—cowboy

.°˖⋆   ( 𝑅.𝑊. )   ❝ 𝖨 𝖶𝖠𝖲 𝖡𝖮𝖱𝖭 𝑜𝑛   a   𝓭ꭼꭺꭰ   ꭼɴꭰ   road . . .

[wheelure]

_ AN INDEPENDENT & SEMI - PRIVATE PORTRAYAL OF RIP WHEELER, of taylor sheridan's yellowstone + dutton ranch. * this blog heavily prioritizes plotted threads and dynamics. previously located on @inmontana. open to all interactions, however, i will not interact with jamie dutton nor anyone who chooses to interact with jamie dutton as a character ic. consider this your warning. BY BRI, 28, SHE/HER.

MR YEEHAW TO MRS YEEHAW, DUHTON, AND RANCHING WITH RIVHERS.

[wheelure]

﹙ *  𓃗  ﹚▌▌ —CATTLE BROKER, HE FUCKED US, BABY. her words sit somewhere in his clenched jaw he can't quite reach with his tongue. doesn't taste them, only hears them. he feels them move through his body like an invader, like this fucking land opened up its crusted core just to laugh at them, all toothy and frothed. it stirs a storm inside him. something akin to the rolling clouds as they'd tumble over the mountains in montana. they might live in texas, but that damn montana grit chews a hole in the soul that won't ever be filled with enough dirt. there's a stillness in the anger as it settles over him. a dangerous stillness. THE CALM BEFORE A STORM. slowly, he raises his hand to hers where it sits over the ice pack at his shoulder. he rests it there while he holds her gaze. and that's all rip does, is hold her gaze ... seconds tick by as his mind turns over and in upon itself. where the fuck does that cattle broker live? then, as if he's made the decision without even having an answer, he pulls her hand away though doesn't drop it. hangs onto it. "an' i'd think he picked the wrong people to fuck with don't you think darlin'?"

[wheelure]

﹙ *  𓃗  ﹚▌▌ —forget the weight of the day ... the weight of the damn state sits between shoulder blades. a constant gnawing on bone. in the drops of sweat. the heat dry and hard to breathe. not like mountain air that's for damn sure. and he misses it— hell, he misses a lot of things about montana. but the loss comes in waves. he's never been one to think much about the past. he can't afford the time it would take up nor the heaviness in his chest when he has to go out there and do everything he has to do in the name of survival. but he knows that's how she's learned to survive. eight hundred tonne bricks of pain with her name on it worn out and down, nipping at her heels with every step she takes. the turmoil was in her eyes tonight. thicker than he's seen it in months. she could sow muse into her words about the blood not being hers, but it doesn't have to be for him to take care of it. to take care of her. "c'mon ..." after turning the water on, he turns to drag the blue denim button up from her shoulders. it falls to the ground. he tests the water for warmth. then, their clothes begin to fall in unison before a large hand raises to tap at the small of her back, encouraging her inside the shower.

[duhton]

/ ʊ _ his voice washes over her through the phone and she instinctively sighs, sinking into the leather seat of her bentley just a little. it’s a soothing balm to whatever worries or concerns consume her during the hours of the day and night that they are apart- his voice worked wonders for beth with him here in montana and her back home in salt lake, in more ways than one, and even the sting of her cheek lessens as her lips curve upward into a small smile. “m’alright baby, i promise- he hits like a fuckin’ girl.” hand rises as she turns her eyes to the rearview mirror, the ball of her palm swiping gently over the cut of her lip and her fingertips ghosting along the bruise already forming on her cheek. “least i’m still pretty, huh.” she jokes lightly, sticking her key in the ignition and revving the engine when it turns on.

… IS SHE OKAY? beth froze as carter’s voice carries through the line, the agitation and the anger and the worry clear as day- beth reacts in equal measure. “the fuck is he asking that for?” what does carter know? shit- what did he see? a resigned sigh passes her lips through grit teeth, her brow pinched as she throws the car into reverse and tears away from the bar.

balancing the wheel between her bare knees, hand holding the cell to her ear while the other drops down to change gears- “baby?” rip talks on the other end, and she can hear the strain in his voice as she imagines him standing, telling carter to stay- ( she doesn’t correct him from treating their boy like a stray dog, not this time ) … “rip?!” foot pressed down a little harder on the pedal, speed rising to a level she’s far too comfortable driving at.

his words do nothing to calm the galloping beat of her heart but she lets it ride. beth is used to CHAOS- she was born and raised in it. “i’ll be there in ten, what happened?” she will not wait, impatience and the desire to know the magnitude of how fucked they are burning in her blood. if she’s a tornado, she’d hope there’s warning sirens blaring back home. ‘cause she doesn’t care about jamie hitting her, but if anyone’s touched carter, she’ll burn the whole ranch down herself.

[wheelure]

﹙ *  𓃗  ﹚▌▌ —he doesn't find it as amusing as she does. even from this end of the phone he can hear the smirk in her voice. THE WIN, of wearing whatever marks least i'm still pretty, huh might mean she has. all the feelings he'd managed to bury in order to prioritize carter begin bubbling right back up to the surface. he can only form a grunt on his tongue in response, dredged from a dark place. the problem had nothing to do with her being pretty ... and everything to do with someone putting their hands on his wife. rip holds the phone a little tighter. knuckles white. when he wishes they could be bruised and bloody.

outside the cabin, the fresh air calms him. maybe he ought to bring carter back out here but he thinks he might want a few seconds alone with his wife when she pedal to medal's it up the dirt drive. ( if carter can manage to stay in the cabin long enough in wait— ) & rip isn't holding a high bet on that. he admires the protectiveness, ESPECIALLY FROM A KID HIS AGE. but fuck, he knows what kind of damage it can do. how it sits and festers and becomes rage. there's pieces of him in this kid of theirs too.

"walked in on him ready to put his own fists to good use..." rip tells her, because he knows she won't wait. hopes maybe it'll get her to slow down a couple notches if she knows what she's about to walk into instead of flying here with the desperation of knowledge. "boy said he overheard somethin' 'bout y'dad tellin' jamie not to put his hands on you again. guess he saw red. can't say i fuckin' blame him." because something about being a parent now meant he had to be here ... and he wouldn't change it ... but it didn't settle the urges he had either. then, rip sighed. he doesn't want to do this over the phone, but keeping it at bay, swaddled on the tip of his tongue won't do either one of them any good. SHE ALWAYS KNOWS. "so i dragged him on outta there, but he wasn't thinkin' straight ... wasn't thinkin' at all ... baby, john knows. about us."

[duhton]

... ﹙ @wheelure ﹚ ʊ / she’s a itching for a fight when the plane touches down in bozeman. HER SKIN CRAWLING AND HER TEETH GRIT, fire ablaze in her blood as her heels dig in deep to the hundreds year old hardwood that form the foundation of her family home. she doesn’t have to go looking for him, beth knew he’d be there waiting for her even if he’s half-asleep and exhausted from holding the ranch together in her absence. on any other day, the sight of him would draw a smile to her mouth but when her eyes meet his tonight, there’s no smile to be seen. instead her finger rises to point at him accusingly, as if he hadn’t tried to steer her away from travis fucking wheatley, while she makes her way to her father’s drink cart. “ oh DID YA, “ she bites back with a roll of her eyes as she pours herself three fingers worth of whiskey. “ i think the probability of sexual extortion warrants a bit more than’a fucking warning, rip. “ she’s fired up and a little more than exaggerating the events of her night but jesus fucking christ … the part that makes her stomach churn is how willing she would’ve been to DO RIGHT by her father and the land he fought so hard to protect. at the cost of her own morality. and rip knew that … so did travis. even if he’d never planned for her to see the strip poker through, the suggestion was enough to get her hackles up. she didn’t think it was fucking funny in the slightest. nevertheless, she sits opposite her husband, leaning into the corner of the plush armchair and crossing leg over knee, beth tussled her hair with her free hand. “ walk through what? he agreed to help and i didn’t have to fuck him to get it. “ there’s venom on her tongue that she washes down with a swig as she peers at rip with vibrant eyes. “ why’re you friend’s with a guy like him? … “

[wheelure]

﹙ *  𓃗  ﹚▌▌ —by the time she joins him, he's no longer laying down. sat up and rubbing the sleep from his eyes with a fist that's wound a little too tightly for somebody who just arose from slumber. it was unpacked and prepped before she ever walked in the door. GNAWED & CHEWED. protectiveness stuck between his back molars. ( or is it possessiveness? ) perhaps both, because to be protective he must be possessive and he knew ... he fuckin' knew before she got on that plane that whatever travis had up his sleeve wasn't meant for the likes of his wife. he had no business being anywhere near her. NOT WITHOUT HIM. but she'd had to go and he'd had to stay and the thought sat wrong in all the places it could never be right. even with her right back to sitting across from him. he sighs, a thumb pressed harder into his eye socket. ❝   just wanna make sure that corriente bull didn't leave anythin' out s'all.   ❞ groused, thick, molted. the rawness of emotion hardly simmered. boiling somewhere in the spaces between his ribs. what he sees in her eyes only alights all the feelings he'd had before he fell asleep. ❝   told him he was lucky t'make it that far.   ❞ beth wore heels like sharpened knives for a reason. ❝   didn't say he'd be quite that lucky when he lands.   ❞ because of course she WON that battle. how she would've won it, if travis had decided otherwise ... well ... it wasn't about what she would have done. it was about travis and the predicament she had been placed in to begin with. the last person he was excited to see right about now, but he was well aware of what travis could bring to the table. ❝   well, darlin' ... your dad had him training horses here, i don't know, twenty years ago ... think i had about lloyd and well, lloyd. BACK THEN. an' travis, he - uh, showed up at this bar an' i was with this girl ...   ❞

[wheelure]

﹙ *  𓃗  ﹚▌▌ —he hears her heels on the great room floor before he sees her. somewhere between wake and sleep, AND HE THINKS ITS THE FIRST REAL BIT OF THE LATTER HE'S GOTTEN IN A FEW DAYS. ( a damn shitty excuse for slumber if he ever did see one ) but every time rip has gotten himself close to dozing off he finds himself wondering: will she need me? will tonight be like that first night... EXCEPT HE'LL BE SLEEPING RIGHT NEXT TO HER & NOT EVEN KNOW IT. the weight of death sitting on her chest too hard. too heavy to contain. breaking those walls he knows so well to down into pebbled dust and exposing all the pain he sees in her eyes. with her away, on a short flight back, he manages to catch maybe half an hour. he has to, IF HE WANTS TO KEEP ANY SEMBLANCE OF HIS SANITY. until her presence stirs him back awake. because, after all, she's not only one whose pissed. only a low grumble as he sits up on the couch announces his presence. when he blinks his eyes open, her finger is already pointed at him. "oh, christ, i warned ya." & he did: WARN HER. in more words than rip wheeler usually uses for just about anything. but what he should've done was get on that fucking plane with her. regret won't change the past though. he's settled that part of himself a long time ago. "an' i warned 'im too." meaning, he's heard from travis. the warning was for the next time he saw him though. he nods to the chair across from him for her to sit and join him. "walk me through it."

[duhton]

... ﹙ @inmontana ﹚ ʊ / a scoff breathes past her lips, tired eyes alight with teasing mischief as she groans and hides her face in her pillow. not because she’s embarrassed, HARDLY. she’s not the type to shy easily, would happily lay on her back or bend over or straddle him anywhere and everywhere at any time of the day or night … no, she hides her face from him because she’s fucking tired and if he gets her started now she won’t get the sleep she needs to function tomorrow. she turns again, her back to his chest but she DOESN’T shift away this time. leaving his hand on her hip is all he’s allowed at this hour. “ every view i’m not in is your worst view, baby. “ she mumbles, smile forming in the corners of her mouth as she half-flirts with her husband in the middle of the night. it’s a distraction, one she’s sure would work if she tried a little harder ( beth doesn’t HAVE to try to distract rip, but she’ll pretend otherwise tonight ) and she sighs audibly when he won’t drop the third degree. he’s confused, and curious, and cautious, and she loves him dearly. but if she’d wanted to talk about it she would’ve stayed in the great room, and if he’d wanted to ask about it he could’ve chased after her. “ which part? moving or moving to dillon? “ because those are two very different webs.

[wheelure]

a low chuckle rumbles in his chest. the heel of his palm applies pressure into the divot of her hip while his thumb busies itself in soothing circles absently against smooth flesh. she doesn't HAVE TO apply logic or purpose to be distracting. she buried herself into his skin a long time ago. the enigma of beth dutton is distracting enough. imaging her in all kinds of manors, even more distracting ... and rip has had her in many, many views, and known all too well what it's like to be without. "y'don't gotta remind me." from his angle behind and above her, he presses his lips into her hair. a single kiss of strawberry blonde. grin concealed, but lingering in the sound of his words. now, he's a man satiated. he doesn't know how he went two decades without her, let alone not having her like this. it feels wrong in hindsight. just as trying to sleep with all these questions ricocheting in his head. "dillon." rip says decisively. WITHOUT HESITATION. the move, he knows, is an inevitably. the ranch will be nothing more than a memory of what once was in a shorter amount of time than any of them are ready for. the fight, a scar. and he worries about the scar tissue that'll come in the aftermath ... he squeezes her waist again and buries his face into her hair. "hell, baby, you bought a fuckin' ranch ... can't blame me for wonderin' how y'got here huh ..."