Feb 2, 2025
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Rambo appreciation post.
Rambo First Blood said something. It was a commentary on how America treats it's veterans of war, discards them as if one can simply "turn off" the impact of shell shock and all the brutality of falling head first into hell on earth.
Rambo First Blood Pt. 2 and Rambo 3 were big budget action movies set to capitalize on a character that is now largely expendable and used as a weapon.
Rambo (Rambo 4) and Rambo Last Blood (Rambo 5) fully accept and gleefully rejoice in what the character John Rambo has become: Exploitation. Grindhouse. Murder fantasies based on revenge in being a victim of a system that is inherently broken. This is not to say by any means that I do not enjoy these films. Quite the opposite, my favorite films are within the genre of revenge and exploitation. Irresponsible style over substance, one track mindedness, and heart ripping gore so brutal and vivid one would br forgiven for thinking there must have been a sale on vacuous containers full of fake blood.
The end of the Low Low Price Job reminded me of the end of Rambo 4. 😭😭😭
And of course, that made me realize: long hair and a bandana. No wonder I like Eliot Spencer.
@mournerofcrows it all makes sense now, right?
Ooh okay i might have figured something out!(this is kind of related to that ask before! So it’s the reader but before the first kiss and everything. )
How about Since Rambo has to fix everything back up in his home and ranch, what about the reader showing up and helping him do so- and asking the man on a date at their own Home? How do you think(headcanon or story wise either way) that date and day would go down?
I feel he’d be very kind of, nervous. But the reader would be very excited and adore him, and i think if would be very cute to see rambo flustered because the reader keeps reminding them how cool they think he is, and how excited they are to see him around more. (Basically just the first date AT the readers ranch home. You decorate or design it to look however you want!!)
Thank you!! And if not, thats fine. (I just crave a good cozy date with old rambo that preferably ends in smooches and him staying over)
Dude, your asks are giving me life at this point! I hope you like this as much as I enjoyed writing it!😊💛❤
I Admire You More.
John Rambo (Rambo IV/V) x reader
Warnings: swearing, mention of death
Masterlist
The sun already feels harsh as it beats down on John's back, his body drenched in sweat from the nearly unbearable heat of it, allowing dust and dirt to stick to him in some places as he hauls timber around the place. Doggedly, he ignores the discomfort of his shirt sticking to his back, focusing instead on getting the heavy materials to the place where he needs them, his muscles straining from the exertion. His hands are somewhat grazed from the rough wood, calluses lining his palms from his years and years of work, each one telling a different story of how they came to be.
Emerging around the front of the house, John drops his load, grunting with relief as the planks clatter against each other, his arms glad to be free of their burden. Stretching out his back, the veteran glances over at the veranda, where the floor has completely rotted away - he'd been meaning to fix that for a few days now, but necessities like water, electricity and gas had to come first, even if he didn't actually have a bedroom or anywhere totally safe to sleep yet. Having now found time between laying tiles on the roof, which he had tried and found incredibly difficult, John intends to address the problem, so he no longer has to worry about breaking his ankles every time he tries to get in the house.
Sighing, he moves to the frame of the veranda, taking up a hammer and crowbar as he gets to work pulling up the rotted planks already there, grimacing at the sight of the foundations underneath. Even in the slight shade provided by the roof over him, he finds himself heated far too much, beads of sweat rolling down his back with each movement, though he doesn't pay them any mind until a familiar shout pulls him from his thoughts.
Looking up, he has to bite back a smile as he sees his new friend, (Y/n), riding up the driveway towards him, a broad grin on their face as usual, a hand raised in greeting. Acknowledging them, John lifts his own hand, flicking dark hair from his eyes as he watches the young rancher pull their horse to a halt, the animal instantly responding to their instruction. Once stopped, (Y/n) climbs down, leading the horse behind them as they come nearer to John, still smiling at him as he puts on the most approachable expression he can, still a little uncomfortable about smiling freely at people.
"Mornin' John! How're you doing?" They call out, flicking their Stetson back from over their eyes, a habit he's noticed they do frequently.
"Not bad." He responds, knowing his gruff voice doesn't sound too friendly, though he does try. He likes (Y/n), a lot, and wants the friendship to work out properly, despite the fact he's already managed to develop feelings he thought he'd lost the ability to have for them.
As they grin back at him, he feels a small flare of fondness go through him as he recognises the youthfulness in the expression, a need to protect that near-innocence accompanying it.
"Good, good! What're you up to today? I see you managed to fix the wall up." They remark, gesturing to the patched panelling to his left, where a large hole had appeared in the wall.
"Just fixing the veranda here." He explains, using the hammer to show them what he means, "Yeah, I managed to finish the wall up at some point yesterday."
"Looks good. The wall and the veranda, that is. Is it gonna be a tough job?" They question, head tilting to the side curiously.
"Shouldn't be, but this heat ain't gonna help." John replies, rubbing a hand over his forehead.
They're quiet for a moment, seemingly considering something. Coming to a conclusion, they open their mouth to speak.
"Do you want any help? I'm quite handy with a hammer and nail." They offer, looking somewhat tentative.
Now it's John's turn to stay quiet, his dark eyes fixing the younger person in place as he regards them, thinking it over.
"Some help would be nice, thanks." He finally concedes, going over to them to help with the horse, which he lets loose into the nearby field with his other.
The smile returns to its place on their face as they follow him back to the veranda, taking up the hammer he offers them, waiting for his instruction as they approach.
"Just pull up the old boards for now and leave them over there." John instructs them, an odd sensation he hasn't felt in years swelling in his throat as they attentively watch him, following his every move with a look of pure admiration.
"Got it." They nod, moving to a corner to do as they're told, instantly crouching down by a loose plank. With a sharp movement, they jam the hook of the hammer underneath a loose edge, the wood creaking quietly as it is forced out of its original position, nails pulling from rotted beams with some ease. Under their T-shirt, John can see (Y/n)'s arms tensing with each jerk of the hammer, his throat feeling tight as he swallows, mentally reprimanding himself for the unbidden longing that springs to his mind.
Shaking his head, he gets down to work, the two now lapsing into a comfortable silence as they tear up the boards together. The going is faster than he thought it would be, both he and (Y/n) meeting somewhere in the middle of the frame after only an hour of working tirelessly, their brow now coated in a sheen of sweat, just as his is. Their arms are doused in a layer of dust and dirt, smears of grime adorning their forehead from where they've wiped their hand over the damp skin. John once again has to bite back his smile at the sight of the young rancher looking somewhat dishevelled after only an hour of work, the corners of his lips quirking up slightly.
"What? What is it?" (Y/n) interrupts his thoughts, their expression mildly concerned.
"Oh, err, you have a little dirt on your forehead." He clarifies, gesturing to the correlating spot on his own head.
"Oh, whoops." They laugh, lifting a hand to rub at the marks, only making them worse.
"You've made 'em bigger, now." John chuckles, unable to stop himself as he feels a smile cross his face at his friend's antics.
Noticing the change in mood for him, (Y/n) makes a point of wiping their hand more deliberately over the dirt, leaving long striping marks over their skin.
"Maybe that was the point." They grin back, striking a brief pose.
Laughing softly again, John rolls his eyes and shakes his head, the veteran starting to feel a lot more relaxed as (Y/n)'s cheerful demeanour rubs off on him.
"If you say so, Tiger." He comments, briefly moving to grab a nearby cloth that he had placed out exactly for the reason that it is now needed, "C'mere."
Ignoring the butterflies in their stomach from John's clearly more laid-back mood, (Y/n) steps closer to their friend, taking the proffered cloth from him. Wiping it over their forehead, they pull it away again after a moment, looking up to him for reassurance that they got it all.
"You missed a spot." He points out, amused.
Repeating their actions, they once again return their gaze to his, curious. He only shakes his head, taking the cloth from them. Without thinking about what he's doing, John leans in and presses it to their brow, gently rubbing away the stubborn mark, somehow managing to miss the way their eyes widen in surprise. They have to consciously hold themselves back as they go to follow his hand as it withdraws, having enjoyed the older man's touch much more than they should've.
"There, now you're all clean again." John murmurs, eyes flicking back down to theirs.
With a small smile, (Y/n) thanks him, ducking their head down to avoid letting him see the blush dusting their cheeks.
"How'd you wanna do this decking, then?" They ask him after a moment, looking to the pile of timber nearby.
"I'll show you what I had in mind." He says, leading them over to the wood, mentally cursing himself now for being so personal with them, unaware of their true reaction to his actions.
The day passes somewhat quickly, the two working tirelessly to get the veranda as complete as possible. As the time goes on, the sun only gets hotter, leaving them both drenched in sweat and dirt until around five, when the temperature finally starts to drop a little. Having only stopped briefly to eat some cookies that (Y/n) brought with them, the two find themselves incredibly hungry as they finally come to a halt, muscles aching under sun-warmed skin, in dire need of something to drink and a shower. Taking note of his friend's somewhat worse state, John finally stops, putting down his hammer as he pushes his slick hair from his face.
"We should call it a day, we've done enough for now." He says, watching as (Y/n) straightens and stretches before turning to face him, briefly revealing a strip of skin on their abdomen to him as their shirt rides up.
"Sounds good to me." They respond, sounding a little breathless as they crack their knuckles, flexing their wrists.
They seem to consider something, head tilting to the side as they pick their Stetson up from the step they left it on, having taken it off when it got too hot for them. A conflicted look crosses their face, before they seem to shake it off, as if steeling themself.
"Would you, err, would you like to come to mine for drinks?" They ask him, rubbing the back of their neck sheepishly, "You don't have to, I just think it might be, err, nice, seeing as I like your company, and we're both on our own. I have food, too, but you don't have to eat or anything…"
(Y/n)'s voice trails off at John's expression, the veteran somewhat surprised by the offer.
"You like my company?" Is all he manages, eyebrows lifting.
"Yeah, I do!"
"But...why?" He asks, confused.
"Because you're always friendly, you don't mind listening to me, I hope, anyway. You're kind, caring, funny when you want to be, you're cool as hell and you're really smart, too! I feel safe when I'm around you." (Y/n) gushes, only to slow towards the end when they realise they've gone on a bit, face turning red, "Sorry."
"No, no, don't be." John says, stunned by the compliments, unused to receiving friendly comments like that.
"But yeah, I like your company, and I'd like if we could talk a bit more over drinks or something." His friend explains, looking hopeful.
The veteran finds himself rendered speechless for a long moment, his heart screaming at him to go to (Y/n)'s, to further their relationship, but his brain is telling him no, so he doesn't mess up what they've already got. Internally, he weighs up the options, regarding the younger rancher as they wait patiently for his response. Eventually, it's that that makes his decision for him, the older man knowing that his friend will always be patient with him.
"I'll take you up on the offer." He finally says, unable to help the small smile that creeps onto his face as a wide grin splits (Y/n)'s, their gaze lighting up in happiness.
"You will? That's great! I'll go get stuff ready." They reply, body practically buzzing with excitement, only for them to glance back after a second, "Do you have a working shower, or do you wanna use mine? I don't mind if you do, I've got plenty of hot water."
"I don't wanna intrude that much…"
"You're not, don't worry." They reassure him, smiling.
"Ok, then I'll take the shower, too. Mine isn't working so well yet." He agrees, glad that he can finally have a good clean in a working shower.
"Ok, that's fine. Let me just catch Leo, then we can go." They say, heading off to the field, where their horse is grazing idly, having spent the entire day alone as John's other horse was taken inside the stable due to the heat being bad for its underweight body.
"Alright, let me just get some clean clothes." John nods.
Ten minutes later, the two reconvene, starting off on the walk over to (Y/n)'s ranch, the horse trotting quietly beside them as they talk amongst themselves, discussing the animal in question. It doesn't take long for them to reach the main house, (Y/n) briefly tying Leo up outside, saying something about putting him away again in a moment.
"Welcome to my home. Sorry it's a bit messy." They chuckle, opening the door for the veteran, allowing him inside.
It is messy, but the small room looks cosy, the somewhat cramped space giving him a familiar sense of comfort.
"I like it." He compliments, gruff voice soft.
"Thanks." (Y/n) smiles fondly as they look over the area, "The shower's just through here. Take as long as you need, I'm just gonna put Leo away. Oh, and get yourself a glass of water or something if you want it."
"I will do, thanks." The veteran watches as his friend leaves the house again, before he moves off into the shower, choosing to clean himself first, so he can get his racing thoughts in order.
It's been a long time since anyone showed him the kindness (Y/n) is now showing him, and it's started rubbing off on him, his feeling towards the young rancher steadily getting more and more affectionate. He admired them, their youthful vigour mixed with some past difficulties having combined to create a mature yet fun person, something that reminded him a little of himself when he first joined the Special Forces, all those years ago. They don't quite have the same innocence, but the optimistic view of the world and the people living in it have definitely started to chip away at the barriers around his heart, a defence he built up some time ago to prevent unnecessary pain, but he's not unhappy about it. He hopes they won't escalate, but he knows the friendship is helping him recover from decades of trauma.
Showering quickly but thoroughly, he changes into his clean clothes, before he goes back into the main room, where (Y/n) is waiting for him. Swapping with him, they smile as they go past, disappearing as he takes a seat on the sofa, enjoying the warmth of the room. It smells distinctly of his friend, and reassures him, settling the nerves racing through him. They only spike again when he hears (Y/n) come back into the room, his body tensing as he stands, unsure of what to do.
"You don't have to stand on my account." They chuckle, waving him back to the sofa as they go to the fridge and grab a couple of beers and some food, joining him and handing him a bottle.
Taking it, he waits for them to crack the cap off, taking a deep drink of it as he reaches for some food, the two of them simply eating at first, too hungry to talk much. The food doesn't last long, but it leaves them satiated, the beers soon replaced by more as they start to talk again, both much more relaxed now.
"Did your family always have the ranch?" He asks them, regarding his friend from his comfortable position on the sofa across from them, lidded eyes fixed on them.
"Yeah, it's been in the family as long as I can remember." (Y/n) replies, glancing around the lounge with a proud smile, "I've never left it."
"Really? Didn't you go to university?" John inquires, lifting an eyebrow in surprise.
"No, no. Never had time for it." They explain, biting their lip, "Always had the ranch to run."
John doesn't say anything, watching them closely as they seem to fade into their thoughts, clearly reliving a memory.
"My parents died the year before I was supposed to go. Left the ranch to me because my siblings left for New Orleans and some place in Kansas, so I had to forget about going to university." They reveal sadly, sipping their beer with a grim smile.
"I'm sorry." John says, frowning at the change in mood, having never really seen (Y/n) appear as dejected as they do now.
"Don't be, there was nothing anyone could've done. Besides, this has been the best thing that ever happened to me." They cast John a sideways glance, "I met you, after all."
Cocking his head to the side, John smiles gently, battling with the urges in his head.
"I'm sure your parents would be really proud of you." He murmurs, leaning over to clasp their shoulder lightly.
"Thank you, John." They smile back, their bottle forgotten now as they find their eyes fixed on his, getting themselves lost in their dark depths.
Somehow unable to pull back, John finds himself staring at (Y/n), his body sending him all kinds of urges, his hands practically itching to just wrap around their smaller body and-
Suddenly, a pair of lips are on his, tentatively pressing against them. What feels like electric shocks go through him at the unfamiliar touch, his eyes widening as he instinctively draws back, his body running on instinct, even as he instantly misses the sensation. Terrified eyes find his, horror etched into a face he's come to love and admire.
"Oh shit, I'm so sorry! I don't know what I was doing, I fucked up, I'm so sorry!" (Y/n) instantly apologises, scrambling to pull out of his space, convinced they made things awkward, when John knows full well it was his own fault, "Please forgive me, John, please! I'm so sorry-"
"Don't apologise, (Y/n). You didn't do anything wrong. You just caught me by surprise, is all." John tries to reassure them, but they don't seem to hear it, only panicking more as they try to get up.
Knowing they won't listen to him now, John swallows, before he swiftly leans out, wrapping his hands around (Y/n)'s waist. They have split second to look surprised, until they find themselves being pulled onto the veteran's lap, lips connecting again.
This time, the touch is much more desperate, John pressing as close as he can, relishing in the contact as he feels his friend relax into his touch, melting against him as their hands slide round his neck into his hair, pulling his head closer. Groaning lowly, he uses his grip on their hips to press them flush together, kisses becoming more insistent as pleasure, relief and love fill him, his body feeling like it hasn't done in decades. He can feel them everywhere: their hands in his hair, their lips smoothing against his, their legs wrapping around his waist, their scent enveloping him as he kisses them. Under his palms, he can feel their muscles tensing and relaxing, the veteran hesitantly pushing his hands past the hem of their shirt to feel bare skin against bare skin, keeping them at their hips as they moan quietly. As the sound escapes them, their mouth opens slightly, allowing him to slip his tongue in, sliding in alongside theirs.
John presses closer, eventually pushing them back onto the sofa, (Y/n)'s body cradled underneath him as he continues to explore their mouth with his tongue. Breaking apart for air, they stare at each other, a familiar smile creeping onto their lips as they look up at him, love and adoration flooding their gaze. Gently, they card their fingers through his hair, taking one hand to trail their index finger along his cheek, tracing over the scar on his cheek, a fond look on their face.
"God, you have no idea how much I've dreamed about kissing you." They confess, voice quiet.
"You have?" He questions, his rough voice resonating through (Y/n) where their chests are touching.
"Yeah. I admire you so much, your bravery, your courage, your strength, both mentally and physically. You're too good to have been treated as poorly as you have been, and I've always wanted to show you that, but I never knew how." They murmur, cupping his face as he goes to look away, blushing, "It's true. You're a better person than I'll ever be, and you must've proved that hundreds of times. There's no one else I'd rather have as a friend, or even more than that if you'll have me."
Eyes wide, John doesn't know how to reply initially, his head spinning at what he's hearing, every fantasy he's ever had since he met his new friend suddenly flashing past his eyes in much higher clarity as he realises that they like him as much as he likes them - loves him as much as he loves them.
Unsure of how else to respond, John dips his head back down and connects their lips again, pouring all of his unspoken words across connection, feeling euphoric as he once again relishes in the knowledge that they are actually there, and it's not his imagination. Kissing back, (Y/n) smiles into his lips, pressing closer.
After a moment, John pulls away again, looking over (Y/n)'s face one last time before he drops down beside them, pulling their smaller body into his. Instinctively, they curl into him, hand resting on his chest as their face presses into his neck, smiling contentedly. Wrapping his arm around their waist, John holds them close to him, burying his face in their hair as they both feel fatigue starting to envelope them, pulling them both into a comfortable sleep. Just as they go to drift off, John whispers to (Y/n).
"You don't admire me nearly as much as I admire you. I love you. So much." His voice is husky, lulling them sleep.
For the first time in years, John does not jolt awake halfway through the night, his sleep undisturbed by nightmares.
You forced this upon yourself😂 you forced this rambo simp.(and i dont mind)
Okay this may not be as good! But! Im giving you the liberty to take it where you want!(because i love your little details and how you express the feeling in your writing i- AH! Its great. I cant say it enough, it’s great. I mean it.)
How about Rambo finally getting enough courage to show The rancher around the tunnels, in a date sort of way!(they don’t know thats actually where he lives. Aka that photo i showed you before.) i really saw how the rancher was so happy to have him at their house, I’d love to see rambos side of scheduling a house tour and date type deal!! Maybe him even sitting and showing the rancher through all his old photos, and them just in awe because wow. He’s so much cooler than they even thought! He just so nervous and surprised seeing them so interested in him after all this time alone, and them just- in awe of him.
( i also really think it would be funny seeing rambo go through his friends house and seeing-“why the hell you have so many plants???” And just. Adorable assassin living with a wholesome and loving hardworking s/o)
Ah! Im sorry if that’s not as good!! But hey, you feel free to describe their antics and relationship as you will!!
I think I may have run a bit with this, but I hope you like it regardless!😊💛
I've Got Your Back, You've Got Mine.
John Rambo (Rambo IV/V) x reader
Warnings: mention of death, mention of war, mention of injury, mention of PTSD, mention of violence, (possible flash warning for gif?)
Masterlist
The heavy knock on the door surprises me where I'm sitting, the sharp sound snapping me from my thoughts. Looking over at it from my position at the table, I frown and set down my spoon, standing to go answer, unsure of who it is: I'm not expecting anyone today. Colt looks up from his place on the floor, the dog just as curious as I am as to whom it may be, though he doesn't bark, so it must be someone we know. He watches me as I cross the room, going straight to the door.
Opening it, I'm somewhat surprised to see my neighbour, John, standing there, a tentative smile on his face as he looks me over appreciatively, his gaze drawing a blush to my face.
"Mornin' (Y/n)." He greets, rough voice friendly as he waits for me to let him in.
"Morning John." I smile back, delighted to see him, "What can I do for you?"
I step back, waiting for him to enter, which he does so with a nod of thanks.
"Since when have I needed a reason to see you?" The veteran chuckles, the sound reverberating within me, my brain subconsciously storing the action away for later recall. Gently, John moves into my space, one hand coming to lightly rest on my hips as the other cups my face, drawing me in for a slow kiss.
Kissing back, I feel a glow of happiness flare up in me at this contact: he's never really one to initiate touch like this, so it's a whole lot more intimate when he does. Relaxed, I loosely wrap my arms around his neck, languidly caressing his dark hair as our lips move together.
Being the killjoy he often loves to be, Colt pushes in between us, nosing at John's leg, tail wagging enthusiastically as he recognises the familiar man, the dog as fond of his company as I am. Chuckling, John and I pull apart, looking down at the large canine between us, the dark eyes staring up at us imploring us to pay attention to him. Still smiling, John lowers a hand to scratch Colt's head, ruffling his floppy ears a little as the dog instantly allows his mouth to hang open, tongue lolling in content.
"Hey, Colt." The veteran greets, biting back a laugh as the dog pushes me out of the way, nudging at John's stomach.
"He never gets that excited to see me." I complain jokingly, standing back to watch the two interact, a smile playing at my lips.
"Sure he does." John replies, eyes fixing on mine with an expression of fondness, one that had me weak at the knees.
"He really doesn't, he just sits in the corner and whines at me until I feed him. Isn't that right?" I address the dog himself, giving him a light slap on the rear, his ridiculous height meaning I can quite easily reach it, "Anyhow, did you need something? Or did you just come here to kiss me? I can't say I'll complain if that's the case."
Cheekily, I wink at the veteran, leaning back against a nearby counter.
"As nice as that sounds, it's not the reason I came by." He chuckles, blushing lightly, "Though that does sound good."
Grinning, I nod my agreement, only now taking in his body language: he's nervous. His hands fidget, rubbing his fingers over scars and lines on his palms, and he shifts from foot to foot every now and then, small tells he's never quite managed to hide from me.
"Is something up?" I ask him, slightly more serious this time, unnerved by his discomfort.
"No, no, not at all. I, err, well, I just wanted to ask you something." He rubs the back of his neck, head tilted to the side as he regards me, dark eyes fixed on mine.
"Ok, go for it." I prompt him, curiosity sparking my interest.
"Well, do you wanna come to mine? I mean properly, like in the house." John cocks his head to the side, lowering his arm again.
Blinking, I feel shock flood my system, before it turns to unbelievable happiness that he's trusting me enough to come into his private space. Initially, I can't find the right words, somehow struggling to respond, until I find my tongue again.
"I would love to, John." I agree, features lighting up as my mood brightens, "There's nothing I've really got to do today except train up one of the younger horses, so I've got as long as you want after that."
"Great. Is four o'clock alright?" The veteran smiles broadly, though he still looks somewhat nervous.
"Yeah, should be. I'll be there." I promise him, taking up my Stetson from the table as I briefly turn away to put away the plate I was using, having lost my appetite in my sudden excitement.
"I'll get it tidy." He says, looking around the room again, "I'll never understand why you have so many plants in your house. It's like a damn jungle."
At his comment, I laugh loudly, glancing around at the variety of different houseplants I have placed on various shelves, the greenery practically covering every available surface.
"Because it's way too dry to grow anything like this outside all the time. Anyway, they look nice." I shrug, calling Colt to my side as I follow John from the house, grabbing my jacket from the hook as I pass.
"But why so many?"
Once again, I shrug, following him over to a nearby post, where he's hitched Bandit, the horse I gave him a few months ago. The buckskin stallion paws at the ground, his pale coat looking as clean as ever even as he noses at the dust, the dark colouring around his eyes (the reason for his name) and legs standing out much more in the bright sun. As we approach, he looks up, snorting in greeting.
"He's looking good." I acknowledge, admiring the strong stallion appreciatively - I had reared Bandit from a foal, before I had given him to the veteran as a gift four months ago, hoping it will help him to grow his own ranch. My plan had worked, and John now has four horses, including Bandit, as well as a couple of other animals, such as a cow, a pig and five chickens. I'd sold him a couple of goats as well, but we soon found out that John and goats just didn't get along. At all.
"Yeah, he's doing well, too. Takes the training very well, too." John runs a hand through the stallion's dark mane, untying the reins.
"That's good. Reckon he'll be ready for a competition soon?"
"Should be."
Snorting again, Bandit pulls at the reins, clearly eager to get going, especially as Colt moves up to sniff at the horse's back legs. I quickly whistle him over, knowing Bandit has always been shifty around the dog.
"I'll see you at four then." I finally say, unwilling to say goodbye, even if it is only for a few hours.
"Yeah, see you then." John smiles, leaning in to kiss me again, keeping it brief this time, leaving me wishing for more, as he always does.
"See ya." I grin, watching him climb into the saddle, still somehow fluid in doing so despite his age.
Gathering the reins in hand, John adjusts himself in the saddle, before he smiles down at me again as he gently urges Bandit into motion. Obediently, the stallion moves into a swift trot, which turns into a faster canter as the two move off down the driveway, heading towards the split in the fence separating our land. I watch as they go, still finding myself enraptured by the sight of the muscular man sat astride the horse, Colt eventually snapping me from my mind as he barks at me. Shaking my head, I follow him towards the stable.
Hours later, having showered and cleaned up, I feel a sense of relief go through me as I hoist myself into the saddle secured into place on Leo's back. It's relaxing, the stallion beneath me more relaxed than the youngster I've been trying to train all day: she never gave me a break. Seemingly sensing this, as he always does, Leo flicks his ears back and nickers softly, very lightly pawing the ground as I give him a pat on the neck, glad to have a more reliable horse taking me where I need to be.
Tilting back my Stetson, I take the reins in hand and ease the stallion into a trot, intending to let him pick up his own pace, my trust in this horse far greater than in the mare from before. Obediently, Leo moves into the correct gait, the two of us moving as if as one, years of riding together having made it easy for us to become in tune with each other. Together, we start off down the road towards John's ranch, the new path we've created beaten and well-used, allowing for relatively easy riding. Leo's hooves pound the dry ground rhythmically, my hips moving in time with his every stride, the relaxing movement helping to calm the nerves that have sprung up inside me.
A part of me is still unconvinced about going into John's home. Yes, I had helped him rebuild it and had seen very little of the inside rooms, but it still feels as if I'm intruding upon the veteran's safe space, his reprieve from the cruelty of the world he lives in. Something about that doesn't sit right with me, but I tell myself it's John's decision to make, not mine, so I should trust him, which I do, wholeheartedly.
I'm still torn by the time I reach the main house, where John is already sat waiting for me in his rocking chair, dark eyes fixed on me as I approach. Lifting a hand to him, I smile and slow Leo to a halt, praising the horse as I climb down, the gray stallion nosing affectionately at me. Swiftly, I tie him to a nearby post, only to stop when John calls out to me.
"Put him in the stable for the night." He instructs me, gesturing for me to follow him as I try to fight back the sudden onslaught of racing thoughts at his implications: he wants me to stay the night?
"Sure, thanks." I smile back at him, walking after him with Leo in tow.
"Don't worry about it. It's not fair on him if he has to stay out all night." John waves me off with a short grin, "How'd training go?"
I groan.
"Not great. That horse has it in for me, I swear." I complain, rubbing at my arm, remembering the moment I got the new bruise forming there.
"Oh yeah?" He muses, looking amused.
"Yeah. She threw me off eight times!"
"Eight times? Wow, must be a new record." The veteran jokes, something that stirs up the familiar fondness inside me at his more personable behaviour.
"I reckon so. Painful one to set, though, I'll tell you." I remark, smiling broadly as we enter the stable, where I quickly house Leo next to Bandit, removing his tack and other gear.
"Must be." John watches me work, leaning against the door to the large building, muscular arms crossed over an equally muscular chest. Turning back to him, I have to stop and admire the bulging of his biceps as his hands grip his forearms, the veins I've come to love laying out a pattern on the tanned limbs. Everytime I see them, I imagine his strong arms wrapped around me, holding me safe and secure against his solid body, wishing I could feel his hands splayed against me more often.
"Like what you see?" John interrupts my thoughts, voice teasing as he lifts an eyebrow at me, almost smirking at me.
Blushing furiously, I avert my gaze, lifting a hand to gently tap the brim of my Stetson out of my vision.
"You know I do." I laugh nervously, before I look back up at him, "Anyway, since when do you use pickup lines?"
"Since I figured out they get you all flustered." His playful tone is new to me, though it's gone almost as soon as I see it, his guarded expression falling back into place as he returns within himself, probably thinking he overstepped some invisible boundary.
I still can't help stammering for a response, his gruff tone awakening something within me.
"Heh, I guess you're right." I stutter, going over to him.
Nodding, he keeps his expression straight, leading me out back to the house, where he quickly welcomes me inside.
"I tried to tidy it as much as possible, but it's still a bit messy." The veteran apologises, observing the interior of his home critically, even as I do so in awe.
The rooms, from what I can see, are mostly filled with sparse furniture, a few chairs here and there, an old sofa, a couple of vanities and dressers, with a mantlepiece in most, if not all, of them. He hasn't used much colour, but what he has used is tasteful and works well with the overall appearance. The walls, however, are what really draw me into the place.
They are littered with photographs and memorabilia, frames and objects cleaned and polished so they shine brightly in the afternoon sun, many smiling faces visible in them. Curious, I go over to one wall, looking over the array of pictures, which I now recognise to be images of John and his friends from the years he spent here. Amongst them is a creased black and white photo of a young John sat astride a horse not unlike Bandit, a broad grin on the boy's face as he stares at the camera from under a mop of thick black hair. I can feel a small smile creep onto my face at the sight of the veteran looking so happy and carefree, something I've not seen very much of at all in my time around him.
"That was my first horse, Hector. I had him until I left for the army." John says from behind me, sounding somewhat quiet, eyes softened from nostalgia as he stares at the picture along with me, "I loved him a lot, but my father always said he wasn't good enough."
His words hang in the air as I stay speechless, listening intently to what he's saying to me: it's the first I'm hearing about his life before he came here again.
"What happened to him? Hector, I mean." I ask him quietly, tearing my eyes away to look up at John.
The veteran shrugs, appearing somewhat remorseful.
"I'll never know, but I reckon my father sold him as soon as I was gone."
"Oh." I frown, glancing back at the photograph.
"The horse was getting old by that time, though. He probably wasn't much use." John chuckles wryly, moving away towards the stairs nearby, "Do you want to see upstairs?"
"Yeah, sure." I nod, following him as he ascends to the second floor, which I now see consists of three different rooms.
He takes me to the farthest, opening the door to reveal an old study, which looks as if it hasn't been used in a good few years.
"This was my father's study, where he did all his business. I was never allowed in here as a kid." John sweeps his arm around the room, staying by the threshold, as if abiding by a rule that no longer exists, "Not that I go in here that much as an adult."
I look around, finding the neat area interesting: images of a young John hovering by the door, waiting for his father to finish business entering my head.
"It's nice, I like it." I remark, turning to find him smiling very slightly at me.
"It's the only room in the house that's exactly as it used to be. I haven't had time to do up the others properly." John says, leaving the study and going back down the hall, where he opens the other two doors to reveal a bathroom and an empty room.
A dull curiosity flares up within me as I realise one thing about the top floor, but I easily find a solution to it, following John back down the stairs. As we go, however, I realise that my assumption is wrong, as the only other rooms down here are missing the one thing I'd expect in any house.
"Where do you sleep? I haven't seen a bed or anything anywhere." I ask him, cocking my head to the side as he takes me to one final door.
"I'm gonna show you." He smiles at me, before he opens the door.
I blink as I see the dark steps descending into the ground, unease biting at my throat as I flash John a hesitant look. A cool draft wafts up from the black depth, but John only chuckles and moves down into the space below, gesturing for me to follow.
"It's perfectly safe, don't worry." He calls to me, a light flickering on as he reaches the bottom of the steps, illuminating the path to me.
Swallowing, I gingerly step down the stairs, emerging into a tunnel of sorts, my curiosity piqued as I take in the chiselled walls around me, the rock cast in an odd light from the naked bulbs positioned along the length of the cavern. Struts of wood hold the ceiling steady, wiring hanging off of them in places where he's had to hastily put it all together. John watches as I take in the passage, a thoughtful look in place on his face.
"What is this place?" I wonder aloud, still taken aback by the oddity of having a tunnel beneath the house that stretches off in both directions.
"This is my safe space." The veteran informs me, urging me along with him as we go further into the tunnel, walking together for a minute before we emerge out into a larger room of sorts, which is well lit.
My eyes widen as I realise exactly what he means.
The room acts as his bedroom and bathroom, and also has space to sit and relax, the whole area having a homely feel to it. What was missing in the rooms in the house can be found down here, including more photographs, though these ones seem different to the others. They adorn the walls, all except one, which is decorated with a variety of weapons, both guns and knives. Going over to it, I look over the rifles and shotguns hooked onto the wall, struck speechless as I then turn my attention to a machete, the blade honed but chipped from use, seemingly out of place as it hangs beside another, smaller hunting knife.
Moving on, I regard the photographs, only now realising that they're military pictures, many of them containing images of a youthful John in fatigues and uniform. A smile creeps back onto my lips as I feel my eyes land on a particular image of a group of men, where I can see John standing amongst them, a triumphant grin on his face, long locks of dark hair held back by a strip of fabric around his head. The others also smile, though there's something bittersweet about the inscription at the corner of the photo: Baker Team, Vietnam. As I look past the other pictures, I notice that the team slowly dwindles, beaming faces becoming drawn and solemn, eventually just leaving two people behind. Beneath this image is another inscription: Baker Team Survivors.
"That was my team in 'Nam." John says suddenly, voice husky as he remembers the friends he had, "None of them made it back. Not really."
Eyes wide, I look back at him, taking in the distant look in his own eyes, the barely concealed grief still raw in his expression as he stares at the photographs. Noticing my gaze, John gestures for me to come sit on the edge of his bed with him, the veteran pulling another photograph from it's place on his bedside table. Doing so, I make sure I'm not touching him, but am close enough to reassure him, waiting patiently for him to start talking of his own accord, knowing that this is a sensitive subject for him.
After a moment, he starts, his voice low as he pulls me into his stories, taking me through suffocating jungles and blistering heats, through recon and rescue missions, through bloody gunfights and hellfire, through hours spent in torturous situations. He puts me in his shoes as he loses every single member of his team to the gruesome fight he should never have fought, the harrowing grief and pain of letting go of a comrade, someone who's supposed to be by your side for as long as the two of you can stay alive, laid bare for me to see and experience. And even as he moves on, back to familiar territory in the States, the fight never leaves him.
Facing harassment in what should be his safety and security, I can feel every bit of betrayal, of anger and grief that he felt as he is let down by his own country time after time, used again and again by the authorities to do their dirty work, only to be cast aside when it doesn't go their way, the old catchphrase he once lived by, "I've got your back, you've got mine" completely meaningless in this hollow life. His disgust in humanity is plain to me as he outlines his most recent forays into warfare, where the rage he felt is once again transferred to me, and I experience the violent need to take out the parasites in the world that destroy anything good that he did. It's as if I'm there with him, through everything, his description and memories so vivid they chill me to the core, keeping me hooked on his every word.
After a long while, he eventually trails off, and I realise there's a tear rolling down his cheek, his body shaking a little as he holds himself back. My heart breaking, I have to fight the urge to reach out and pull him into an embrace, not wanting to make him uncomfortable. I place my hand on his shoulder instead, rubbing the tight muscles soothingly until he looks up at me with the most heart-rending gaze I've ever seen in my life. At that point, my resolve breaks.
Carefully, I lean in and wrap my arms around his shoulders, pulling the veteran towards me. He goes willingly, sobs wracking his body as he wraps his own hands around me, burying his face into my neck, tears flowing freely now as he lets himself go, each pained sound agonising to hear. Tightening my grip, I lay back onto the bed, allowing him to press his body around me, holding me against his muscular form as I rub his back, whispering soothing things to him as his breathing starts to calm a little. It takes time, but eventually he starts to relax, body going limp as he lays in my arms, his larger form awkwardly wrapped around mine as he depresses his face into the crook of my neck.
I barely hear his broken voice as he whispers to me.
"Thank you."
Breathing in his familiar scent, I just mould myself closer, pressing a gentle kiss to his forehead as he does the same to my neck.
"I'm here for you, John. I'm here, and I'll never leave. Not as long as I live, I promise."
Hey!!!how are you?
Can i have some Rambo Headcanons??
Maybe the old rambo moving nextdoor to a young(24), farmer? (They/them pls), and maybe eventually him developing a crush or Wanting to protect them since they’re always so nice and caring towards him?
Thank you!!(these are for my birthday lmao, im a complete and total rambo simp. And i feel old rambo would really enjoy calming down and helping around with someone who loves him)
You have no idea how badly I've been wanting to write these as soon as I read the request! It's so wholesome, so I hope I've done it justice! And happy birthday! I hope you like these 😊(also I'm good, thanks for asking!)
John Rambo (Rambo IV/V) x younger!reader headcannons.
Warnings: mention of PTSD, vague injury detail.
A/n: I'm sorry if this is not as expected, I'm still getting to grips with writing headcannons 😅
Masterlist
The ranch had been in a state of disrepair when John first got there, walls thinning, paint peeling, buildings empty and soulless. He hadn't expected things to be as they were when he left, all those years ago, but the evident lack of care surprised him.
The house had been empty, which he eventually figured out was die to the fact his father had passed a good few years prior, and hadn't left anyone in charge of the ranch.
This meant that everything was as it was when he left, photographs hanging awkwardly on the walls, dusty furniture shoved out of the way.
Naturally, the rest of the ranch was also in pretty poor condition: the stables were practically overrun with weeds and foul smelling hay, one lone horse still nosing weakly at the empty water bucket on the floor. Taking pity on the animal, and feeling a need to help it, John took it out onto the field, which is where he first saw them.
Across from his father's ranch was another, smaller one, where horses and cattle grazed in the fields, a single car parked up beside the main house, which was in a much better condition than his own newfound home. In one of the fields, running around with a young foal, was who he assumed to be a ranchhand.
For a moment or so, he had stood and watched as the figure ran in circles with the youthful horse in tow, admiring their seemingly high spirits - he hadn't felt high-spirited in years.
After he'd helped the old horse from the stables out (cleaning out a stall, feeding it with feed he found in a storeroom), John had gone back to the house, almost forgetting the figure across the field, intending to head to sleep.
A couple of days passed after that, before he saw them again, though this time, they also saw him.
He'd started work on the house, having collected what he needed from a nearby town, and was sat on the roof of the main building as the sun glared down at him. Taking a brief pause from his work, he'd looked up and seen them in the field again, this time astride a larger horse.
They were racing around again, until the rider noticed they were being watched, at which point they slowed to a halt and looked around, quickly spotting John on the roof. From that distance, he couldn't tell what their expression was, but they raised a hand after a moment or so, waving up at him. Hesitantly, he had waved back.
Later that day, when he'd been sat on his father's old rocking chair on the veranda, taking another break, John had noticed someone coming up the road towards him. Standing out of instinct, John soon realised it was someone astride a horse, the rider carefully trotting up the drive, their face becoming clearer the nearer they came.
Still cautious of people, John had acted somewhat guarded as the person rode up to him, a broad smile on their work-weathered youthful face. In their hand, they carried a small box, which they cradled awkwardly on their thighs.
Approaching him, they'd tipped their hat, a battered Stetson, and greeted him, introducing themself as (Y/n), the owner of the ranch next to his. They'd spoken cheerfully, as if unaffected by the hardships of life, which they may well be. That's what John thought anyway, until they openly and happily told him about the passing of their parents, four years ago. The ranch had been left to them, leaving them in charge of the business.
Their first encounter had been somewhat awkward, but it didn't seem to bother (Y/n), and they left after ten minutes or so with a genial smile at him, stating that they'd be happy to help if he ever needed it. They also left behind the box, which John soon discovered was filled to the brim with cookies, a food he hadn't eaten for decades. Trying one, he soon rediscovered a love for them he didn't remember he had.
In the following weeks, John managed to fix up the house, getting it ready to live in properly, with some very brief help from his neighbour. They'd been round earlier in one week, dropping off another box of cookies, and had offered him access to their tools, which they brought round soon after.
After this, John felt it was only right that he invited them round for drinks as thanks, something that still made him somewhat uneasy. Somehow, he did feel reassured when they happily agreed and turned up the following Sunday, the two of them sitting in comfortable quiet on the veranda, sometimes talking, other times staying silent.
This became a regular occurrence.
Every week, (Y/n) would go to John's, or vice-versa, the latter soon learning to trust them and enjoy their company, finding himself in a better mood than he had been in in a long time. Their openness to talk or listen (even if he said very little) comforted him, allowing him to forget the nightmarish things going through his head near-daily.
After three months, (Y/n) had started coming round much more often, many times just appearing in the middle of the day to help out with whatever task needed doing, unafraid of doing dirty work. They later told him it was because they enjoyed his company far too much, and often actively sought it out: they made it clear that his quiet, brooding nature was an attractive quality about him that reassured them.
It didn't take long for them to become close, the two seemingly working at a different wavelength to the rest of the world, one that only existed between their small ranches.
They helped John procure his first horses, lending him one of their own to help build up the numbers. The differences between each ranch soon became blurred, the fence running through the middle of their respective fields eventually disappearing as they merged their ranches together, continuing with business individually with the help of the other's land.
John had long since accepted, within himself, that he would not find someone to spend the rest of his life with, not after Sarah. It was a sad truth, but one he had to live with.
That all changed when he suddenly realised he had fallen for his neighbour, the one person he now trusted and cared for more than anyone in the world.
He'd realised this when their face first started appearing in his nightmares, after a close accident that nearly resulted in catastrophe. (Y/n) had fallen from the roof of the stables, thankfully landing on a stack of stray hay which softened the impact, leaving them in severe amounts of pain for two days. Their face became part of the repertoire in his head, nightmares about their death soon plaguing him even further, as he finally acknowledged the newfound love he felt for them.
Because that's what it was: love.
It couldn't be anything less, he was too damaged to have heedless fancies, and his emotions were far too strong towards them. Since he'd moved in, (Y/n) had always been there, acting as a friend he never had, steadily working their way into his life, bettering it in ways he never would've thought another person could, supporting him through the episodes of flashbacks he was now prone to having. They had showed him love and care he hadnt experienced from anyone else. He valued them highly, prioritising them over himself, and he knew he was heavily attracted to them, but he told himself "no", don't ruin the friendship.
They didn't make it easy to repress the urges. No, they only managed to win him over more and more with their caring, loving attitude, though their youth managed to awaken some form of paternal instinct John never knew he had. He felt the need to protect them at all times, and he would do his best to uphold this, but he knew his feelings were getting too strong.
Somehow, he managed to miss all the loving glances, and little tells (Y/n) inadvertently laid down before him, the rancher have g developed similar feelings for him, though they'd never admit it to John, knowing how human interaction like that could be upsetting for him.
Eventually, it had taken a beautiful evening, with the sun spilling its last bloody rays on the dry landscape as the two sipped beer from bottles on the veranda, for them to finally admit to each other how they felt.
It just happened: one minute, they were leaning in to replace their bottles on the table, the next, their lips are just touching, breaths mingling as they struggle to do rain themselves. (Y/n) had finally leaned in, pressing their lips against his, pulling back almost as quickly as they moved in, a horrified, embarrassed expression on their face.
They'd apologised instantly, terrified that they'd screwed up their relationship, rambling and cursing until John had recovered and kissed them again, cupping their face in his hand as he pulled them closer. It had been too long for him, and the touch was just incredible, goosebumps rising along his spine as he poured all of his love and care into the kiss, pressing as close as possible.
Somehow, (Y/n) had ended up in his lap, head on his chest as he cradled them, relishing in the feeling of having a solid, supple body against his own after so long, and one that means him no harm, too. They knew where they both stood, and it kickstarted a close relationship.
(Y/n) moved in with him after their second foaling season together, where he'd seen their parental instincts kick in, particularly when they'd then worked to socialise the foals by playing with them. The memory would always stick with John: something about the carefree youth in their face as they ran around with the frolicking horses reminded him of the good in his life.
Life was good, everything was going mostly well.
Naturally, there were some days when he'd relapse, having particularly bad episodes that would be harrowing on both him and (Y/n), though they were always there to help him through it. Their soft words of love and worry would easily permeate the cloud of despair, and had break down in their arms, enjoying the sensation of being held.
They often held each other. Even if it was just a quick hug, or an embrace from behind as one pressed up against the other's back, touch became a large factor in their relationship - John relished it after the more callous touch he had grown used to.
Kisses, too, became a large way of showing their affection. Little ones here and there between jobs, deep passionate kisses up against the wall of the house, or sloppy making out on the shared seat on the veranda, it all counted for their love, and they thoroughly enjoyed partaking in them.
(Y/n) was always there, even when Gabrielle and Maria joined them. They were there when Gabrielle died, and they were there to avenge her death, choosing to go out with the man they loved.
Both of them liked to cook, even if John's meals were a little...plain...so they often spent hours in the kitchen with each other, fooling around with whatever they could, John's face alight with more smiles and grins than he thinks it's ever been.
They went riding together, finding solace in each other's company on their many trails through their land, the horses often coming home tired after so long of being out.
Sometimes, John got self-conscious about his age in comparison with their's, thinking he is too old for them. Everytime this happened, (Y/n) would reassure him that they love him for who he is and doesn't care if he's not as young as he used to be, it never would matter.
Marriage was never really a thing they considered. John never had much time for the state anymore, so why get them involved in their relationship?
They considered themselves married, and wore rings to show it, but it was never a legal affair. Nevertheless, the union had always been a happy one, and John could honestly say that he had been wrong about himself: he had found love.
Perfect violence, have to turn the sound full up every time for the closing battle scene. I wish someone made a similarly cathartic film about Hamas and Hizbollah.
John Rambo, Sylvester Stallone, 2008
Rambo ne veut pas conduire des humanitaires en Birmanie mais ils insistent lourdement. Sur place, ils se font bolosser par la junte. Rambo doit alors reprendre du service.
Quelques scènes ultra-violentes qui ont fait la notoriété du film mais sinon ça se regarde distraitement tant le film est court.
★★✰✰✰