#John Rambo imagine

[morgandr]

Imagine:

Doing a mission with Rambo. You then asks him why he doesn’t have many friends. He responds as he is “expendable.”

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(NOT MY GIF!)

(John Rambo X Reader)

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(TAGS)

[the-californicationist]

i did send the same thing to another writer i enjoy bc i love different takes on things, but my little dumpster brain has had one thought in the last 24 hours - imagine confiding in your captain that you'd like to have a baby bc biological clock or whatever, and being in the field really puts a damper on your sex life, so that makes it difficult. but the 141 will do anything for one of their own, so if that means they're running trains and taking turns on you DAILY until it takes (and probably even after 👀), then so be it.

lol... you lit a fuckin' fire with this ask, my friend. hot!!

"The Window" (141/Reader)

You awoke to the soft tinkling noise of his belt and zipper, rattling at the edge of your bed. Your captain, John Price, was answering his call of duty, and within moments, you knew he would slip his fat, flaccid cock between your legs and allow your warmth to make him harden within you. He preferred it this way. First, he would rub you with it, heavy and smooth, smearing your wetness all over his skin. Then, with a singular talent, he would somehow stuff his soft, lolling head into your hole, feeding himself into you gently, letting your body take him in on its own as your pussy pulsed for him, and he would rub your clit absent-mindedly, comforting himself with your swollen lips, sighing raggedly as you covered him up. Once he was hard - and fuck, he was impossibly hard - he would fuck you through your blinding pleasure, his girth giving you burst after burst of hot, searing bliss.  

He wasn’t your boyfriend - none of them were - but the members of your task force, the 141, had all agreed to be the father of your child. It had started when Captain Price first saw your appointment on the team calendar. You’d meant to post it privately, but you had failed to do so. He came to you right away, his face full of worry,

“Wha’s goin’ on, Spar? Goin’ to the main base hospital… Wha’s all this about?”

So, you’d told him, a little bashfully, that you were trying to get pregnant. You’d be turning 28 this fall, and you wanted to be a mom, sooner rather than later. Every few weeks, you were shipped off to some too-cold or too-hot locale, getting shot at and flash-banged. There wasn’t really time to find a date, much less convince them that you would make a good mother. The last time you tried to use Tinder, one guy had called you ‘Rambo’ and blocked you, so it wasn’t going well. 

“I’ll go with you, little bird. Sounds important.”

“You don’t need to do that, Captain. I’m sure I can take out a loan for it…” You thought out loud, remembering the pamphlet and all of its cost breakdowns for IVF treatments.

“A loan? Last time I checked, love, it was free,” he chuckled. 

“Free when you have someone who’d be willing to give it to you, sir,” you challenged him with your confidence, trying not to be ashamed, even of your ‘Rambo’ nickname. 

“Sparrow,” he raised his voice and nearly shouted your callsign incredulously in the small mess hall where he’d found you, “There’s no bloody way you don’t have someone willing.” 

“Wha’s goin’ on, Cap?” Gaz poked his head in behind the door. 

“Nothing,” you tried to stop the literal landslide of embarrassment that was happening to you.

“She wants to have a baby,” Price told him, smiling a bit as your cheeks turned pink.

“A baby?” Gaz commented with no small amount of surprise.

“Who wants a baby?” Simon yelled out from the hallway before opening the door wider and scooting around Gaz to join into the conversation. 

“A bairn!?” Soap barged in, slamming the door all the way open and forcing Gaz to tumble into the kitchen. 

So, the whole team knew in a matter of moments, but Price kept his word. He drove you to the hospital for your appointment and asked more questions to the doctor than you did. Unfortunately, he heard all of the strictest rules and took them to heart. No cigarettes, no caffeine, plenty of rest and… plenty of exposure to male ejaculate. 

There had been a meeting, of which you were not a part, between Price and the other men in your task force, and they had come to a conclusion: they would put a baby in you. It was their singular mission. A bit of back and forth had occurred when you found out their plan.

“Is there… we dinnae want to pressure you, lass, but,” Soap looked around at Ghost, Gaz, and Price before settling back on you, “Are there any of us you wouldnae like to be the father? We willnae take offense.”

“No! I’d be happy to have any of you… I mean… But, I don’t want you to feel like you need to do this if you don’t want to,” you could feel the heat of your shame rising in your cheeks, and you knew you were as red as a lobster. You heard a bit of laughter at your comment and feared the worst. But then, Gaz explained,

“I’m afraid all of us very much want to, Sparrow.”

He had even palmed his growing cock for emphasis. 

But, it had to be fair, you decided. There should be a schedule; no favorites. And for the first month, there was. Soap was your Monday, Ghost was Tuesday, Gaz was Thursday, and Price was Friday. But then Price had a meeting and so Soap was Friday, and Price was Saturday. That meant Ghost was Monday. You were in training on Tuesday, so Gaz was Wednesday, but Soap couldn’t do Thursday or Friday because he had to go in for his annual review. So, he joined Gaz on Wednesday, stepping in right after him as if you were a pretty little mailbox and the boys had come to drop off their packages. 

When the weekly schedule fell apart, you hung a big calendar in your quarters, and they’d pencil themselves in. That was fine until you had been shipped out to Aqtabi. You’d tried to keep it up while you were in the field, remembering what day was which, but the truth was that sometimes you had no idea if it was morning or night. Was that the sun or a flare? 

And sometimes it didn’t matter. Something would happen on a mission, and Price would crawl beneath your scratchy woolen sheet, searching for the comfort of your arms, not saying a word, not even asking you if it was alright, but just taking you there in the cold night of the desert, filling you up and keeping his cock sheathed in you, safe and sound. 

And sometimes you needed them, too. Waiting on exfil, huddled together in the pouring rain beneath a sad tarp, you’d crawled into Gaz’s lap, looping your arms around his neck and letting him hold you in a cradle, using his big chest as your pillow. You’d dozed, exhausted, and he’d rubbed himself against you through your clothes, coaxing you to pull down your pants so he could empty himself into your womb, quick and filthy. You remembered how it felt when his come had soaked through your panties as you sat next to him in the helicopter, letting him hold your hand. 

You felt a little guilty that you weren’t exactly hoping for a child during those first few months. You were enjoying their affections, no matter how platonic they may have felt. 

It didn’t stay that way, though. Soap was the worst offender. When he fucked you, he wanted to spend most of his time eating you out, sucking on your clit with his mouth like a hungry dog, soaking himself in your scent and your flavor before finally mounting you, crawling over your body like the hound that he was, dipping his cock into you and beating your core like a drum. He’d stare into your eyes when he could manage it, and he’d slipped up one day and told you he loved you. That you were his girl, his wee bonnie lass, and that he’d raise the bairn with you, even if it was Black like Gaz, tall like Ghost, or had Price’s big nose. It’d be his and yours. He’d be the daddy you wanted him to be, he promised. 

Then, you’d had to deal with Gaz. He’d made dinner reservations at a restaurant near base while he had your legs held up to your chest, helping you wait the twenty suggested minutes for his “lads” to “soak in”. Told you he was just hungry, but he had also happened to buy you a nice dress, and he’d driven you in his sporty little Beamer, bright red and clean as a whistle. He’d fucked you after dinner, sneaking in a double feature, which was expressly against the rules. Told you he couldn’t help himself, and he said he’d been thinking about you all weekend, cock in hand. 

Ghost was like his namesake, haunting you all over the place. He found you in the locker room, and decided to fuck you standing up, sweaty from your sparring match. He’d washed you off in the shower, and he’d taken you in there, too, after coaxing you to make him hard again by sucking him off. Ghost would slink by you in the reference room, stalking you through the bookshelves, and dragging you to the storage closet to fuck you on all fours on the floor, maps and looseleaf pamphlets about Russian spy camps under your rosy red knees. He got vocal that night, cramped with his huge body in that tiny closet, telling you what a good girl you were for him, how you fit his fuckin’ cock so perfect, how he’d never want anyone else, how it felt so good to fill your body up with his load. 

Then, there was your captain. At first, you weren’t sure he was truly a willing participant. He seemed to avoid you unless he was on the schedule. He didn’t cut in line, and if you were on the couch or in the kitchen with one of the boys, he’d leave you be, smiling at you a bit before grabbing his tea and escaping back to his office. But, then you realized the truth: John Price wanted to put a baby inside of you more than anyone else, and he would go to the ends of the earth to make sure it happened. 

“Hey, little bird,” John’s finger pet the side of your cheek as you woke, feeling him pull down your pink silk panties so he could start to warm you up, “I’m your Sunday.”

“Mm,” you rubbed the sleep out of your eye and opened up your legs for him, giving him full access to your body on instinct at this point, “John, we gave up on the schedule. You can come whenever you want. Or, you can stop.”

“Can’t stop,” he kissed your mouth as he leaned over you, and you tasted peppermint and tobacco mixing together with something heady and lustful, “We’re in the window.”

Ah. The Window. All of the boys talked about The Window and when it was coming up next. They’d all downloaded trackers on their phones, watching you like birds of prey for when you ordered a box of tampons, checking with you to see when you were off the rag. And then, you’d be “in the window” of ovulation. Their best chance at succeeding at this mission. 

They would fuck you at any time of the month, and Soap and Price would even fuck you through your period, having read in some magazine that there was a small chance of success. But, being in The Window was like covering yourself in honey in the middle of a cave in spring and waking up all the bears inside it. Fertile ground, ripe for the taking. 

“Mm, fuck,” you keened. John had two fingers in you now, pressing on your soft spots and stretching your hole. You wrapped a hand around his neck and pulled him in for another kiss, which he moaned into. 

“Feel good, Spar? You want to make me hard, pretty bird?”

“Yeah,” you nodded, looking up at him with desperate eyes, “Yeah, I do. Please, John…”

 He slipped himself in, half-hard already, and you felt the body of it slide into your core. It was soft, and you liked to squeeze it with your muscles, feeling him writhe inside of you when you did, reveling in his pleasure. He sat back on his heels to let you play with him fully, watching you grind your hips on him as he massaged your clit to its full, swollen height. He was in no rush, and he spoke to you casually. 

“Has Kyle been in this weekend?”

“No, it was Soap,” you tried to remember, “And then Ghost, and then Soap again.”

Price chuckled warmly,

“That boy wants a baby so badly.”

You smiled with him, agreeing, 

“He does. He interrupted Gaz on Thursday and asked him when he’d be done!” 

Price laughed with you then, his eyes gleaming and crinkling at the edges,

“Oh, Christ. He’d be a good one. They’d all be good.”

You watched his mood shift. There was something solemn about it, and you wanted to chase it away. You rubbed your hand along his furry belly, locking your ankles around his hips and shamelessly rocking your hips to fit more of him into you. You confessed, 

“You’d be good.”

His eyes found yours again and he stilled, wondering out loud,

“D’you think so, Sparrow?”

“I know so.”

“Can I tell you a secret, little bird?” He whispered, lowering himself into position and stuffing his hard length even deeper inside of you, making you worry just a bit if he could hurt you with that thing. 

You nodded, kissing his huge Adam’s apple in his throat and nuzzling through his beard. He told you the whole truth as he pounded himself into you without mercy, 

“Sometimes, I wish he would be mine. I wish…” He almost stopped, but he kept going, like a raft in the stream, too caught in the current to go back to the shore, “I wish you could be mine, and then I could rub lotion on your belly when you got big. And I could cook for you when you got tired, and I could read to you, even when he was still inside of you, and I know he could hear my voice. I wish, sometimes, that when it happens, that I’d be the first to know. That you’d tell me first, because you knew it was mine, because you’d want him to be mine.”

You were stunned, and you were coming, and the two were very separate events. As your pussy pulsed and tried to milk him of his come, making you dizzy and almost sick with pleasure, you were shocked by his admission. You grabbed his face and made him look you in your eyes,

“John…” You panted, coming down from your first high of many with Price, “I had no idea you felt that way.”

“I didn’t either,” he smiled, but the corners didn’t reach his eyes. 

When he fucked you this morning, you had no idea how good it could feel, but he showed you. He rutted into you, desperately, like some sort of beast, unable to stop himself. It was as if he would fuck himself bloody in you if he had to, and you wanted to take him as best you could. You felt him finally start to come, and he plugged you up with his thickness, shoving himself as deep as he would go, sealing you off and keeping you warm and elevated. 

He kept his cock in you, gasping for breath and petting the hair out of your face. He kissed you, cheeks and chin and neck, all the way down to your breasts where he suckled from your nipples, almost dreamlike in the way he was touching you, fully covered in you the entire time. 

“Sleep, birdie,” he nuzzled your neck and continued to lave his tongue over your breasts, “I’ll wake you when I’m hard again.”

Part 2

[spacemagicandlaserswords]

Feral Hunter

I wrote most of this in a reblog but thought it deserved its own post as my unwieldy response took on a life of its own, which they have a tendency to do. I’ve added more to it as well so there’s some new extra ramblings on one of my favourite ideas/headcanons/theories for season 3 of The Bad Batch. 

Give me Feral Hunter. My kingdom for Feral Hunter. Completely unhinged, vengeance fueled, feral Hunter. He can go on his Joel Miller/The Mandalorian/John Wick/Liam Neeson in Taken/The Punisher arc, as a little treat.

I've been trying to figure out why I love this idea so much. I think it's because we never really see any of the Batch actually, properly unleash. Sure, they're unconventional and a bit bonkers in their approach but they're still a very well-oiled machine. When they're on a mission, they all know exactly what they're doing, what their roles are, and where their squad mates are. Even when they improvise on the fly, they all adapt fairly easily and smoothly. Everything is still all rather professional, smooth, and efficient. Like they're all operating on muscle memory, which they basically are given how many countless times I'm sure they've trained and done missions together.

Even when the Batch is fighting their way through Kamino, they still operate with that same smooth, efficient, hyper competent professionalism. Despite their unorthodox approach, there's still this sense that they're contained. Never throwing off the shackles and being completely unrestrained. The full unbridled force of their abilities and skills simmering just below the surface, waiting to be given free rein and just obliterate everything.

There's a little hint of this in the opening scene of episode 2x14 'Tipping Point', where the ARC Trooper in Echo comes out to play. But oh, how I would love to see more. From all of them, but especially Hunter. 

Look at his face. Look at that expression and all those emotions from Sergeant Stoic himself, who is usually fairly reserved and contained. Dorito Bod Bandana Space Dad on the warpath to get his ad'ika back, cutting a swathe through the Imperials, leaving a trail of bodies in his wake, and taking out anything and everything that even thinks about getting in his way. Hunter goes full Space Rambo mode, ruthlessly taking out Stormtroopers, blood dripping off his vibroblade, eyes wide and deranged, as he turns into a complete animal. His half tattooed skull now completed by the blood of his enemies covering the other side of his face. For extra angst, when he finds Omega, she doesn’t recognise him. The figure standing in the smoking remains of the door to her cell looks like Hunter. Is wearing Hunter’s armour. Is holding Hunter’s vibroknife. But that’s not Hunter. That’s not her buir. Not anymore. And she’s afraid of him. We get a little hint of this at the very end of season 2 and oh ho ho, I am so ready for more. I am so ready for Hunter’s descent into vengeance, revenge and rage. Not just Hunter either, I’d love to see the rest of the Batch unleash as well.

Can you just imagine Wrecker properly unleashing? All of that strength and power finally freed as he rips limbs off Stormtroopers, snapping necks and crushing skulls with his bare hands. The crumpled, pulverised bodies of his enemies discarded behind him as he rages down corridor after corridor of whatever Imperial base they’ve infiltrated. We got a hint of how damaging Wrecker can be when his chip activated but that was chip controlled. This would just be pure Wrecker. 

We see a little more of this in Crosshair's actions and you could also argue that this is chip controlled. Or if his chip has actually been removed, then Crosshair’s actions are definitely still clouded by his Imperial mindset and blind delusion that the Empire is right. Right up until it all goes horribly wrong on Barton-4 and he finally wakes up to the reality of his nightmare. Either way, that unrestrained part of him is still there. The amount of rage and anger that must be building up and festering inside Crosshair is eventually going to explode. When he snaps like he did at the end of 'The Outpost' then there isn’t going to be an Imperial left without a blaster bolt between their eyes. When Hemlock ends up dying (he better), my bet is on Crosshair taking him out and getting revenge. And it won't be pretty. He'd shoot him execution style at the very least. 

I'd love to see Tech (shut up he's alive) completely lose it and finally snap off every ounce of his carefully crafted control. I've written about this before but Tech's combat is exceptionally efficient and precise. He only ever uses the minimum number of shots or moves to take out an enemy because he doesn't need to expend anything beyond what is necessary. Complete economy of form. His combat style is very contained, almost like a mirror of his personality and character. Can you just imagine him snarling and growling like a beast, teeth bared, eyes dark, face distorted in rage, as he slams a Stormtrooper's head into a control panel desk with enough force to crack their helmet and shatter their visor. 

I mentioned above that we've seen a tiny bit of this slightly unhinged quality from Echo. There's another little hint of it when they're all in that training simulation on Kamino.

This gifset from @starqueensthings shows this perfectly, especially the above gif. I love the line they wrote at the top of their post as well, which I'm going to quote in part here: "I’d like to introduce my scomp arm TO YOUR JUGULAR WIRE." This perfectly encapsulates the unhinged quality lurking in Echo. He just leaps onto the back of what looks like the Kaminoan version of a B2 super battle droid and then proceeds to flail and stab madly before plunging his scomp arm into the battle droid's chest and ripping out the droid version of its jugular. Absolutely unhinged behaviour. The absolute madlad.

Now picture Echo finally snapping and doing this to a bunch of Imperials and just absolutely annihilating them. There is so much in him that is screaming to be let out. The general batshittery that comes with being an ARC Trooper. The insanity and chaos of coming from the 501st and Torrent Company. The unconventional, yeet-the-reg-manual-out-the-airlock, bonkers existence of The Bad Batch. Plus all that trauma, fury and rage of what has happened to him, what was done to him, and everything that he’s seen, experienced, endured, suffered, and survived. When the last few frayed threads holding Echo back finally snap he is going to go completely postal.

Is it healthy? No. Is it "good"? Probably not. But my god, would I love to see it.

The Clone Wars has a history of tackling and portraying difficult, multilayered and nuanced topics and we've seen that in The Bad Batch as well. More recent Star Wars series, such as Andor and The Mandalorian, have also had a real interest in showing the murky areas that exist between the good (Republic) and the bad (Imperial). There's been a particular focus on showing that there's a lot more grey than we think, rather than the pure dichotomy between cliched black and white. That sometimes there is no right or wrong decision. That sometimes everything is awful and everyone is stuck in a shitty situation from which there is no way to escape unscathed. In order to make it out alive, lines are going to be crossed. The battle of good vs evil takes on a new edge and the line between good and bad gets very murky.

That quote about how “You either die a hero or live long enough to see yourself become the villain” comes to mind. In this instance, the Batch are still fighting tooth and nail for each other but their sacrifices and actions are starting to take them to much darker places. It’s a classic example of good people being driven to do bad, awful, terrible things when those they love are in danger and they will do whatever it takes to save them.  

The whole 'deeply flawed parental figure seeking vengeance' is a popular trope at the moment as well so Feral Hunter would make sense narratively for a number of reasons.

Will we actually get it? Probably not. And even if we do, it'll probably still be a watered-down kid friendly version.

But oh, just imagine if we did.

[giveamadeuschohisownmovie]

Just had a random thought. While thinking about the “Indiana Jones” original trilogy, I’ve developed a sort of newfound appreciation for the casting of Harrison Ford. My thoughts haven’t necessarily changed on this character, I still think Indy is fun but not that complex of a character, it’s just that now I imagine casting the character wasn’t the easiest thing in the world.

What Indy lacks in complexity, he makes up for sheer leading man charisma. This is a role where you absolutely need someone who can be able to act without saying anything. Because Indy has to be both:

1) convincing as an Everyman protagonist, in that he’s vulnerable and relatable enough that you can convince the audience that he’s not superhuman and is just a regular guy.

2) the coolest man who has ever lived. Someone who can walk into frame and exude “Yeah, I’m that guy” energy.

Harrison Ford really did have that level of charisma where he can be relatable and vulnerable enough to convince you he’s the underdog, but also make you think he’s the coolest person ever. I’ve tried imagining some other leading actors in the role and, honestly, it makes you realize that Indiana as a character needs more than just a handsome leading man.

Arnold Schwarzenegger wouldn’t have been able to convince you he’s an Everyman protagonist. Sylvester Stallone is better at playing more vulnerable, complicated characters like Rambo and Rocky. Michael Biehn is good at the underdog role, but not necessarily at being the cool guy. Keanu Reeves, while I love the guy to death, is too wooden to be the charming, cool guy (he’s better off at comedy and darker roles anyways). Kurt Russell and Clint Eastwood were close, but I think they’re better off at being action hero badasses. Bruce Willis, I think he’s similar to Keanu in that he’s better off at comedy and darker roles (even his most famous action movie role as John McClane just shows he excels in being comedic, not necessarily being the cool guy).

The actors who I felt could’ve done Indiana Jones justice, aside from Harrison Ford, were Tom Cruise, Brad Pitt, Denzel Washington, and Charlie Cox (Daredevil convinced me he could be the Everyman protagonist, She-Hulk convinced me he could pull off the cool guy role). And, if South Korea made the Indiana Jones movies, Won Bin came to mind.

EDIT: I just realized. Pedro Pascal! Just imagine a combination of Din Djarin, Joel Miller and Oberyn Martell.

I think “roguish charm” is what I’m getting at here. It’s actually quite hard to pull off the more I thought about it. For example, while I like David Harbour and his character of Jim Hopper, I don’t think Harbour can pull off roguish charm. I think that’s why Hopper came off so hostile and combative in Stranger Things season 3; Duffer Bros wrote him as Indiana Jones-like, but the end result was more off-putting than charming. As another bad example; Sean Penn in the movie “Shanghai Surprise”. That’s probably the worst example at an attempt at roguish charm.

Anyways, I’m curious. Which actor do you think could’ve pulled this role off convincingly?

[rruhlauthor]

Book Review - First Blood by David Morrell

Long before I knew there was a book called First Blood, I knew “Rambo” meant someone who went into situations with guns blazing, like Die Hard or John Wick. After reading it, I see how film and pop culture have turned the character into something strikingly different. I have never seen the movies, so my review will speak only of the book First Blood. What made the book so special? Would it be as well-known without the film adaptations? Thrillers are naturally inclined to be popular, just like the romance genre, for titillating the audience’s emotions and allowing them to vicariously experience adrenaline. Despite the fact the thriller genre tends to be more plot than character driven, First Blood is unique in the action being completely motivated by the characters’ emotions. This made for a powerful story I could not put down, a modern revenge tragedy, whose popularity was certainly due to its relevance to contemporary issues.

I was excited to learn David Morrell was a Penn State alum, which is not my alma mater but is my state! My copy contained a foreword from the author, in which he explained the idea came from flipping through the news (just like how Suzanne Collins got the idea for The Hunger Games). He saw coverage of the Vietnam war, violence in inner city America, and a story in which police officers arrested ‘troublemaker’ hippies, shaved their hair, and dropped them off in the middle of the desert. He thought, “What if I wrote a book in which the Vietnam war literally came home to America?” (Morrell 3)

On the surface level, it’s a story about men shooting each other, like a Western. Exciting enough for that target audience, but First Blood isn’t any thriller. Deeper, it’s an anti-war reflection that caused division within the divided society it was written for. First Blood was highly relevant to the issues of the 1970s and contains complex, compelling characters in which you really can’t tell who was the protagonist and who was the antagonist.

Neither Rambo nor Teasle are the “good guy” and I felt like we weren’t supposed to be rooting for either of them. Both are larger than life characters, but especially Rambo. See: the connotation of the name in pop culture. No one should be able to keep running with that many injuries, dehydration, broken ribs, fevers, bat bites, and bullet wounds. I would think no one can kill over a dozen men in a quick ambush, during a flash flood, with aforementioned broken ribs. Teasle similarly keeps going despite witnessing the death of his father figure, nearly having a heart attack, and finally dragging himself along with a hole in his abdomen.

As a side note to break up this gritty review about a gritty book: we got a solid appearance description for Rambo, but I don’t remember one for Teasle, and towards the end of the book I realized I should have been imagining him with a notable moustache because it was the 1970s. I must also mention, the sexism was very 1970s. There's the part where Teasle is thinking about Orval's wife and wondering who she'll cook and clean for with her husband dead. Because all women are good for is housework, right? Terrible.

I’ll admit didn’t care for Teasle, coming from the perspective of someone who doesn’t like cops who harass and arrest people for non-crimes such as ‘loitering’ just because they want an ego trip. It happens too often in the real world. No matter what Teasle said about the law or wanting a distraction from his divorce, I read between the lines to know he was ruthless in his pursuit because Rambo had disrespected him. Similarly, Rambo snapped not only because of PTSD and seeing the prison cell; he was refusing to cooperate even before getting arrested because Teasle had disrespected him. I was almost rooting for Rambo to escape, though I knew he wouldn’t. I felt like the Green Beret, proud of how skilled he was. I knew Rambo was not thinking straight, that to him, he was in Vietnam and not Kentucky. It made him a little easier for me to sympathize with than the police officer, though he lost most of my sympathy once his priority stopped being escape and he started hunting for sport.

Even though I agreed with absolutely nothing the characters were doing, I understood every single choice they made and the pathos behind it. Their characterizations were crystal clear, which is something I admire as a fellow writer. Furthermore, I was delighted by the parallel structure of the story. It begins with Rambo and Teasle meeting at a gas station where they butt heads over who is allowed into the town, and it ends with gas stations exploding while Rambo and Teasle hunt each other through town. The ending was cathartic. Despite me not liking either character, I understood both of them, which had me choked up at the end. It could not have ended any other way. This feels bizarre to say, but I was happy the book had the finale it did. I would have been disappointed if it ended in any other way but them killing each other. Their stories were too connected at that point. The hunt becomes a type of love. Teasle was seeing through “the kid’s” eyes. They were both so far past the point of no return, their entire lives narrowed down to one purpose—to defeat the other—so that once their goal was done, they’d have nothing else to live for/no more purpose as a character.

What was the purpose of all of it? All those men died in the woods and the town was burned down, just because a cop harassed a man who was doing nothing but walking down the street? There was no point to the level of bloodshed, but this is a book about the Vietnam war, and it carries the theme that there was no purpose for the war. The scene resonated with me with the Green Beret training officer saying he hated the war, but did his job because he wanted to teach the kids the government sent into the slaughter to stay alive longer. Teasle and Rambo both grew up being taught how to kill and little else. They both brought the war to America.

It’s a tragedy, through and through. It’s Shakespearean. Act I: Rambo is arrested and starts to run. Act II, the rising action: Teasle begins pursuit. Act III, the climax: Rambo kills everyone but Teasle. Act IV, the falling action: Rambo continues to evade pursuit. Act V, the conclusion: the fight in the town and the death of the tragic heroes. Rambo and Teasle both occupy an honored position in society, holding medals, they both have a tragic flaw—the ego/hubris of the classics—which causes the tragedy to happen, and they meet an end they cannot be restored from—death.

[lazyyogi]

Hey lazy, how not to be angry at the injustice and stupidity of the world? I've read enough history to know it's basically always been like this, and have enough intellectual knowledge of Buddha Dharma and psychology to understand its caused by the three poisons that we're all subject to, even me. Yet I see the stupidity and cruelty around the world and in the US and it has me metaphorically kicking Mister Rogers and Keanu Reeves out of my head in favor of Johns Wick and Rambo. Regardless of how much of a pacifist I am it feels like the only way we're going to get people to do the right thing at this point is force and it's heart breaking and infuriating.

Sometimes you just have to be heartbroken. The problem is that we never learned how.

Too many people have tried to change the world because of hurt feelings and reactive anger. They are still doing it. In the end, regardless of how noble it may appear, it is in fact essentially selfish. Because their actions are undertaken in order to relieve themselves of their own suffering.

It is true that sometimes you just gotta channel John Wick and crack some skulls. But this problem will not be solved by doing the same shit as before. Like you say, you know enough history to understand how that plays out.

So please understand that in no way am I advocating doing nothing for those who are suffering in this world. But first you need to be sure that you are doing it for them and not just to make yourself feel better. Otherwise your plans may work to relieve you of that suffering but may never touch the needs of those people.

Have you noticed that when most people are hurt by something, their first reaction is anger?

There are many reasons as to why this happens but it essentially comes down to the fact that when our heart hurts, we feel confusion, vulnerability, fear, mortality, and helplessness. And we don't like it!

Ever since we were children, crying over something said or done to us, we were scolded to stop. Many of us, myself included, never learned how to actually experience challenging emotions without being overcome by them. Instead, we learn how to distance ourselves from those feelings, suppress them, and be indifferent. Men especially.

So the options are either to be overwhelmed by sadness, despair, heartache, etc, or to be indifferent. Not great, right?

Spiritual teachings are helpful but in order to make their wisdom your own direct experience, there are practices to help you. They aren't easy but they are immensely beneficial.

True spiritual freedom, which is a facet of enlightenment, never requires any limit to the human experience. In other words, there is room for heartbreak just as there is room for anger. To be free from heartbreak, you have to be willing to let your heart break open.

A book I endlessly recommend on this stuff is appropriately titled The Places That Scare You and it's by Pema Chodron. There are many things this book teaches but one fundamental life and spiritual skill I learned from it was how to stay with the feelings that make us squeamish.

Tonglen is a really good place to start.

[To summarize for anyone else reading this, tonglen is the practice of inhaling the pain and suffering of others and exhaling peace, freedom, happiness, and loving-kindness to them.

You can do it for something specific, like a friend who is heartbroken because their cat or dog died. Or you can do it for someone in general who you know is suffering; after all, everyone is suffering in one way or another.

You sit, meditate, then imagine your friend and visualize inhaling their suffering from them and exhaling all the good stuff into them. In the session, you end by broadening to breathe in the suffering of anyone who has lost a pet.

At first you practice this for people you love or like. Then you learn to practice it for strangers, people for whom you feel neutral. And lastly you do it for people who you hate, people who are enemies.]

This is just one example of a technique that evolves us into a broader vision of our hearts and minds beyond good people, neutral people, bad people. You can also practice tonglen for yourself. When you are feeling like something is unfair, that you are hurt or sad, you learn to stay with the unpleasant feelings, breathe them in like a sacred incense, and exhale spaciousness loving-kindness.

All of this is hard! It is so much easier said than done. The Places That Scare You is a very short book and yet it took me a very long time to read because it kept triggering shitty feelings and fears in me.

Additionally, everything is made harder by our own imprints, judgments, triggers, and embodied trauma that has accumulated throughout our life. Anything by Judith Blackstone will be helpful in digesting and freeing yourself from those shackles as well.

So the TL;DR is:

You don't have to stop being angry and heartbroken, you need to learn how to be angry and heartbroken without being distorted by them. You need to learn how to stay with the thoughts and feelings that make us squeamish. And you need to free yourself from your own traumas and shitty feelings. As you make progress, you will be more capable of helping others from a truly self-less place. In other words, you will be more insightful and attentive to their needs rather than your distorted perception of their situation.

LY

[sgthunter001]

The resemblance is uncanny.

Even if you haven’t seen the Rambo films, there are many that have still heard of the famous line “Murdock, I’m coming for you” spoken by John Rambo in a venomous tone.

Imagine Hunter saying in a similar voice: “Hemlock, I’m coming for you.”

[gxbbyhoneybadger]

Imagine if Dutch Schaefer (Predator 1987) and John Rambo (Rambo movie series) had to work together to hunt down feral Yautjas and Xenomorphs. Like Bro!!

[agentnico]

The Beekeeper (2024) review

Now we just need a spin-off where Jason Statham’s beekeeper takes care of Jerry Seinfeld’s bee from The Bee Movie and they go on a murderous rampage where Statham is punching folks and Seinfeld is making terrible one-liners after each swing. Hollywood - make it happen!

Plot: One man's brutal campaign for vengeance takes on national stakes after it's revealed he's a former operative of a powerful and clandestine organization known as Beekeepers.

Imagine if one of those money scammers from The Wolf of Wall Street bankrupted John Wick’s mother. Oh, and instead of the baddies killing a puppy, there’s bees involved. That’s the starting point of this new action thriller that comes from the director of Suicide Squad. Nope, not THE Suicide Squad where John Cena and Idris Elba are measuring dick sizes, but the original Suicide Squad. The one with the tattooed Joker and where Cara Delevingne still thinks she can act. Yep, not the best one to have on your resume, but still director David Ayer perceives and brings us this 80’s inspired cheesy action flick, and you know what? It’s worth buzzing about.

The Beekeeper is exactly what you expect it to be. It’s Jason Statham mumbling in a 75% British and 25% American accent, going all Old Testament on a bunch of scumbags. Harkening back to the old-school Bruckheimer/Michael Bay flicks featuring ridiculous high concept that is on every level stupid and ridiculous, yet Ayer understands the assignment and directs the action sequences impeccably and yet playing to the movie’s more sillier nature. Look, Statham is an unbeatable force in this, who by the end is being chased by the FBI, the Secret Service, CIA and evil gonzo goons, yet no one can stop him. How is he so skilful, you may ask, besides the obvious fact that it’s Jason bloody Statham? He belongs to an ultra-secret network called The Beekeepers, who exist to keep the powers that be in check – via whatever means necessary. No one is above answering to the Beekeepers. Yep, the obvious nod to John Wick’s High Table is ‘hidden’ in plain sight. It’s super entertaining stuff. Jason Statham is on top deadpan form, being genuinely awesome as an unstoppable Rambo-type. Josh Hutcherson is terrifically cast as the annoying bratty billionaire, and Jeremy Irons is there literally to spill out exposition after exposition, but it’s Irons so it’s still entertaining to watch him.

Granted, The Beekeeper may not be for everyone. It’s so over-the-top and unapologetic that it may not be for you if you prefer action movies grounded and straight-faced. The B-plot involving an FBI agent daughter also doesn’t completely work, but otherwise this B-movie (or bee-movie?) knows exactly what it is and is one of the better Jason Statham-led action vehicles. As a January palette cleanser I had a solid good time. My only complaint? Not enough bees.

Overall score: 6/10

[morgandr]

Imagine:

Kissing your husband, Stallone goodbye as he heads off to work.

————————��—————————————————-

(NOT MY GIF!)

(Sylvester Stallone X Reader)

——————————————————————————-

(TAGS)

[zoetheneko]

Zoé

First name: Zoé

Last name: Unknown

Name analysis: "Life"

A.K.A.:

💖The pink witch💖

Nicknames:

💖Zo💖kid/kiddo💖Catlady💖young one💖

Johnny Cage announcer names:

"Bubblegum"

"Quite the handful"

"She's got a knife"

"Neighbor"

Date of birth: April 22nd

Zodiac sign: Taurus

Age: 17

Height: 5" 6

Blood type: Unknown

Species: Kemonomimi (neko)

Origins: Earthrealm

Nationality: French Canadian

Current location: Earthrealm

Affiliation: Special forces

Status: Alive

Alignment: Chaotic good

Sexuality: Aroace

Gender: Girlflux (she/they)

Hair colour: Dark blonde

Eye colour: Blue

Hair style: short

Physical health: Good

Mental health: Neurodivergent (Autism)

Favourite colour: Pink

Favourite shape: heart

Favourite food:

Grilled cheese

Poutine

Vanilla ice cream

Nature potato chips

Bananas

Sour gummies

Spicy stuff

Favourite drinks:

Water

Pepsi

Coffee

Apple juice

Favourite hobbies:

Drawing

Video games

Swimming

Cooking/baking

Eating

Sleeping

Travelling throughout the realms

Hiking

Collecting cool stuff

Cheering people up

Favourite things in life:

Rain (pluviophilia)

Windy weather

Quiet spaces

Oversized hoddies

Pink roses

Seeing people smiling

Memes

Beds

Children

Confy places

The moon (Selenophilia)

Insects

Hot baths

The sent of lilac

New horizons

Kissing couples

Hearts (Both the shape and the organ)

Fire (Pyromania)

Black cats

Crows

Least favourite things in life:

Toxic people

Very long conversations

Being bossed

Impoliteness

Seeing people close to her getting hurt or crying (she will cry too)

Being alone for a long amount of time

Popping balloons/fireworks

Lies/lying

Raw veggies

Social status:

Apprentice of Rambo

Cadet in the Special Forces

Siblings: 4

Family:

Father | Alive

Mother | Alive

Younger sister | Alive

Younger brother | Alive

Yongest brother | Alive

Yongest Sister | Alive

Friends/Allies:

Special Forces

John Rambo

Ethan (by me)

Cassie Cage

Jacqui Briggs

Takeda Takahashi

Kung Jin

Sonya Blade

Johnny Cage

Jax Briggs

Mitsuko @saito-mitsuko

Arien @saito-mitsuko

Ombra @theelderhazelnut

Sienna @loverofthewindgod

Henrieta @bar10du

Lady Xuna @bisexualjohnnycage

Varian @middlechildwhoescapedthebasement

Stinger @takiisieju

Huntress @chadillacboseman

Megan @scentedcandleibex

Iris @scentedcandleibex

Rebelius @scentedcandleibex

Giri @licoricelump

Dia @darialovesstuff

Zain @loreoflemons

Blyght @loreoflemons

Milo @loreoflemons

Tora @tora-lotus

Baraka

Kuai Liang (Sub Zero)

Hanzo Hazashi (Scorpion)

Lumine

Ennemies:

Kronika

Geras

Cetrion

Shao Khan

Shang Tsung

D'vorah

Frost

The black dragon

Kano

Erron Black

Kabal

Neutral/complicated:

Shaolin

White lotus

Raiden

Fujin

Kotal Kahn

Sheeva

Mentor:

John Rambo

Love interest: None

Speed: 9/10

Agility: 8/10

Intelligence: 8/10

Strength: 8/10

Stealth: 10/10

Stamina: 10/10

Flexibility: 7/10

Cooperation: 9/10

Durability: 9/10

Fighting skills: 9/10

Reflexes: 10/10

Instinct: 9/10

Wardrobe:

Accessories/weapons:

Toeless/heelless socks

Dark blue gloves (optionnal)

Black face mask (optionnal)

Powers/Abilities:

Martial training

Energy blows (Just like johnny or cassie but pink)

Fire manipulation (the fire is pink)

Reading the energy and aura of living things

Healing the wounded (including plants somehow) (but not herself)

Teleportation/Portal manifest

Levitation

Wardrope:

Personalty:

Zoé is a very socialy awkward person, but once she has the time to get to know some people, she can be a funny and loveable person. She is also very calm and patient when needed.

[theharpermovieblog]

#HARPERSMOVIECOLLECTION

2023

MOVIES I HATE

I watched Rambo: Last Blood (2019)

As far as Rambo movies go, I like the first one and that's it, so I'm not overly excited to sit through this.

John Rambo seeks revenge against a Mexican human trafficking ring.

The original First Blood film, which is the first John Rambo movie, is an action film about a broken veteran being pushed beyond his limit and waging a war against the cops who pushed him. It's a good movie and it gave us a character with depth and purpose. Every Rambo film from there on out was about nothing but a well trained guy murdering a bunch of people with lots of bullets and big knives. Low brow stuff.

This time around it seems some producer had the grand idea, "What if Instead of Liam Nelson in Taken, it was Rambo?!" And off we go to the land of mediocre old man action movies.

Director Adrian Grunberg seems to view Mexico as a corrupt trash heap, full of dirty evil men. Another film I've seen by him, Get The Gringo, starring Mel Gibson imagines Mexico as a place full of gang members and evil general-esque crime lords. This movie is really no different. The only "good" people in mexico are some of the women of course. Especially the pretty ones. Lucky for those women, there is a badass white guy with a heart of gold to save them from all the evil of their home country. It'd be possibly even forgivable had this been a part of one of Grunberg's films, but the fact that the evils and dangers of Mexico are the full plots of two of his films is incredibly suspect. Especially in an era where people who come from Latin America are demonized on the political stage.

Mexico and many foreign countries are easy to sell as lawless wastelands in films like this, because their audience of Fox News Americans buys into this shit. But, I'll get off my soapbox and talk about the film itself.

I was surprised when this film opened up and I saw some very pretty shots of wide open country and a nice ranch. I thought for a second this movie was going to look good throughout. I got the sense that maybe this movie would examine Rambo in his later years, dealing with a life of hardship and facing new limitations when danger comes to meet him. Sadly, those shots and that imagined story arc were me lying to myself. The camera work and style quickly turns to the typical mid-budget action look. There's a driving scene with such bad green screen that I was actually shocked by it. The writing cares nothing for the character. If you told me this was an already written script that they just plugged Rambo into to sell more tickets, I'd believe you without hesitation. It's very by the numbers and it can be so generic that it can become rather tedious. The dullness of this script is so miserable to sit through. The attempts at emotional connection are as dead as Rambo's niece. Yes, she dies. Do we care? No. Are you upset that I told you? I don't give a shit.

Let's just move on to what I suppose this movie was made for, the violence and action.

The action in this film is fine, I guess. It's definitely violent, but we don't really feel the glory of revenge these movies usually pay off with. By the time the real war broke out, I didn't care enough, I just wanted it to be over.

We find ourselves in these winding underground tunnels that Rambo has built over the years. Guys get caught in traps, Rambo is always in the right place at the right time to finish them off.

This has the feeling of the diminishing returns of other cheap sequels. Like watching the worst of the Death Wish series.

Solidly a movie I hate because of its mediocrity, awful use of a character, cheap use of Mexico as a land of bad guys and just the sheer waste of time and resources that went into making it.

[infactforgetthepark]

[Free eBook] Humanity 2.0 [Futurology Science Fiction Anthology]

Humanity 2.0 edited by Alex Shvartsman is an anthology of science fiction short stories, free for a limited time courtesy of publisher Phoenix Pick Press.

This is their featured Free eBook of the Month for April. NB: in May, Phoenix Pick will be teaming up with other sfnal specialty publishers and authors to offer the new BookBale ebook bundle/subscription service, more details on their website.

The anthology contains fifteen short stories exploring how interstellar flight and other technologies might change humanity in the future, and the meaning of what it is to be human. Contributors include classic and more recent authors including Hugo and Nebula Award winners and finalists such as Caroline M. Yoachim, Robert J. Sawyer, Robert Silverberg, Nancy Fulda, Ken Liu, John Varley, and more, with a mix of newly-written and reprinted shorts.

Offered DRM-free worldwide through the month of April and probably through May 1st (the offer usually rotates on the first Tuesday of each month, but this might be the last one), available directly from the publisher.

Free for a limited time directly @ the publisher's special promo page (DRM-free ePub & Mobi bundle available worldwide in return for your valid email address; follow the instructions on the page to reset the suggested cart price to $0.00 during checkout)

There's also a tie-in offer for a discount on another recently published anthology, The Reinvented Heart: Tales of Futuristic Relationships edited by the freebie anthology's contributor author Cat Rambo & Jennifer Brozek, containing new stories exploring the evolution of partnerships by female and non-binary authors including more award-winners and finalists such as Jane Yolen (SFWA Grand Master & World Fantasy Lifetime Achievement), Premee Mohamed (Nebula, World Fantasy, Aurora), Seanan McGuire (Hugo), Naomi Kritzer (Hugo, Locus, Lodestar), for just $3.99.

Description What will it mean to be human in the future? How will we evolve in order to reach the stars?

Fifteen short stories collected in this book examine how interstellar flight might change humanity itself. Will we choose to upload our minds into a singularity? Enhance ourselves with alien DNA? Will our bodies remain the same, but our culture and societal norms adapt to accommodate for effects of time dilation, or become subsumed by advanced alien cultures?

Hugo and Nebula award winning authors, bestsellers, and some of the hottest new writers in the field of hard science fiction imagine an array of possible futures—from bright to dystopian—and different permutations of what's in store for us as a species.

Includes stories by Robert J. Sawyer, John Varley, Robert Silverberg, Brenda Cooper, Ken Liu, Mike Resnick, Jody Lynn Nye and many more.

[mewtonian-physics]

If you would, please imagine a Jack, the child captain of the Little Boys Unit.

Imagine that Jack has something like a foster brother. We'll call him Dave! He's not actually his foster brother, because he's a couple years older than the ten-year-old Jack and Solidus has never really been interested in him outside of his merits as a soldier. It's more like Dave is his senior officer, the former captain of the Little Boys Unit until he aged out of that, but he's informal and probably the closest thing he has to a doting older brother in Jack's memories.

He's everything Jack wishes he could be. He's an amazing soldier, a natural leader, and warm enough that you can almost forget you're on the battlefield when you're around him. He lacks any of the weakness that Solidus seems to see in his son.

When they were both younger, Dave was the one who wiped the blood off Jack's face and helped him clean off his equipment after another one of Solidus' trial-by-fire missions. In turn, Jack tries to be as kind as he can be to his platoon now. He's pretty sure it falls short of anything Dave could or would do, but his senior officer has a softer side that reminds him he can always try again tomorrow.

Jack doesn't have dreams. In the short term, he wants to survive. He wants to impress Solidus to avert the alternative. He just isn't strong enough to dream of anything else.

Dave wants to be a hero, though not like John Rambo or any of the action heroes they see after dinner. He talks about ideals on the battlefield. He talks about the dignity of a soldier. It doesn't come from winning wars, it comes from protecting others. Every time he says those words to Jack, he gets that even-toned teacher voice that tells Jack, "Hey! I'm talking to you!"

Against all odds, they both survive the war.

Against even worse odds, the Patriots take them both. Jack will certainly have use in the future, and they could use a successor for Frank Jaeger's place in Dr. Clarke's lab. All it takes is a drugged drink to take them both.

They do something to Jack that softens up his mind, ready for molding into whatever shape they need him in. He's halfway comatose before Dave wakes up. It's all he can do to break them both out of the facility, only to find out they're in the middle of nowhere and Jack won't snap out of it. He picks a direction, puts Jack on his back, and starts walking.

He talks as he goes. To himself. To Jack. Sometimes he even talks to Solidus, wherever he went. He talks about his life. He has a pen pal in America. If they can find somewhere with people, he'll take both of them to meet her. His mother owned a flower shop. He's always loved roses. He talks about movies, familiar action sequences, and unfamiliar stories of love, about giant apes attacking cities.

Eventually, they make it to the edge of a town. It's completely deserted, a relic from a nuclear age testing. There are cameras watching them now, and a helicopter overhead. There are soldier vehicles coming at them from the distance now, so he hides Jack away and he gets ready to fight. It'll be just like Rambo.

He does well, but not well enough. He's got more than a few wounds, but at least Jack is safe.

He blinks, and suddenly Jack is standing over him. His eyes are a little less murky, but they aren't looking at him with the clarity he used to have.

Jack's last memories before he represses all of this are of Dave dying.

His last words are a reminder. Win or lose, you have to find something to carry with you. The dignity of a soldier comes from protecting others. Jack the Ripper is a survivor, but he can do more than just survive now. He can be more than Jack the Ripper.

He'll have to live for both of them now.

There's enough of Jack awake to know that the person who's been with him through everything, protecting him, just bled out in front of him. It's enough to shatter his drugged mind.

He represses his memories of Dave, but all those things still happened right? His mind puts himself in place of Dave. It goes one step further and completely destroys the context of it all. His view of himself and his view of Dave mix.

and this is a metaphor for cloud finalfantasy? lots to take in here also when you started in on the first ask i was thinking didn't i already make a character like that... but then i remembered this was about cloud finalfantasy

[one-boring-person]

Okay but fr

Im Rambos’ overprotective, questionable, violent(not towards him) and haunted s/o who makes him candles and teaches him to quilt.

And he can come pet my cows to relax, and if anyone says shit to him all they see is a big metal agender bastard coming to fuck them up…

Idk…just feel he needs a tired, metal, badass s/o who’s only soft spot is for him and they show him the good things in life again

Bruh i want to be this for him too!😭😭❤

Gladly.

John Rambo (Last Blood) x reader

Warnings: mention of war, mention of PTSD, probably inaccurate farm related shit, bad language

Masterlist

"Hey, John? You got a minute?" (Y/n)'s voice startles the veteran as they poke their head around the door, an expression of barely contained excitement on their face.

Looking up in surprise, John stops his movements before he accidentally sticks himself with the needle in his hands, putting the bundle of fabric down in his lap. 

"Yeah. What do you need?" He rumbles, frowning a little, curiosity piqued by their jittery behaviour.

"Wanna help me with the foals? It's their first time outside." They grin, speaking quickly.

John considers the offer, remembering back to his time on his father's ranch, back when he was a kid: the foaling season, or more accurately, the time after had always been his favourite, seeing the young animals exploring the world for the first time. When he was a teen, his father had once let him pick a foal to raise himself, a small buckskin mare with a fiery demeanour that made for some interesting riding. He'd trained her up and had ridden her in many a race, though he's certain now his father had sold her as soon as he had left for the army. Eager to see the sights of his childhood again, John nods in agreement, climbing to his feet with some vigour.

"Yeah, I'll help. Let me just get some boots on." He tells (Y/n), placing his sewing aside and moving to follow them out into the hall.

"Ok, I'll wait for you outside." They reply, turning and leaving through the front door, allowing it to swing slightly behind them.

Swiftly, John pulls on his thick-soled boots, lacing them up tightly before pulling his trousers leg down over the top of them. Years ago, he would've tucked them in, but (Y/n) had once told him that the action would always remind him too much of his old occupation and habits, and that it might be healthier for his head if he tried to breach these second-nature quirks. Shaking his head, he almost smiles at the reminder of the words they'd used to describe it, straightening as he goes to leave through the door, grabbing his battered old Stetson on the way out. 

As usual for this part of Arizona, the sun is beaming down onto the ranch, heating every available surface mercilessly. The air is hot and dry, too, but John's used to it by now - the contrast with the thick, humid jungles of Vietnam always helps to calm him, too. He sometimes misses the sweltering heat of Thailand, but he knows now he only ever liked it because it was familiar, and kept him in a mindset he knew he could function under. Now, he's changed.

John makes his way over to (Y/n), who's stood before the smaller barn they've set aside for the foals in their youth, tipping his hat down over his eyes to shield them from the blazing sun. Already, he can hear the muffled whinnys of the young horses, the excited creatures keen to get out and explore properly for the first time. He feels his expression soften a little at the familiar sound, a smile trying to pull at the corner of his lips as he moves in beside (Y/n).

"Come on." They grin, pushing open the door.

Stepping inside, the two are immediately faced with a barrage of happy snorts and neighs, five gangly foals pushing at the gate holding them back. John has seen them before, but hasn't been in such close proximity, leaving (Y/n) to work with them for the most part, given his speciality in the older horses, so he finds himself marvelling at their oddly amusing antics. They're all about the same size, nudging and pushing at each other in their haste to get out.

"How do you wanna do this?" John asks, looking at (Y/n) expectantly, before eyeing the far door, which leads to a small field behind the stable.

"Get a lead on 'em and get them out one by one. It'll be safer than if they all rush forward." 

"Ok." 

The two move to take up a few leading ropes each, swiftly fashioning slipknot into them to easily but safely close around the foals' necks. As they climb into the pen, the young horses move to nose at their clothes and hands, snorting softly at them. One, a small black-and-white palomino, thrusts his head into John's coat, whinnying gently to him. Unable to help the small smile the plays on his lips, he carefully lifts the foal's head and slips the lead over his neck, tugging it to tighten ever so slightly. Standing, lightly ties the line to a nearby fence post, before repeating the action with two of the others, waiting for (Y/n) to finish up. Once they have, he takes a foal's leash and heads to the far door, which he pushes open and steps through, taking the cheerful horse with him. 

As they step outside, the two foals picked first pull at their lines, excited as they try to leave and explore. John is quick to walk on into the field itself, getting halfway before he leans down and gently slips the rope off of the foal's neck. Instantly, she bounds off, gangly legs moving quickly as she rushes to check the area out. It's not long before she's joined by her brother, who also hurries about wildly. Chuckling, John turns his back and moves to repeat his action, the two ranchers soon managing to get all the foals into the field. 

Standing back, they watch as the youngsters explore, neighing in curiosity and surprise when they find plants they haven't encountered before, a couple calling out to the stallions in the field over. Laughing amongst themselves, and pointing out a few in particular, John and (Y/n) follow the small palomino from before, who consistently trots up to John to judge against him. 

"You know, I think he likes you." (Y/n) laughs, ruffling the foal's mane as he shuffles past. 

"I guess so." The veteran smiles and watches as the young horses bounds back over to his friends, turning his gaze on (Y/n) instead. 

He can't help the flush of affection he feels for them, eyes roaming over the familiar torn jeans, fading Guns 'n Roses shirt that hangs loosely over their muscular build and the bright grin in place on their face. Suddenly, he feels the urge to say something, so he reaches across and takes their hand in his. Surprised, they look at him, head cocked in that way he loves.

"John?" They ask, turning to him.

Taking a breath, he smiles at them.

"Thank you. For this, for showing me that there is still good in my life." He murmurs, knowing they'll hear him.

It takes them aback, he can tell, but the glowing smile he's rewarded with makes his heart ache for them, itching to take them in his arms and hold them close.

"You didn't need me to find it, I just helped a little. And I'll do it again. Gladly." They reply softly, squeezing his hand before stepping forward and wrapping their arms around him.

Returning the gesture, John melts into the embrace, holding them tightly against him.

-

Tag List - @the-mind-of-moss @80s4life @snowgoldwaylon @slystallone @feirceangel

[simplybrainrott]

Yo imagine your Rambo’s boyfriend/girlfriend and he like,, sneaks up behind you, wrapping his arms around your waist. “Hey baby girl/boy…” he mumbles as he lets out a little purr. “Where have you been? I missed you lots..” he gives you a kiss on your neck, smiling a tad.