About Bullet The Horse

About Bullet the horse

This is what I think of when I write about Bullet, the character's horse from my Sheriff's Daughter series :)

So yeah, I just see him as a beautiful buckskin gelding, probably dappled, and just overall adorable.

His name is just because I think it's cute as a play on of the phrase 'fast as a bullet' because maybe he can run fast.

As for his breed, I think of him as a more common breed, like maybe Quarter horse, mustang, or a mix of a few. He's not supposed to be a fancy breed for the story, he's just supposed to be functional and a fun animal sidekick to help the main character (aka you but with parts of my personality lol)

Sheriff's Daughter Pt.2

If you haven't read part 1, it's right here

The pair had been walking for some time, eventually making it to the main road that lead into town, talking and learning about each other as they went.

Rambo learned that you lived with your parents in the town they were walking to, called Hope, and you frequently visited the less fortunate where they just were. He thought that was sweet.

You learned that the man beside you wasn't the most talkative person, but he did tell you a bit about himself when you asked. His name was John, John Rambo, a war veteran from Vietnam. He was here to try and meet up with a fellow soldier, Delmar he said, but it turned out he had passed away from cancer.

You had already known that from helping his wife, you just didn't know he was so close to him.

"I'm so sorry to hear that John." Your heart sank for him.

"Thank you, I just don't know where to go next."

"You can stay in Hope, I can help you," you started, "If I told my father about you I'm sure he'd help you too." You spoke enthusiastically, something John thought to be cute, but more realistically, it was probably just wishful thinking.

"Your enthusiasm is...refreshing," he started, "but not everyone is as kind as you are."

The two of you continued walking in silence for a while. It wasn't awkward like one would think. It was actually quite peaceful. You were able to walk in the company of one another while taking in the late autumn beauty that surrounded you, the occasional car passing you by. After more time had passed, you broke the silence.

"Hey John?"

"Yeah," came his reply.

"I have to turn soon to get home, kind of a back way into the neighborhood..." you paused, "I have to take care of my horse, but I'm going into town after, so maybe I'll see you there?" The truth was, you really wanted to see him again, you just didn't want to say it out loud.

John seemed to like that idea, or so you thought. He was a little harder to read to you, so you weren't sure.

The truth for him was, he really did like that idea, and he was about to bring it up. He didn't normally like spending time with others, but you? You made it easy.

"Yeah, I'll probably be getting some food if I can."

You assumed that was his way of inviting you to join him.

"That's a good thing you're hungry, I know the perfect place. I'll try to be quick so you don't get too bored," you said, giving him a bright smile.

"The perfect place, huh?" A small chuckle escaped him. "Yeah, I can do that."

You slowed your pace, eventually stopping so you could make your turn. You pointed ahead of you.

"See the bend in the road? Just beyond that is Hope. Just turn right. I'll meet you in front of the police station on the main road and then we can go eat together."

"Got it," he said, looking over at that bridge. He turned to look at you. "Thank you."

"It's my pleasure." You looked at him a moment longer before continuing. "I'll see you in a bit."

He nodded but kept his eyes on the road for a bit to make sure you were safe starting down your path before continuing on his own.

------------

You got home fairly quick, not wanting John to wait too long without you. As you passed the pasture in your backyard, you saw your buckskin gelding, Bullet, happily munching on the rest of his breakfast alfalfa.

"Did dad feed you this morning?" you asked him. He just kept eating in response.

When you walked into the house, you noticed your father had already left for work. You wanted to do something nice for him for feeding Bullet, so you went outside to your small fruit trees and grabbed the fruit to bring to the police station. You quickly changed into a warmer outfit, since it was getting colder than you thought and you wanted to take Bullet into town.

'If I take Bullet, I can get to the police station faster and meet John,' you thought as you made your way out of the house and headed to your small barn to grab your steed.

You and Bullet made it to the main street, the police station in sight. You tied his lead rope to a post nearby and walked in with the fruit basket, automatically hearing a chorus of greetings from the officers there. You knew all of them from visiting so often for your dad, and often some would flirt with you. You tried to ignore it most of the time since to you, the only genuinely nice officer was Mitch, a younger redhead deputy.

"Hey, where's my dad?" you asked a group of officers.

"He went out in his car a while ago. Should be back soon," Mitch said walking closer to you. You offered him a small smile before opening your mouth to respond.

"Oh alright. I'll just -- "

"What have you got there little lady?" You turned to see Arthur Galt there, trying to see in your basket.

"It's just fruit, Arthur", you started, looking at him sternly. "and it's for my dad."

You were starting to stress out a bit. John was probably out there waiting for you while you were inside. You had to hurry this up.

"Well, Dad could be a while so I'll just leave these here for him. And don't eat all of them before he gets here please?" You asked, looking at Arthur and Mitch before beginning your journey toward the front doors.

It turned out you didn't have to wait for your dad much longer, as you saw him walking up from outside. The only problem was that John was with him. In handcuffs.

----

@akitasblogs @dumbasssimp Here it is! So sorry this took so long for part 2! My motivation is back so hopefully it stays long enough for me to get another part out soon

Requested by: @feirceangel as part of another request

I really hope you like this! It was an interesting challenge to write!😊💛

Napalm Burns Red.

John Rambo x reader

Warnings: mention of death, graphic violence, PTSD, alcohol consumption (light)

Masterlist

Unsurprisingly, it's busy as we walk through town, raucous groups of people lining the streets as they make their ways to their respective destinations, faces beaming and cheerful in the soft evening light. It's still warm, the residual heat from the bright July sun still rife in the air, meaning most are traipsing about in short sleeved shirts and shorts, many carrying drinks in hand. A distinct air of content and tipsy excitement lingers on the varying groups, rubbing off on John and I as we pass them, a smile playing at my lips at the sight of them all.

Beside me, John moves slowly and at ease, relaxed in the lazy heat, his expression neutral but somewhat more open than normal, dark eyes watching people as they pass, lingering on a gaggle of young men, who shout and laugh in their alcohol-induced happiness. In the dimming light, the soldier's hair appears much softer, the black locks falling gracefully down his neck in a thick mane, framing the chiselled structure of his face, each dark strand stark against the tanned skin of his cheeks. Its a wonder he's not too hot with it plastered over his neck like that, but then, I suppose, he's used to wearing it like that in much warmer conditions. Either way, it's a good look for him: the raven colour contrasting nicely with the deep red of his plaid shirt over the black sleeveless shirt he still favors over T-shirts. 

Naturally, I'm not the only one to notice this; he's drawing attention from many of the people walking past, from both men and women, eyes straying over his muscle-bound figure. I understand why - the flex of his forearms under the rolled-up sleeves and the tight fit of his undershirt are all entirely distracting - but I still can't help the glow of jealousy in my stomach. Thankfully, it's easy enough to push back down again as he wraps an arm around my waist, surprising me from my thoughts. 

"You're far too tense." He chuckles at my expression, concern etched into his eyes as he looks down at me, "What's wrong?" 

Blushing, I look away and laugh dryly, leaning into his loose grip with some hesitance. It's not often that he shows affection like this in public, so his hand splayed on my side is a new one on me, but I don't let that stop me in any way, only relishing in his warmth more. 

"Nothing, don't worry." I reassure him, fighting back the urge to kiss him as we walk together. 

"Sure?" John's always been thorough, a trait that carries through in his care for others. 

"Positive." I smile back, enjoying the feeling of him tightening his grip around me as we turn the corner onto a smaller road. 

John doesn't reply, a smile pulling at his own lips as he returns his gaze to the street. 

It doesn't take us long to return home, but by the time we have, the sky has blackened and the streets have become cast in pale light from the lampposts. Our porch light flickers to life as we step onto the drive, John falling behind me as I go to unlock the door. Just as my back is turned, however, and I go to grab my key, a deafening crack accompanied by a flash of bright light tears through the air. 

A frown works its way onto my face, and I turn my head to look up at the glittering firework striking the dark night sky, red, gold and green sparks of light disrupting the blackness. It's beautiful, but as I go to speak with John, I stop in my tracks. 

His face is ashen, body rigid and tense, every muscle frozen in place. His hands are clenched into tight fists, eyes wide and fixed on the sky, a vacant look in them. 

"John?" I call to him hesitantly, hoping to God that this isn't what I think it is, but knowing that it most likely is. 

There's no reply, nothing to even acknowledge that he heard me. He probably didn't. 

"John? Can you hear me?" I try again, but my voice is drowned out by another explosion above our heads. 

This time, the sound seems to kick something into life in the veteran, and his whole demeanour changes: gone is the fear-ridden rigidity, in its place, a cold, combat-hardened soldier. 

I barely have time to think as John shouts at me to get down, his body colliding violently with mine as he brings us both to the floor, crushing me beneath him to cover me. Winded, I lay beneath him, staring up at an emotionless scowl, shock flooding me at the lack of recognition in his face. Yet again, a firework goes off nearby, followed by multiple more as the celebrations in the neighbourhood flare to life. 

"We need to move!" John tells me, moving off of me towards the door, pulling me to my feet behind him. 

Yelping at how rough he is, it takes me a second to regain myself, before I put up resistance. Of course, he's too strong for me, but my hands on his chest seem to break through the instinctive mindset he's broken into. Pressing him back against the front door, I ignore his confused expression, taking his face in my hands, murmuring comfortingly to him. 

"John! John! Stop, you're safe! We're both safe! Nothing's happening, you're OK! It's just a firework" I reassure him, continuing until I see the hardness leave his face. 

At first, nothing happens, his expression remaining a mask of blank determination, eyes lidded and focused. His hands grip tightly at my arms, almost painfully so, fingers digging into my softer flesh, until I feel his hold let up a little. Gradually, the mask cracks, dropping away piece by piece as his muscles slowly relax again, going limp in my arms. Agonisingly, his face softens, eyes widening as he realises what happened, only to cloud over with panic and grief as another firework goes off nearby, the fight going out of him. Boneless, John falls back against the door, a strangled sob wrenching itself from his throat as he slumps to the floor, head falling into his hands. Protectively, his knees draw to his chest, body shuddering violently with each cry.

Shocked, I feel my heart start to break as I look down at his shrunken form, the strong man I know suddenly reduced to a quivering mess as his past once again shreds his weak sense of security. I don't hesitate to get down beside him, though I don't touch him immediately, worried I might scare him, instead giving him space as he cries into his lap, pain gnawing at my being as I watch him suffer. Clenching my jaw, I can't stop myself from reaching a hand out to rest on his forearm, tenderly stroking over the tensed muscle, wincing as he flinches slightly. I go to withdraw my hand, but he shakes his head, jerking it from side to side as if asking me to stay. I do so, lightly rubbing my thumb over his skin. 

I want to say something, but I can't. I have no idea what to tell him, I've got no way of knowing how he's feeling right now. Instead, I sit there in silence, waiting for him to let me in on his own time, every urge in my body screaming at me to wrap him in my arms. 

His sobs quiet down after a few long minutes, and he raises his head, eyes distant as he stares somewhere over my left shoulder, most likely watching the fireworks decorating the night sky behind me. His cheeks are moist from the tears he's shedding, eyes glistening wetly, some hair sticking to his cheekbones.

"Napalm burns red…" He finally croaks, voice hoarse and so rough I can barely understand him.

"What?" I nearly kick myself for my response.

"Napalm...it's red when it explodes...only at first, then it's orange and yellow…" He repeats, sounding far away, which he most likely is, "It travels on air when it burns...turns it all into poisonous gas...it's what got Delmar in the end."

He takes a moment to swallow raggedly before he continues.

"And it sticks to people...burns 'em alive if they get caught in the blast...saw it too many times...men, women," He winces, "Children. Took out miles and miles of land, the planes just kept dropping those damn bombs...pilots didn't give a damn where we were, they just dropped 'em.

I remember this one time, we were moving out to an encampment in a town outside Saigon, all of us. We had some Viets with us, southerners, and they kept telling us not to go, that it was too dangerous, that the planes would just come and flatten the place with us still in it. We didn't listen, and we went anyway. Orders came too late, and the whole town exploded." John's breath catches in his throat, "We lost all the Viets. I remember one, their medic, looking me in the eye as he burned to death...I couldn't look away. I'm lucky I survived that...I should have died...everyone else did. Ortega had his face totally torn apart by the shrapnel from the explosion...then he caught fire, too."

His voice is quiet, each word tearing my heart further apart as I hear the pure agony in his rambling, each death still vivid in his mind. I can hardly imagine what he's feeling...but the crimson light of the fireworks suddenly gives me a sick feeling, the colour no longer beautiful but cruel and malicious.

"It was red. They were red when they burned." He swallows once more, "Napalm burns red…."

The veteran breaks off and sobs again, head falling back into his lap as I sit there, shell-shocked into silence. His story is so real and raw, I can barely feel myself move until I'm leaning into his space, wrapping my arms around his form. Without thinking, I pull him into me, his arms instinctively curling around me, too, hands grabbing onto me tightly and yanking me into him. He buries his face into my chest as he sobs and cries, every sound cutting to the core, each sniff and whimper resonating in my head. Holding onto me for dear life, John presses as close as he can, seeking comfort in me, just as I shove my face into his hair, breathing in his familiar scent.

After a long moment, I carefully pull back. 

Looking into his broken face, I try to smile at him, hoping I look somewhat reassuring as I help him to his feet, supporting his weight. He goes limply, allowing me to unlock the door and lead him inside, shutting the door behind me. I go straight to the sofa, where I sit down on it, pulling him down with me. 

With no resistance, John falls onto my chest, pressing his head into it as I start to comb my fingers through his hair, hoping I'm helping. By now, his sobs have calmed into low sniffs, but his grip is still tight as he takes hold of my waist, realising this quickly. He loops, his arms around me instead, pulling me tightly to him. Murmuring quietly to him, I just try to provide some support for him, unable to do much else as he tries to return to the present, his muscles still tense as he fights his way out of his head. 

Ten minutes pass before he lifts his head, staring into my face with vulnerable eyes.

"Thank you…" 

I give him a small smile.

"Always, John."

-

Tag List:

@the-schizotypal-cryptid @80s4life @snowgoldwaylon

Requests are open!

I'm open to writing from prompts while I work on my long term writing projects - send in your ideas for Rambo :)

there's not enough content for him on here :(

Yay you should also write for wolverine

Rules for Requests

Requests are OPEN for Rambo and Wolverine

If you are unsure about anything, just ask! I don't get triggered by stuff, so don't worry if you think asking will do anything. Worst case is I'll say no :)

What I will not write:

Smut

Abortion

What I will write:

Mental health topics like depression, anxiety, PTSD, ADHD, ED, etc.

Healing from abuse

period/pregnancy stuff

Tooth-rotting fluff

Angst/ hurt/comfort

And some stuff to keep in mind:

I'm a college student, so I'm not gonna be super quick with requests. I like to take my time with them and make sure they're good before posting

Part of my degree is in psychology (Which is where the mental health stuff comes in) BUT

1) I'm not a therapist and

2) I have depression, anxiety, and ADHD. Outside of those 3 (plus a sprinkle of trauma and a smidge of ED), I have no personal experience with other disorders, so anything I write about with other disorders/experiences will be from what I've learned. I can make them pretty accurate because of my education BUT everyone's experience with them is different, so take it with a grain of salt.

I'm also not a fan of romanticizing mental disorders, something I think is done too much today, so I will not be doing that.

be nice to me

That's all I can think of for now, if I need to add anything I will. Thanks for reading, and happy requesting!