreams in tiny towns dotted across the state. Serving fresh pie and coffee at a diner during the day. Then, chasing hundredths of a second under bright arena lights at night.
Dean had always had his eyes on the scoreboard. Now, his eyes were fixed on you.
❈ 𝘸𝘤: 1.6K
❈ 𝘤𝘸: Oklahoma AU, Dean & reader in early 20s, slow burn & yearn, lots of rodeo talk (all horseback events), language, deadbeat dad, use of y/n, pretty tame little intro ♡
❈ 𝘢/𝘯: if you’re interested and this topic is unfamiliar to you, this woman is an example of a phenomenal barrel racer. But you definitely don’t need to have an understanding of the sport to enjoy this series (i hope!)
𝘮𝘢𝘴𝘵𝘦𝘳𝘭𝘪𝘴𝘵
The heat was still stifling as the sun began to kiss the horizon, casting the landscape and the copper-colored dirt in a dusky orange glow. He folded his arms loosely around the railing while he rested his jaw against the cool metal. His gaze settled on the center of the arena when the announcer’s speakers crackled to life.
“Keep your eyes on the alley for rider number eleven. Y/N out of Nowhere, Oklahoma, ridin’ her five-year-old Quarter Horse, Ricochet. Give her a warm welcome, folks!”
Dean’s head swiveled at the knowing applause from the stands behind him. Some loud whistles from people who clearly recognized you. Friends screaming near the arena. A few catcalls from the men. Not uncommon for a female rider.
“This cowgirl’s been having herself a great summer. Let’s see if she can keep that streak alive tonight.”
The gates opened and out flew a wily paint horse ridden by the typical barrel racer. They all had a look to them. Faded denim. Cowboy boots. A shiny buckle. Racerback tank top. Baseball cap and a messy braid.
“Keep your eyes on this one. She’s quick around that first barrel.”
A look of fierce determination crossed your face as you urged your horse along with loud smooching sounds and taps of your boots. Truthfully, a good barrel horse could run the pattern without a rider.
“Just barely grazed that second barrel, and she’s off to the third!”
The barrel rattled slightly, barely twisting a quarter turn. Something the judges would dock you for.
“Come on, Carnegie! Let’s hear it for this girl!”
He knew he recognized you. Even with your expression hardened, focusing all your energy on staying upright while your feet nearly scraped the red dirt as you rounded the third barrel.
“She’s flying! Look at Ricochet take that final barrel!”
Your hands affectionately scratched and patted your horse’s neck while she carried you back toward the open gate.
“And she’s down the alley again—what a run!”
The smile on your face as you let your horse sprint back toward the gate, having completed the pattern. He knew it. The diner.
He knew you from that little cowboy diner.
The electronic buzzer caught his attention, and he raised his eyebrows at the run time.
“Fourteen point three-one-nine! There’s our leader for tonight!”
“Not bad,” he muttered to himself.
“Yeah—for a ‘bunny,” John added as he joined his son by the arena.
Dean watched as John’s gaze swept across the open ground beneath the bright lights, like he was watching an event that had happened years ago. Critiquing the horsemanship of a ghost.
In his mind, rodeo was a man’s sport. Women wore buckles. They didn’t earn them. He’d said as much a hundred times before whenever anyone mentioned women’s events. The rodeo was no place for silly women to play horse. It was dirty and dangerous. Best left to the boys to make a name for themselves and earn their money.
Dean just nodded while continuing to watch you from across the arena. He saw you loosen your horse’s cinch to let her breathe easier after doing her job. Giving her a few more pats and scratches along her sweat slick neck before leading her away from the alley as the next rider prepared to go.
“Dean, you need to focus.”
“Yeah, yeah.”
That summer had been grueling. As most summers in Oklahoma were. The days were long and hot. A hundred degrees or more for weeks at a time. The nights weren’t much better beneath the stadium lights. Entry fees had eaten up the money he was going to use to fix the air conditioning in his truck. If he got lucky, the rodeo was in a town with a decent motel room and a window unit.
By late July, he was burnt out. Bitter toward his brother, who was probably enjoying his summer in an air-conditioned dorm room. He couldn’t break his dad’s heart the way Sam could. As much as he resented him, he admired his younger brother for having the guts to leave. Not that he’d ever admit it.
Seeing you was like spotting the first firefly of the summer. A beautiful reminder that the sun had set and the sweet relief of a summer night was on the way. As quickly as you’d appeared, you flitted out of view, leading your horse back to your trailer.
With Blue loaded into the trailer, Dean scanned the gravel parking lot one last time. His heart fluttered as he watched you carry your dusty saddle into your trailer. Wiping the sweat from your brow and brushing enough dust from your jeans before climbing into your truck. Glancing around for John and finding himself alone, he quickly checked his reflection in the side-view mirror before striding over to you.
After only a few paces, though, he watched a tall, dark-haired cowboy approach you and wrap an arm loosely around your waist. He turned your baseball cap backward before leaning in to kiss you sweetly. You giggled and tried to pull away when he pinched your waist. Earning him a playful swat before he gave your ass a light tap as you climbed into the cab.
His lips twitched while his heart sank with disappointment.
He didn’t even know that guy, but he knew he wasn’t good enough for you.
He didn’t know why he believed that. But he knew it as fact.
You could do so much better.
Truthfully, you knew you could do better than David. He was nice enough. Polite. Handsome as all get-out. The kind of boy your dad could give a firm handshake to and your mom couldn’t help but blush over.
But like every other nice guy in Oklahoma, he was too small town.
Every town was a small town. Even Oklahoma City. Tulsa. Everyone knew everyone. Everyone was content staying right where they were.
That’s why it would never work with David. He was perfectly happy cowboying for the rest of his life. It made him happy. It made him feel free.
But you knew freedom wasn’t working a thousand-acre ranch if it didn’t make you happy.
Freedom, to you, was anywhere but Nowhere—literally. Freedom was seeing Nowhere in the rearview mirror. You dreamed of adventure and exploration. Hiking or riding through every national park and forest. Learning a new language and studying abroad. Riding the rails before finding work on a ranch in Montana. Dogsledding across Alaska.
Freedom was jumping into the water without dipping a toe in first.
If being American had taught you anything, though, it was that freedom wasn’t free. It cost money. If you had a horse, a truck, and a trailer, you could make good money at the rodeo. Working a shitty diner job helped cover the entry fees.
That was where you met the cocky, green-eyed hotshot.
Dean Winchester.
You recognized him as soon as he slid into a booth in your section. Well, you recognized his father. An old, washed-up rodeo star the amateur circuits wouldn’t even let compete anymore. Still tired and dusty even after years of retirement. You just assumed the younger man with the matching eyes was his son.
You took their drink order, making sure to smile and lean into your warm Oklahoma drawl. Being soft and bubbly always earned you better tips, especially from out-of-towners. Better tips brought you one step closer to freedom.
Dean’s eyes lingered, flicking between your eyes and your mouth while you talked. John was far more disinterested. Barely making eye contact whenever you stopped by the table.
Whatever, you thought. At least he was more polite than most of the cowboys who made up the majority of your customers during rodeo season. He didn’t throw out crude innuendos or try pinching your ass every time you walked by.
“Do y’all want to hear our pie specials today, or are you ready for your check?”
John tried waving you off to grab the check before Dean chimed in.
“Well, wait just a minute. Let’s hear her out.”
John grumbled something under his breath that sounded suspiciously like a prayer.
“We actually have two specials today. I couldn’t decide which I liked better. We’ve got blueberry and rhubarb.”
His brow hardened as he narrowed his eyes at you. Like you were babbling in tongues.
“Isn’t rhubarb a vegetable? You put vegetables in a pie?”
You rolled your eyes playfully.
“You’ve never had rhubarb pie? Sounds like you need to try some now.”
“—The check, ma’am,” John cut in abruptly, clearly frustrated by the playful banter.
Dean released a defeated sigh as his face fell. You felt for him. Still under the heavy shadow of a man who he’d never measure up to.
They quietly settled their check at the counter. John left first. Dean waited until he was out of sight before tossing a few extra dollars onto the table and heading toward the door. The sight made you chuckle to yourself. Making up for the sins of his father. A tale as old as time.
“Hey.”
You called after him from behind the counter, and he turned on his heels.
Glancing around to make sure John wasn’t watching, you handed him a to-go container with a small slice of rhubarb pie inside.
“Lemme know what you think.”
You gave him a playful wink.
His face lit up like a kid on Christmas morning. It was almost pitiful to see a man of that stature completely tongue-tied.
“Now go on before I charge you for scuffing up my floors.” You nodded toward the door, eyeing the trail of red dirt his boots had left behind. It happened every rodeo season. Cowboys tracking Oklahoma in with them while completely ignoring the boot scraper by the front door.
He muttered something that sounded like thank you and sorry ma’am while you busied yourself with clearing tables. Trying to hide the smile tugging at your lips.
You were fine never seeing him again.
He’d be on the road again after the rodeo that night. Maybe you’d cross paths if you both competed well. Oklahoma was a small place made up of smaller towns.
But Dean was just another handsome cowboy making a name for himself by kicking up dust in the arena. You two were just strangers headed to different places on the same desolate highway.
𝚍𝚎𝚊𝚗 𝚠𝚒𝚗𝚌𝚑𝚎𝚜𝚝𝚎𝚛 𝚝𝚊𝚐𝚕𝚒𝚜𝚝:
@youre-djoking , @staley83 , @winchesterfields67 , @ferncloud0191 , @mylpsl1kesugar , @ackleskisser-mp4 , @ashlizshack
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