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A red heel taps against the floor impatiently, amber eyes darting around as the woman in a purple outfit waits for her rockstar to arrive. He was late.

“You’re LATE.” Butch’s manager snarls the moment he stumbles into the room; he brushes her comments off and hurries over the the mirror, steps uneven along the way. He brushes fingers through his hair and shakes it out before turning to Darlene, a bright grin adorning his face.

“How do I look?”

The blonde woman’s eyes narrow in annoyance and she folds her arms across her chest, an agitated sigh escaping her.

“Like a fruit; now get your ass on stage before you disappoint your fans again.”

The cowboys smile wavers before disappearing all together at her comments; he doesn’t respond though, knowing she would have something else smart to say if he did so. Instead, he brushes past her and bumps her shoulder as he leaves the dressing room, annoyance flaring within him.

Why did she even get a say? It wasn’t fair.

His jaw clenches and he retrieves a metal flask from an inner pocket in his vest, popping the lid off and stealing himself a few healthy gulps. He wipes his mouth with the back of his arm as he comes to the curtain and tucks that flask away after resealing the lid. The man releases a sigh before taking a few breaths and then stepping out from behind the curtains with his arms outstretched, wearing a large toothy grin as he makes his way over to the microphone. He adjusts his guitar strap from where its looped around his torso before taking it into his hands and positioning the instrument appropriately. His lips come to the microphone and his voice booms as he speaks.

“Howdy, folks!” The audience cheers in response but the rockstar acts as if he hadn’t heard them. “What th’ hell was that? A mouse? I said….HOWDY YA’LL!!!” At that, the crowd roars louder than before, more than likely deafening to someone who isn’t familiar with the atmosphere of a concert. “That’s more like it!” He exclaims, fingers licking the strings of his guitar and in turn, creating a melody that could practically tickle one’s brain to start things off. He begins to sing, and it’s a genre somewhere in between folk rock and rock and roll as he strums away, electrifying an audience that hops and screams as they listen to his voice.

Each song he delivers is stylistic in its own right, some fun and happy go lucky and others, while catchy and pleasant to listen to, clearly came from a place of suffering if one were to listen close enough. Others are more sultry, about love and heartbreak, and he makes sure to give some playful sways and rocks of his hips as he sings those, a hand gliding along the pole of the microphone stand in a very suggestive manner as he does so. His accent is prevalent in every word and he’s having fun with it! What else is he supposed to do? That liquid courage did wonders!

It was his treat. His treat. That's what Razor had said just before snagging Cyn for a moment alone, and that is exactly when Gabriel decided to check out for a while as his gaze settled on the concert stage in the distance. They could only get so close...

The situation between them was history and Razor had moved on without waiting for Gabriel to catch up. It had simply been too much to deal with on top of everything else, and though he was still being allowed to stay--still had a place to leave his things--the blonde felt like he was getting too much into Razor's space more than ever now that they were three... With Cynthia.

It didn't bother Gabriel because it wasn't his place--not his rules, either. What was bothering him though, was the fact that Razor had yet to let him know how much he'd paid for Gabriel to be able to tag along in the first place. ... And he never accepted his fucking money, neither.

What's more was that he had had to go shopping with Cyn, and while he ended up getting the stuff he was wearing tonight, it was weird... or maybe it was all in Gabriel's head.

Thankfully, he was pulled away from those thoughts when a large came to rest on his shoulder--Razor's hand before the taller blonde tilted his head towards the concert stage. It was time for that walk.

Letting them get ahead of them, Gabriel kept his gaze on the pair and couldn't stop himself from wondering if he looked alright enough tonight. He'd never been to a concert before after all, and apparently, they were going to be seeing @devilsoutlaw ... whoever that was.

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You’ve been challenged to a Pokémon battle by Cowboy Butch!

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At home

Nikon 35ti | Kodak Max 400

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con. // @dragonskxn

“Hehe, thanks! I think so too!” There’s some sort of pride he feels from being told his Mama is pretty; probably because she’s his Ma and he happens to agree!

The little cowboy has to giggle at how ecstatic Annalise seems to be over the hogs and promptly hoists himself up onto the fence, his small boots using the lowest gap between the wood to do so. He’s just barely able to peek over the top so he stands on his tip toes, absentmindedly swaying his little body as he watches the animals eat. He’s so excited he can barely contain it all!

“Course they do! Y’jus’ gotta feed ‘em lots an’ they get reaaaal big! Right, Ma?”

“That’s right, sunshine, gotta keep ‘em big an’ healthy!” The woman’s eyes find Butch’s little friend again and there’s a curious glint in her eyes; she’s more than happy to answer the little girls questions.

“They sure do! Let’s see—“ Her brown eyes dart around the pen and she takes to pointing to each one as she names them off, “That one’s Petunia; she’s likes t’eat flowers fer fun. We got Betty, she’s as sweet as can be! An’ June, an’ that there’s Jack. We got lil’ Johnny, he was th’ runt way back then an’ he’s still th’ smallest but boy, can he put away food!” The woman laughs. “Last but not least, Butch’s favorite—“

“She’s my favorite!” The sandy blonde chirps, an arm hanging over the fence as he points to a particularly hefty hog. “I named ‘er m’self! Jo—Jofa—Jophasine, but I we call ‘er Jo fer short, hehe.” And because he can’t pronounce Josephine in full quite yet

“You’ve never seen big ol’ pigs before, lil’ lady?” Inquires Beverly, approaching the fence of the pen and placing the bucket on the ground on the other side to keep it out of the reach of the pigs. She then leans her elbows against the fence, gazing down at the little one with a warm smile. “Would you like to pet one? They’re awful friendly! Th’ worst they’ll do is give ya lot’sa kisses!”

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jean paul gaultier

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con. // @foxedthecards

“Gah—-!!!” That kick to his hip is powerful enough to send Butch staggering back—and as much as it hurts, he’s glad that kick hadn’t landed where he thought it would land. Atleast that move gave him more of an idea as to how to handle this situation, knowing this fucker played dirty was all the initiative he needed to do the same.

Despite the pain that kick had brought, he doesn’t draw attention to it by paying it any mind. He was sure it would be sore later but now, it’s nothing but a throb beneath his muscle. He watches as Kit’s lips curl into a razor toothed smirk and again, he’s compelled to knock that snide look off of his face.

“Oh, we’re playin’ dirty now are we? Why didn’t ya say so, string bean?” Snorts the talent, his boots clicking against the pavement as he puts a little more distance in between them. There’s a pile of loose bricks and rubble sitting at the base of the opposing wall and he quickly leans down to snatch one up, gripping it tightly in his painted fingers and holding it out towards Kit with a smirk of his own.

This man may have had a height advantage, but Butch had grown up with both that mockery for being on the shorter side and compensating for such by working extra hard in his time on his farm especially. Life was much less physically laborious nowadays but he’d be remiss to let himself go because of it.

Without further ceremony, he chucks that brick forcefully, aiming for Kit’s face once more. “How’s that blood taste, freakazoid!?”

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When Artair had asked the cowboy if he would pick him up, this probably wasn’t what he had in mind…

Still, he had shown up in his ‘70 El Camaro anyhow so really, he wasn’t that far off in his perception of the request. The vehicle was conspicuos in every possible way, bright red with large bull horns on the hood. Even the door handles were replicas of vintage revolvers! Despite that, the rockstar was very careful about being seen entering and exiting his vehicle… most of the time anyway. When presented with an excuse to see that curious waiter he’d met some time ago, he would allow himself to be a little wreckless.

After kneeling down rather quickly and scooping the taller man up with ease, Butch is smiling quite triumphantly, as if he’d just done a good deed. When Artair seems to grow flustered, confusion twists at the sandy blondes features.

“Y’asked me t’pick y’up, didn’t ya…?“ he inquires, looking thoughtful all of a sudden as he raises Artair in his arms somewhat and then lowers him as if measuring his weight. “Hmmm, y’could stand t’eat a lil’ more, y’know!”

@gunslinginnhogtyin // Self Indulgent Meme ❰❰ CARRY ❱❱ :3 sender carries receiver bridal style

Artair doesn't immediately react on being lifted, mainly because of the confusion he feels at being lifted at all. It is much like handling a baby bird. He doesn't move much, easy to position however suits best, and probably fairly light in the hands.

It's easy to tell by his red face that the reality is setting in, however. And the fluster is building more and more. His voice comes out remarkably steady, but his expression, wide eyes behind large glasses, color on his face, and the wavering thinness of his lips as they're sucked between his teeth and release says he's anything but.

"Wh--- what're y'doin'? M'legs'r just-- they're still workin'...." Despite being the picture of embarrassment, he kind of just hangs there in those very strong arms, before finally he can't take it and covers his face with his hands to block it from sight.

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con. // @lionheartair

Butch follows promptly as directed, a skip in his step and all. As antsy as he is about being seen, he’s more excited to get the heck out of here! See a little more of what he hasn’t in this area quite yet courtesy of his manager trying to keep him a caged bird damn near all the time.

His blue eyes dart around cautiously as they swiftly make their way down the hall; he anticipates a little too quickly where he thinks Blondie is headed and pushes his way into one of the bathrooms—he stops short when he realizes Artair has taken a turn and then quickly scrambles after him in the other direction. What? There could have been a secret exit in one of the restrooms!

Upon entering the kitchen, the smell of delicious food hits him full force and as they squeeze their way past busy cooks, he helps himself to whatever he can reach. Freshly baked appetizers sitting unattended on a plate near the corner of one of the counters? Yoink! A sip of whatever the heck was simmering in that pot with the ladle jutting out? Yum! It’s when a cook shoos him in a language he doesn’t understand that really gets him to hustle over to the door just as Artair pushes it open.

He steps outside, his golden heeled boots clicking against the concrete beneath his feet as he does. He takes a deep breath in through his nose as he shakes off any remaining anxieties caused from his time in the mix of that crowd, then he exhales but not before its interrupted by a short laugh at Artair’s little quip.

“Yer pretty slick, Blondie. what, d’ya do yer own ex’scapin’ from time t’ time?” He teases, giving the taller male an encouraging pat on the back that might be just a tad too firm (unbeknownst to him). Then! He’s headed towards the Main Street, a man on a mission!

“How graceful d’ya think those long legs’d carry ya on skates…?” He inquires casually; peering back at Artair, his eyes give his legs a brief once over—okay, a twice over, before they return to the others face and flash him a smile. “We oughta check out the roller rink b’fore we get too crazy! I saw it from th’ taxi on my way here, an’ I can’t say I’ve ever been b’fore. M’always too busy, but I think it’s slow ‘round this time’f week.”

If it was a childish suggestion, he’s unaware. He hadn’t exactly grown up in the midst of 80’s culture as his father was a relatively old fashioned man, so once he was exposed to more common activities of the time, some of which he’d never done before, naturally it ramped up his desire to experience it all!

“C’mon! S’jus’ ‘round th’ corner!” And he’s off! His boots carry him from the ally and onto the Main Street; his head swivels around just to make sure he’s not going to be spotted before he takes to crossing the street, blissfully unaware that he’s both J-Walking and cutting across the street a little too soon. A passing car honks at him as he reaches the other side of the street and he flashes them the bird with a scowl.

“N’yeahhh—fuck you, buddy! Watch where yer goin!” From there, he pauses to wait for Artair to catch up, waving him over.

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con. // @dragonskxn

The bakers face brightens even more as the little one agrees to not only mention it to her mother, but to attempt to get her to visit the bakery as well.

“A belladonna…” The man repeats almost wistfully, peering up in thought. He probably hadn’t heard of such a flower, but the look on his face might as well have given away exactly what he was thinking. To retrieve one of those plants before the small girls mother took to visiting so he could present it to her. All while blissfully unaware of this particular flower’s poisonous qualities.

He’s so lost in his own train of thought that he doesn’t notice the boy from before with his shirt stuffed with bread racing out of his shop, nor does he seem to care much as Annalise takes to backing away towards the door. If only because he had essentially gotten something he wanted out of the interaction.

“W-Well, tell her I’ll be here, alright? A-An’ mention that I’m handsome while you’re at it!” The baker calls after her as she scrambles out of the bakery, gratefully scraping that change off of the counter despite his previous reservations and the fact that he hadn’t provided them with bread either.

Meanwhile, the little cowpoke is just outside, trying to stay out of the bakers sight as he waits for Annalise to rejoin him. He’s wearing quite possibly one of the biggest grins he’s worn in a while, “That was amazin! How’d ya know what t’say t’that mean ol’ man? He didn’t even see me!” He chirps with a laugh, patting himself and in turn, the fluffy loafs he’s hiding beneath his shirt. “Heheheh, I gots ‘least three here fer th’ price’f one! Y’wanna take one home too? That way yer mama don’t have t’visit that meanie.”

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indie semi-selective OC rp blog for the many AU’s branching off of my main blog (@gunslinginnhogtyin). multiverse & multiship friendly. mature themes (18+) only please!

RULES. // KID!VERSE. // 80’s ROCKSTAR VERSE. // POKÉMON VERSE (TBA). // BLAZEBORN VERSE (TBA).

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80's ROCKSTAR AU

AU set in the 80’s era where Butch comes from a small country town in the south; he starts to gain popularity by playing solo at small events in his town and soon his musical talent is recognized by some of those in the industry.

Darlene becomes his manager, a rep who’s worked in the industry for a few years now and trying to gain her own footing, with her own malicious intentions, and he’s…. a handful to say the least, because he’s the stubborn type and a drunk.

When you factor in the fact that he’s not exactly accustomed to the stress of the rockstar life on top of the trauma he carried with him from finally getting away from his Fathers farm, it starts to become more obvious why he copes using alcohol.

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LIL’ WRANGLER

Exactly as it sounds! Butch is a kiddo in the mid 1800’s living on his Pops farm. Not much else to it besides what you may learn about him and his early family life through interactions. When interacting with other folks in this AU, we can fudge up some timelines to make things work in a way that makes sense for you if the current setting doesn’t quite work!