#homelander is a cowboy

[deliciouskeys]

This fic has been entirely inspired by @vanshoundd's Butchlander cowboy AU art. I went feral after I saw it and wrote 3k words as soon as my work week was over. The art didn't need fic, but... um... now you have it.

(thank you for keeping the Butchlander tag alive with your pretty art, Vans)

Frontier Justice. Butchlander.

Billy had just ordered his third glass of whiskey when a blond stranger strolled in through the swinging doors of the bar. The man decided to situate himself on the stool right beside him even though there were plenty of empty seats at the bar at this early evening hour. Billy glanced over as the man took off his bright white leather hat and set it on the stool beside him, wiped the sweat off his brow and took out an actual comb to rearrange his matted hair. He looked so very familiar and Billy was trying to place him. When the barman came over to ask the stranger ‘what’ll it be?’ and he ordered a sarsaparilla, Billy couldn’t hold it in any longer.

“You’ve gotta be kiddin’ me.”

“Bout what?” the man asked nonchalantly, even as popped the metal cap off the glass bottle the barman took out from underneath the bar.

Billy realized it was odd to be irritated by another man’s beverage choice, but this was ridiculous. “Enjoyin’ that?”

“Yeah?” the other man answered in an equally querying tone.

Looking at him carefully, Billy suddenly pieced together why the man looked familiar. “Say, aren’t you that Jack Lander fellow?”

“Indeed,” Jack answered, taking another long sip from the long bottle neck. “You a fan?”

“Just didn’t recognize you without all ‘em rhinestones and garish boots.”

Jack Lander was a notorious figure in the area. He gained his fame by traveling around with the Wild West Show that went around the bigger towns. He was an incredible natural talent, probably the best marksman this side of the Mississippi, and an expert with the lasso, although Billy always thought it was mostly showy tricks than good old-fashioned useful skills. Jack used to wow audiences with all sort of ridiculous feats like standing up on a galloping horse and managing to shoot glass bottle targets on the run. Billy attended twice before the show shut down, the first time dragged against his will by Hughie, a young ranchhand who was eager to see the show. The next year when the show came around, Billy went into town on his own, and he’d be lying if he said he didn’t like seeing Jack Lander’s gaudy button shirt with rhinestone highlights across the chest and shoulders, catching the afternoon light seductively. He’d be lying if he said he didn’t notice how pretty Jack’s ass was in those newfangled denim dungarees you couldn’t get at most supply stores, stretched drum-tight around his hips and legs, a pretty blue color. And he’d be lying if he said he didn’t rub one out in his tent that night, remembering the way Jack looked doing all his fancy trick roping.

Jack hmphed into his bottle of root beer. “What was wrong with my boots?”

“Other than the fact they were scarlet red and the spurs were painted to look like gold? Nothing at all.” Billy chuckled.

“Those were for the ladies in the audience,” Jack said flatly.

Jack Lander was certainly a ladykiller, but the reality was there were still not many as many ladies out here as fellows, and Billy couldn’t believe this man didn’t enjoy at least some attention from men on the side. “Didn’t realize it was exclusively for the ladies,” he said, winking, taking the last sip of his whiskey, gauging Jack’s reaction out of the corner of his eye.

Far from rebuffing the flirtation, Jack finally turned and looked at him, and smiled amiably. He made to clink bottle to glass before noticing Billy had finished his whiskey, and motioned the bartender over to ask for a refill for his ‘friend.’

“I’ll be paying for it,” Billy reassured the bartender who looked at the two of them skeptically. “It’ll be my fourth and the sun ain’t even set yet...” Billy warned Jack as he raised the refilled glass.

“Should have ordered sarsaparilla,” Jack said in sing-song, winking, clinking bottle to glass.

“Why are ya drinkin that vile kid stuff?”

“Because I’m thirsty?” Jack paused before adding. “And I like my hand steady and my wits about me.”

“Wits, huh. Well you might enjoy the conversation with me a bit more if ya didn’t have so many wits about you.”

Jack laughed, flashing his miraculously perfect white teeth, none of them crooked, broken, or worn down.

Billy glanced down to see he had not one but two holsters at each hip. What the hell did he need four revolvers and such a steady hand for? All Billy knew about Jack after the Wild West Show shut down a few years ago was that he started making his living bounty hunting. Sometimes it was runaway criminals, awful men. A lot of the time it was Apaches and Comanches that he’d shoot on sight, which was against the law, strictly speaking, not that there was anyone around here who would ever enforce it. It was a risky and cruel profession compared to driving herds across the plains like Billy was usually hired to do. It was a wonder that not only was Jack still alive, but that he looked not at all worse for the wear, even though his days of sleeping in a comfortable wagon trailer and getting glammed up for shows were over. His outfit was more practical, certainly-- baggier, brown trousers and coat with grime on the lower hems, a wide brim hat with no embellishments, unless one counted the visible salt fronts from head sweat. But he still had a small red bandana tied around his collar, and the shirt peeking out from underneath his coat was still a crisp white cotton number from what Billy could see of it. Billy was surprised at how tempting it was to peel Jack out of his layers and see if he was still a dandy at heart, and if his shirt was tailored to be form-fitting.

They both finished off their drinks, eyeing each other. They got up and Billy paid both of their tabs.

As soon as they walked out of the bar, Jack pulled Billy into the narrow shady alley between the bar and the next building—an inn of ill-repute of some sort.

“Can you really afford to be paying for other people’s drinks, William?” Jack asked in a hushed tone. Billy’s body was responding swiftly to being in close quarters with this man, but he soon felt the end of a revolver pressed into his chest. “From what I’ve heard of you, all you’ve done is rustled some cattle for someone else every now and then. Truth be told, I don’t even know why there’s a large bounty on your head when you haven’t held up a train or robbed a bank or been in any sort of bandit gang.”

Billy smiled wryly. He had his long rifle slung over his shoulder, but there was no way he could defend himself with it now. “Should’ve figured they’d put a bounty on me. Reckon it might’ve been the sheriff I shot over in Bitter Creek.”

“Ah, that’d do it,” Jack grinned, and his perfect white teeth looked more menacing in the shade of the alley. “Why the hell would you do that, William Butcher.”

“You can call me Billy if you’re going to end me. The sheriff was a piece of work, I got on the wrong side of him and it was going to be him or me. I didn’t run afoul of anything, he just took it into his mind that he didn’t like me. He hanged eight innocent people in the span of a few months working at that godforsaken little outpost. Mad with power. But I guess someone like you wouldn’t be judging a man for that.”

Jack smiled, more friendly this time without the rowful of teeth. There wasn’t really anything to lose. Billy leaned forward, despite the barrel of the Colt digging into his flesh, flicked the hat off Jack’s head and full-on kissed his would-be judge and executioner.

Jack inhaled in surprise, but returned the kiss full force, the faint taste of whiskey and the soft drink still on their lips intermingling. Jack eased the gun away, fumbling to put it back in the holster, breathing a quiet muffled moan into the kiss.

“Fuck-“ he said as he tore away. “Jesus Christ.”

“I would like the honor of fucking you. Just once. Before you bring my head in or whatever it is you do for proof of your kills.”

Jack was staring at him, pupils blown wide, still breathing hard.

“Take off your fucking coat. Let me look at ya,” Billy said, surprising himself with how imperious he sounded when he was in pretty dire straits.

Jack obeyed him wordlessly. Took off his coat, but didn’t give Billy much of a chance to admire him-- launched himself right back into the kiss, as if he were parched and Billy’s mouth was water. Jack’s figure hadn’t changed much since the show years, nice tapered waist that Billy instinctively grasped. Jack was a couple of inches shorter than him, and light enough that Billy simply lifted him off his feet, planting him on one of the water barrels stored in the alley. Jack didn’t protest, only pulled Billy in closer, pulling his hat out of the way before kissing him again.

They came apart again. Billy was out of breath too. “I’ll be honest, if you tease me like that I’m liable to just fuck you in the alley. Rather do it somewhere else. Unless you’re in a real rush to get to your next target.”

“Can’t say I am,” Jack said, still catching his breath.

“I don’t have a room at the inn. I sleep in a tent outside of town until there’s another cattle run.”

“Fine by me.” Jack shrugged. “I’ll fuck you under the stars. Inn here’s nothing to write home about-- got lice the one time I stayed the night coming through here before.”

Billy smiled wistfully. They rode out of town, the sun already low near the horizon, and the air quickly shifting from stifling to pleasantly cool to chilly. Jack was following behind him, having taken Billy’s rifle too. Billy thought about how maybe this was all a strange ploy to just kill him outside of the town line. Jack could shoot him from behind, and knowing his aim, he wouldn’t have any trouble dispatching him with one shot to the head, before Billy knew what hit him. But when Billy dared look behind him, Jack would smile, looking eager for what they had planned. No fear that Billy could lead him into an ambush of some sort. Pure unadulterated confidence. Billy found his tent site, and took a few minutes to build a small fire in the stone ring he’d made before. Maybe he was just stalling, knowing that once they did the deed, he was probably not long for this world. He saw Jack’s black boots come into his view once the fire was going strong.

“You wanna get on with it?” Jack said, and there was a note of whininess in his tone.

“Put the guns away, at least,” Billy muttered. “So I can peel you out of that outfit.”

His tent really wasn’t made for fucking—too narrow and low for anything but sleeping. The air wasn’t too cold yet. Billy lay out as many thick blankets as he could on the ground and Jack seemed to have no reservations, starting to strip himself down.

“You a seasoned rider?” Billy asked tugged off his brown pants.

Jack pulled a face. “Ridden my share. Tame, wild, you name it. Just so long as I like the look of it, I’ll ride it.”

This was a fantasy come true. That irritating pretty rodeo cowboy he was so taken with years ago was lying underneath him, ripe for the taking, admitting to wanting it. Billy opened his shirt carefully, not wanting to ruin the fancy tailoring or ivory buttons. The shirt wasn’t pristine white—there were pitstains and a bit of yellowness around the back of the collar. Jack wasn’t as perfect up close as he was in the rodeo ring. He smelled like horses, hay, and gunpowder.

“Reckon I’ll spare you if you’re real sweet to me,” Jack said, a smug smile on his face.

“And what if I’m rough?” Billy asked. He was almost reluctant to do it but reached into his boot and pulled out a sizeable knife that he pressed against Jack’s throat. Jack’s breath hitched, but he didn’t look too unnerved. This sick son-of-a-bitch looked like he was getting a thrill out of it.

“What if I’m rough with ya and take what I want then just slit your throat and leave you here in the desert for the crows?”

Jack was still smiling. “You won’t want to.”

“Why? Cause you’re such a good fuck?”

“Cause I like your style and you don’t seem like the kind.” Jack leaned forward, so that Billy instinctively moved the knife away from his throat before remembering himself.

Billy shoved him down into the blankets, holding him there because Jack kept trying to get up and resume kissing, or maybe intent on getting away and getting to the guns he’d discarded a few yards away. “Soft enough for you? Warm enough?”

Jack nodded. As Billy pulled Jack’s pants off his legs, his cock sprang out of its confines, raring to go. You’d never know they were negotiating who was going to murder whom. Jack Lander was a pretty little thing alright. A deadly, dangerous, unscrupulous little thing with a terrible profession, but Billy didn’t mind.

Billy didn’t want to have the knife in his hand. He wanted to take his time and enjoy this. As long as he kept this self-satisfied little strumpet of a man underneath him, he could probably hold him down with his weight. He threw the knife out of reach and picked up Jack’s legs over his own shoulders. He spat a gob of spit into his palm, quickly preparing himself, testing the body in front of him out with two probing fingers.

Jack squirmed but looked receptive, but when Billy pushed himself inside, there was a grunt of discomfort.

“Don’t have oil on me,” Billy muttered, kneading his hand against the soft flesh of Jack’s ass.

“Didn’t think you would,” Jack shot back, laughing.

Billy spat more into his hand, pulling out just enough to add a bit more to the mix.

“You gonna fuck me or what?” Jack said, sneering, moving his knees so Billy’s neck was squeezed tight between his calves. What Billy thought was a vulnerable position for Jack now let him choke Billy with relative ease. Billy shoved his legs down but Jack just wrapped his legs around Billy’s waist, digging his heels into him out of habit, as if even without spurs the motion could cause things to move along faster.

“Don’t you worry, I’ll fuck ya,” Billy gritted out through his teeth and set up a fast pace. He still couldn’t believe his fortune, both good and bad. He never thought anyone would bother looking for him—he hadn’t even shot that sheriff fatally, but he left town to be on the safe side and heard through hearsay that the bastard died of blood infection anyway. But if there was ever a good way to get hunted down this was probably it. If Jack Lander still managed to kill him, at least he got to fuck him first.

It was growing dark and the campfire cast flickering light along Jack’s pale skin, and their shadows against the tent looked elongated and distorted. Their two horses watched them from the post they’re tied to. Jack turned out to be quite a screamer, shouting and cursing into the empty desert when he came, hands going from tight fists to falling completely limp by his side. Billy pushed in quickly, relentlessly, satisfied that he made the other man mewl first. It wasn’t long before he came too. He slumped down on Jack, as much out of physical tiredness as growing mentally weary when he thought about how he’d probably have to kill Jack. At the very least, he’d have to take all the guns and both horses if he didn’t want Jack to follow him to the next town.

“You plottin’ what to do about me?” Jack asked, as if reading his mind. “I’m not gonna kill ya. I’m not gonna turn you in. I don’t need the money. I do this for my own pleasure.”

Billy relented and shifted his body weight off of him, courteously offering Jack the side closer to the campfire, but saying nothing.

Jack moved closer, pressing his body into Billy’s and looking sleepy. Neither was probably planning on it, but they fell asleep in the open air, only waking up when the fire died down and the air had gotten nippy. They shuffled into the tent, Jack falling asleep before Billy, squeezed close, arms in a loose embrace around him.

The next morning Jack was sitting there, watching Billy build another campfire. He looked half-asleep, shivering, wrapped in one of the blankets, with only his head showing and his hair mussed.

“I don’t have any more wood. We’re gonna have to resort to prairie coal this morning.”

“You think I’m so soft? That I never slept outdoors or made do with what’s out here?”

“You don’t look like you have.”

“Well you’re mistaken.” Jack looked away towards the horses before turning back. “I was meaning to ask you... if you were interested in my line of work at all?”

Billy only laughed in response.

“It’s not the most glamorous of jobs, I’ll give you that, but it’s better than doing cattle drives for other people. You might be good at catchin’ these villains.”

“Catching? Thought the point was to kill them. Dead or alive usually just means dead.”

Jack sighed.

“Why’re you so eager to get more competitors in your territory in any case?” Billy asked, finally stepping back from the fire to admire his handiwork, before putting a pot of morning coffee on.

“I was thinking more along the lines of a partnership. I do well enough on my own, but everyone needs a backup now and then. And it gets lonely out on the trail.”

Billy laughed. “Nah, you and I? We ain’t got anything in common. I never wanted to kill people as a profession.”

“Well, I know we’ve got an interest in the same type of night entertainment at least,” Jack muttered under his breath.

Billy stopped himself short when he caught himself imagining that kind of life. It was insane to even consider it.

“You don’t think Lander & Butcher has a certain ring to it?” Jack asked, smiling, unwrapping himself from the blanket and moving closer to the fire, stretching out his hands towards the flames. “We could bring some real frontier justice to these parts.”

[macaronholy]

Cowlander

[karokawwo]

i hope boothill shows up more in future quests/events OR better yet he gets the itto treatment and they give him an annual event but PLEAASE this cannot be last time I see him i'll die I'LL DIEE

[merry-andrews]

Adding a little doodle here :3>

I was thinking of a Homelander but in army too hehe. Him and Billy both are commanders but from different units, they actually can't stand eachother but their governments are working together so now they're stuck together in this mission.🤭💗

SOO Billy Butcher 

[joelsdagger]

homeland || one shot

joel miller x reader

special thanks to the lovely @5oh5 for providing me with plant resources many many many moons ago and to @phoeberidgers for lending me her eyes. ily both sm <33

pairing: jackson!joel x f!reader summary:  joel gets you ready for a day of horseback riding. warnings: jackson era, joel being his typical acts of service type of man, pet names, implied age gap, established relationship, angst, glimpses of domesticity, sliver of reader having anxiety [see: angst], horses [i feel like they need their own warning yk?]. joel is a big ol’ teddy bear, brief mentions of grief, referenced character death, reader is described of having hair long enough to braid, smidgen of a size kink. no smut – only fluff, rated E for everyone! **should also be noted this takes place years into their shared life together and they’re very much in love. SUE. ME. word count: 2.3k

masterlist || ao3 || follow @joelsdaggerupdates for notifs!!

“You doin’ your walk of shame, cowboy?” You half-shout from the porch when his tall form materializes down the street, the sun still rising on the horizon behind him. You know he’d headed out to the stables before first light, but you can’t deny you get a kick out of pulling his leg. 

His head drops, a slight shake at the pavement, and when he meets your eye again, a soft smile sprouts on his lips. “Needed to check on Callus, make sure he’s good to go,” he says, striding up the porch stairs.

You turn to meet him, railing pressed to your stomach, coffee mug in one hand, the other reaches for his chest, and you press your lips to his warm cheek. “Let me grab my boots and I’ll be right out,” you say mindlessly as he settles himself on the rickety chair. 

You crack open the front door, place the mug of coffee you’d been nursing all morning on the entry table, pick up your cowboy boots and Joel’s guitar leaning against the wall, and shut the door behind you. When you turn to face him, Joel pats his thigh, beckoning you over. You set aside the instrument and place yourself on his lap.

As you shuck off your slippers, his large hand comes up to brush your hair away from the nape of your neck, he lays a featherlight kiss there. “You got one of them hair ties on you, sweetheart?” 

You giggle at the warmth of his breath fanning across your neck, “I do.” You drop your boots down beside your feet and reach into the pocket of your jeans, pulling out a finicky black elastic.

He gathers your hair into his hands, dividing it into three large sections. After a few light pulls of each section, you realize he’s braiding your hair.  Warmth blooms in your chest at the feel of his thick fingers meticulously braiding one section over another with practiced ease. Like he’s done it a million times. 

“Last time it was flappin’ around in your face. You can’t see where you’re headed like that,” he murmurs. You close your eyes and hum, lose yourself to the therapeutic pull of his fingers through your hair. 

“Did you do her hair? Sarah’s?” you ask somewhat absentmindedly. 

You don’t hesitate to bring her up in conversation. Joel has talked about her, shared pieces of his life with you, bit by bit. The first mention of her seemingly on accident, only a fleeting moment, but after the second time, you deduced he fully intended on letting you in, on his life before.

“Used to braid her hair for her games. Horse riding too,” he says faintly, tone seeped in affection.

You smile softly, prideful. It took him years to get here, but Joel slowly realized his grief was the unexpressed love he’d always have for his little girl — love that had nowhere else to go. He found that in the missing, he’d grown closer to her. He’s since filled an emptiness he once knew with little moments that honor her life. 

Lost in the slow rhythmic movement of Joel’s fingers in your hair, in the comfort his touch instantly provides, your mind wanders; imagine Joel — many years younger, frantically getting his little girl ready. Threading that golden hair into an elastic, vibrantly colored and a charm dangling from the band, perfectly on trend for young girls in that era. You even picture little Sarah putting hair ties in her dad’s hair, if he ever grew it out as much as he does now. You smile to yourself, an ache in your chest flares; it’s not hard to picture, but it’s not easy to think about what could have been. 

The deep bass of Joel’s voice pulls you from your reverie. “Took a few times, but Tommy n’ I figured it out,” he says simply, his words slipping into a light chuckle. 

He holds out his hand, palm up, and you drop the hair tie in his hand. The elastic snaps as he ties off the braid. And when he’s finished, he presses a palm to your lower back, and mutters a low, turn around.  

You oblige and twist to face him; the corners of his eyes crinkle as they dance across your face, and his fingers tug gently at the curved bowl of your ear. “Beautiful,” he marvels, his lips connecting with your forehead, laying a long kiss there as he inhales the berry scent of your hair.  

“Almost forgot,” he mumbles and leans back in the porch chair as he reaches into the pocket of his jacket. Pinched between his fingers is a small flower, one with dazzling bubblegum pink petals and a splash of gold at the center — an aster flower. 

You bite back a grin. “Where’d you get that?” you ask him pointedly. 

He avoids your gaze, slips one finger through a loop of the hair tie, threads the dark green stem through with gentle care. “Uh,” Joel clears his throat, “plucked it on the way from Mrs. Doyle’s yard.” 

Your mouth pops open, feigning surprise. He’s quick to defend himself, already sensing your disapproval. “What she don’t know, won’t kill her,” the right corner of his mouth twitches up in a smirk, and he releases your braid. 

You mirror his smirk, and you scoot up his thighs. Firm hands find your hips, anchoring you in his lap, and you interlock your fingers behind the nape of his neck as you lean closer. “You know, Mrs. Doyle told me once that all plants have meanings,” you say against his mouth. 

He hums. “She tell you what they mean?” 

You peck just beneath the plush of his bottom lip, and his hands squeeze your waist, his eyes crease. “Mmm. Perhaps.” Your mouth drifts to the corner of his, the silver hairs on his mustache tickling your lips. 

“What’s this one mean, sweet baby?” he asks softly, his fingers coming up to toy with the loose strands at the end of your braid, glowing adoration in his gaze as he looks up at you from beneath his lashes.  

You know what it means. Mrs. Doyle, who ran an apothecary before the outbreak, practically gave you a rundown of what she likes to call A Beginner’s Guide to Floriography. She never fails to jabber your ear off every time she supplies you with herbs. In the beginning, for your period cramps, and then some odd years later, when you and Joel started messing around, in which she was the first to catch on, she supplied you periodically with plants for an herbal tea to avoid any unwelcome surprises. 

You’re silently thankful for her. You know exactly what it means, and you certainly know that Joel knows what it means. The observant man that he is, his every move is intentional; he wouldn’t just pick a flower amongst the many simply for its beauty.

But that doesn’t mean you can’t mess with him a little. “If you had been patient instead of sneaking off while she wasn’t looking, maybe she would’ve told you,” you goad. 

“Oh, I reckon she would, after she’d tell me her whole life story.” 

“That’s cruel, baby.” 

He tuts. “I’m cruel? I ain’t the one withholdin’ information.” With a light yank to the end of your braid, a smirk quirks his lips. 

You shrug, feigning seriousness, “It’s gotta be one of those poisonous flowers used in witchcraft and hexes.” 

He raises an eyebrow. “Is that right?” 

You nod. “Something about calling upon evil spirits. Wishing ill upon me and everyone I’ve ever loved. That sorta thing.”  

He snorts and shakes his head, murmurs something under his breath that you can’t quite make out; you think it’s something about giving him more grays.

You smirk and unhook your arms, twisting your body around in his lap to pull your boots on. And Joel runs the palm of his hand down your back, stopping at the base of your spine; his other hand reaches down and tugs the top of your cowboy boot, assessing the fit of them. “These the ones I brought back?” he asks, peering over your shoulder. 

“Mhm. Finally get to break them in,” you start and pat your hands on your denim-clad thighs before standing up. “Alright, ready?” 

He nods, groaning as he stands to grab his guitar, looping it over his shoulder, and walks in tandem beside you down the porch and onto the street, arm over your shoulder the whole way. 

—

There’s a cool breeze in the air as you and Joel reach the stables. You stand idly at the gate while Joel steps in and walks Callus out of his stable, both of your backpacks already saddled on either side of him. 

You turn, give two of the men manning the wall a firm nod, and they open the gate. You step out of the settlement and make your way down the trail; the east gate groans as the men on guard promptly close the barrier between the living and the dead. 

Minutes pass, and you reach the clearing. Joel releases the reins and beckons you towards him with a flick of his head. 

Joel strokes over Callus’ mane. “Figured you should be up front this time, get you used to it,” he says. 

Panic settles in your stomach, Joel sees it threaten to spill across your face. He steps forward, squeezes your hand in his. “S’okay, you can do it, baby,” he says softly. 

You hesitate, feel Callus nudge his muzzle into your palm, your eyes flitting between him and Joel. “Joel. I’ve never–” 

“Hey,” he starts, taking your face in his calloused hands, his head dipping to meet your eye line, “you can. We all start somewhere.” You glance into his eyes, the flecks of amber swimming in his hazel irises, and somehow it brings you at ease. Slightly. 

He pecks your lips twice in quick succession. “Better?” he asks. You nod numbly, tossing him a weak smile. 

Joel bends, puts one hand over the other, and you place a wobbly foot up into his hands. With one hand gripping the horn of the saddle and the other on the seat, you throw your other leg over Callus. Joel grunts a low, there you go, as he boosts you up.  

“Attagirl,” he praises, patting the small of your back before swiftly hoisting himself up behind you.

Your back is flush to his chest; he loops a hand around your front to settle on your stomach. You sense he can feel your uneasiness, your muscles tensing beneath his hand. “Remember what I said last time? He can sense your fear. Have faith in the fella.”  

His words fall on deaf ears, and you let go of the reins, the leather already hot and damp in your sweaty palms. You wipe your hands on your denim-clad thighs, cursing yourself under your breath, knowing you’re burning daylight. 

Your shoulders tense at the realization, expecting to hear a low huff of contempt or a quiet sigh of frustration from behind you.

But nothing comes of it. 

Joel moves his hand up your stomach, follows the slats of your ribs, and whispers softly against the shell of your ear, “Close your eyes f’me.”

You obey, eyes fluttering shut. “Now deep breath in…hold it...” His hand steady as your diaphragm expands, your lungs filling with air. “Now breathe out. Slow. Slow.” 

And you do, matching your breathing to his gentle instructions, feeling the anxiety wring itself out from within. 

Until Callus moves slightly beneath you, strong hooves that thump in place. Your eyes tear open, a freakish whimper slips past your lips, your feet lock in the stirrups.

“Easy. Easy. I gotcha, baby. You’re alright, darlin. C’mon, one more time for me.” 

His other hand squeezes your hip, a gentle command. “Stay with me. In and out, you got it, honey.” 

Your stomach settles, and Joel tucks a loose lock of hair behind your ear, careful fingers running  down your braid. “Helps me sometimes,” he says simply. 

You frown, suddenly embarrassed. “I’m sorry,” you mumble. 

Joel stiffens behind you. “You don’t gotta do that.” 

“I feel stupid. I’m sorry it’s taking me so long…to get used to it.” 

You can feel Joel shaking his head. “Look at me,” he urges, his voice low and firm.

You peer behind you, meet the hues of concern in his eyes, the twists of his brows. “None of that, we’ve got time. I’ve got time.” 

Your eyes flit to the collar of his shirt, suddenly interested in the faded neckline. He senses you’re not convinced. “Listen here, you say the word ‘n we quit. We head back ‘n forget it. S’your call, baby.” 

Something pulls at you. Maybe it’s his unwavering patience and attentiveness. Maybe it’s the moment from earlier that loops back in your head. Joel’s expert fingers threading through your hair while talking about his daughter. The reminder of his and her shared love of horses. Maybe it’s the reminder that this moment, with you here, keeps her memory alive. Maybe it’s an urge to further crack his stony walls. That urge to know her and him through this. And you think it’s why he’s so adamant to see this through. You see it in the real joy it brings him every time he takes you beyond Jackson’s walls. See it when the sun sinks behind the hills, cotton candy weaving through the sky. My Sarah would’a loved this, he’d say fondly, with an adoring smile so big his eyes gleam. Teaching you not only lets you know this part of him, but it also allows him to strengthen his connection to her, to reach out to her, twenty years later. 

It all melds together and it nudges you on. You manage to mutter a feeble, thank you. 

He kisses the nape of your neck and readjusts your braid down the line of your back. “You got it, baby.”

Your head turns to face the horizon, the burst of persimmon that spills across the sky. You hesitate to click your tongue. And Joel’s hand retakes its place over your stomach. “S’okay. M’right here, darlin’. I ain’t gonna let nothin’ happen to you.”

[artbyblastweave]

I've been thinking about Garth Ennis' "Of thee I Sing" and it's read on Superman, and wondering if Homelander is an inverse of that. Mostly because of curious of whether Homelander is a commentary on Superman specifically, or if he is a commentary on Superheroes as a whole and the similarities to Superman are just a consequence of Superman's monumental influence on the genre

"The Opposite of Superman in "Of Thee I Sing" isn't a bad read.

A lot of Garth Ennis's written oeuvre concerns, in some way or another, the impossibility of truly living up to the narratives around which we build meaning in our lives. Preacher, when it isn't a comic about Literally Killing God, rapidly oscillates between a sincere love of the mythology of the Cowboy and The American Dream and an acute awareness of the incredible violence that propelled both of those things, and Superman's crisis in issue 34 of Hitman has to do with the realization that his own infallibility as a hero is becoming part of that same bogus tapestry- how, when he fails to save someone who knows that he's trying to, that functionally constitutes their entire worldview being shattered just before they're killed horribly. To which, at least in the 90s, Ennis's synthesis-response to this tension was pretty consistently that the impossibility of living up to a good idea isn't a reason to stop trying, because at the end of the day you have to stand for something. Tommy Monaghan (who's on the same rooftop as Supes in order to snipe a slumlord) pins Superman and what he stands for as the best shot that anyone will ever have to genuinely embody the supposed ideals of America- and "if a chance is all we can hope for, well, maybe that ain't so bad."

By the time he got around to The Boys, though, a decade had passed, Bush had been elected twice, and the Great War on Terror was grinding millions into mincemeat for the sake of making the number go up for Cheney's boardroom buddies, and I think Ennis's ability to muster enthusiasm about aspirational symbols had taken a pretty serious hit. From here we derive the depiction of a Superman figure who's an utterly self-absorbed corporate-attack-dog turned lukewarm wannabe ubermensch- a contrast to Garth's consistent characterization of Superman as someone whose principle issue is that he cares about others beyond what's possible for his behavior to ever reflect:

Indeed, a fairly common criticism of Homelander is and was that beyond extremely superficial aesthetic signifiers he had next to nothing in common with Superman as a character, and as a consequence quite a bit of his vileness was viewed as mere shadowboxing. But, as you said, Homelander was never really about Superman so much as he was being used as a synecdoche for America-as-it-actually-is- this big, gaudy, self-important corporate extrusion of unity, moral certainty and wholesomeness slapped like a band-aid over the unfixable, unsalvagable morass of systemic abuse, graft, self-interest, and mass murder that rules over us all. And I think that this is basically a fair cop, because we can argue all day over which specific element of the mythos best represents Superman or any other character, but the reality is that the mythos got as big as it did hand-in-hand with the corporate engine that feeds them and feeds off of them in turn.

I believe that this, in turn, is a major element of why Amazon's version of The Boys went gangbusters; Homelander still doesn't pattern-match to Superman particularly well beyond the superficial, but what he can be is an amalgamation and a face for the capeshit blob that was marginal in 2006 but had eaten the media landscape wholescale by 2019. It's sufficiently big and overexposed that everyone is at least peripherally aware of the complaints levied at the project- the focus-grouping, the sanding, the two-faced lukewarm progressivism, the ten thousandth first gay character while ticket money is getting funneled to frothing reactionaries, actors who're cyclically deified and pilloried when their grotesque politics and personal conduct enter the public eye, the constant churn of self-justifying content, the knowledge that after whatever wholesome redditbait Big Damn hero moments they feed us Disney is still off in the background Being Disney to everyone, with all the horror that entails. I wholeheartedly believe that Homelander and what he's a shorthand for would be totally legible to someone who's never actually seen an entire MCU flick- the comic had some biting remarks about the state of an industry that was ultimately a nonentity for most people, but you can't miss it now.

[beardedalcoholic]

Space Cowboys

The humans had abandoned them. After seemingly endless cycles of fighting the battle was about to be lost and the war with it, and the humans had left them to fight for themselves.

‘So much for the legendary pack-bonding of humans.’ Krillna thought to himself as he leaned around his bunker to lay down some suppressing fire on the enemy. Tungsten rods magnetically accelerated to near supersonic speed ripped into the battle field and enemies died by the dozens…but it wasn’t enough.

Seemingly endless waves of the reptilian enemies known as the Slentine seemed to crawl and slither towards their position. Fields of scales and fangs greeted him every time he looked around his barrier, looks of desperation and hopelessness looked back every time he turned away from the battle.

“You would think the humans could have at least left us the weapons before they ran like cowards!” cried out one soldier before he was cut down by enemy fire.

Rollin’ rollin’ rollin’

“Did anyone else hear that?” Krillna asked after firing another salvo of rounds towards the slowly advancing enemy. Looking at his ammo counter and seeing it was empty, Krillna threw his weapon to the ground and grabbed the ceremonial bone dagger the warriors of his people were gifted upon maturity.

Rollin’ rollin’ rollin’

Holding the blade to his chest and breathing the prayers of his youth, Krillna begged the seven skies of his homeland for the power of the mighty storm, pleaded for his spirit to be flown on the winds to his ancestors. Finding himself at the end of his prayers and ready to face the enemy head on and to fight tooth, bone and claw in the ways of his ancestors, Krillna couldn’t help but think he heard something on the wind again. Looking to the forest side of the battlefield, Krillna felt a rumbling through the pads of his clawed foot.

Rollin’ rollin’ rollin’ RAWHIIIIIDE!

With the sound of thunder and snapping trees, Krillna felt all three of his hearts stop and fall.

Gierophants, mighty horned beasts weighing several tons with great crests of hardened skin behind the skull to protect the neck and a row of spines extending the length of the spine, each one several times as tall as Krillna’s seven foot frame. Easy to anger, nearly impossible to outrun, harder to damage and often found in herds of fifty to one-hundred the gierophant was this world’s largest inhabitant, but Krillna thought he saw something on the back of the lead beast.

Humans.

Humans were riding the gierophants…a herd of what looked to be sixty or more and each one had a human standing on the snout of the creature and even more behind the crest or between the dorsal spines.

RAIN AND WIND AND WEATHER

The humans were either lashed to a spine or each other with lengths of rope and each one was firing wildly into the horde of enemies, hanging sideways from the flanks of the great beasts, weaving between the spines, crouching behind the crest and all were firing their rifles.

HELL BENT FOR LEATHER

“Sir? Am I having a substance dream or are those humans riding Gierophants into the Slentine ranks in a stampede while singing what sounds like a human battle song?” A young warrior asked in disbelief as the battle field seemed to come to a stop. The pause didn’t last long as the slentine soldiers quickly turned their weapons on the stampede of human madness and animal rage.

WISHING MY GIRL WAS BY MY SIIIDEEE!

“You are most definitely seeing this pup, the crazy humans went and did the impossible again…WARRIORS OF CANTRAXA!” Krillna called out to the stunned warriors behind him, filled with a renewed hope for victory.

“DRAW YOUR BLADES AND RELOAD YOUR WEAPONS, THE HUMANS HAVE GIVEN US THIS CHANCE AND BY THE FIRE PLAINS OF OUR HOME WORLD I WILL NOT STAND BY AND MAKE NOTHING OF IT!” Holding his blade high above his head the Pack-Master let loose the battle cry of his ancestors with such ferocity that it seemed to ring from the very heavens, turned from his comrades and ran face first into the chaos of the newly evened battle.

ALL THE THINGS IM MISSIN’

Three hardened battle packs of Cantraxa warriors, thought to be beaten down by sheer numbers and attrition, thought to be defeated and simply too stupid to understand… howled. Each and every one felt what the humans referred to as battle lust and with the feeling of fire singing in their veins each and every one reached deep into their souls and called the ancient war cries of times long past. GOOD VITTLES, LOVE AND KISSIN’

The humans sang on, swinging wildly from the sides of the Gierophants or hanging on with one hand and firing with the other, seemingly oblivious to the rounds of enemy’s fire flying past them. With every human felled the others seemed to sing louder. Krillna was in awe of these small hairless creatures as he ran towards the battle, they rode the great beasts of this world like they were born to it, they faced a horde of enemies without fear and sang their defiance in the face of death and defeat. ARE WAITING AT THE END OF MY RIIIIIIDEEEEE~

================================================

The battle was won, the slentine ranks had been broken in half by the stampede and when the front ranks turned to fire on the new threat they were drowned in an avalanche of fur and fang, bullet and bone from the Cantraxa warriors.

The humans had run over and shot down much of the enemy, the field had been churned to a bloody mud pit of broken bodies and weapons, the Gierophants were long gone by then, the humans had dismounted and returned to base.

Krillna watched in curious amazement as the humans went about their post battle chores.

Groups of humans combing the battlefield for survivors, pulling bodies from the muck and determining if they could be saved or not. Slentine and Cantraxian alike were given final honors or medical aid…mere hours before these small hairless maniacs were riding juggernauts of death into battle while singing and laughing and now, they were providing aid and respect to not only their comrades but the enemy as well.

Amazing graaaceee

A hauntingly sad and seemingly profound song floated like fog over the battle field from somewhere among the humans.

How sweet the sound

Funeral pyres and graves were dug according to cultural wishes, wounded were cared for regardless of species or alignment in the war. Bodies counted and tears were shed that day and as the last sun in the sky fell below the horizon, Krillna found himself surrounded by his warriors and humans.

Holding a strange liquid in his cup, the humans called it beer…or maybe stout?...Krillna looked to the leader of the humans as she stood upon a table laden with food and drink.

“Tonight, we celebrate our victory!” The humans cheered and the Cantraxans yipped and howled like pups.

 “Tonight, we mourn our glorious fallen!” With a silence that choked the very soul, every human raised their drink to the memory of those they had lost and drank deeply. Krillna and his warriors all mimicked the humans in their silence and honors.

 “Tonight…we honor our worthy enemies.” The commander of the humans raised her cup one last time and as one all the humans followed. Krillna could not see the reason behind the last one but was not about to comment on it while surrounded by humans.

Instruments were tuned and soon employed to their fullest extent as humans began dancing and singing, wagers were made, games were played and for a few moments Krillna could almost believe that they were simply back in his homeland celebrating the lunar convergence festival.

Spotting the human leader on the outskirts of the revelry Krillna silently approached the human as she slowly drank and watched those she had shed blood with. Stepping on a fallen can of some kind alerted the commander and as she whipped her head towards Krillna, he froze in place…the look in her eyes was not that of a celebration, but rather that of battle mad soldiers. Items within reach categorized as weapons, responses and plans ranging from peacefully violent to disturbingly chaotic flashed through her face in seconds. Her grip on the cup she held and the tensing of her muscles told Krillna that she had to stop herself from launching the cup at his face.

Raising his clawed hands in a sign of peace Krillna approached the commander slowly. As he approached the tiny human, no more than five feet tall, Krillna noticed tears leaking from her eyes in a steady stream cutting tracks through the remaining dirt and grime upon her cheeks. Hands shaking the commander raised the nearly impromptu projectile to her mouth and took a steadying sip before addressing the large warrior.

“What can I do for you Pack-Master?” Asked the commander as she turned her eyes back to the celebration before her.

“You do not celebrate victory like the others? Why do you spill tears so freely War Mother?” Krillna asked, using the honorific of the greatest female warriors of his people.

“I uh…it just takes a little time for me to wind down from battle and get into the spirit of things, eventually I’ll head out and show these youngsters how to really party but for now I will just have to deal with the aftermath of the adrenalin.” The commander said with a small shake to her voice.

“I have heard of this adrenalin, most species would simply die if exposed to it but you humans produce it naturally?” The Pack-Master asked.

“Yes, our bodies naturally produce it and well…it dissipates quicker for some and for others it sticks around longer. Battle madness, bloodlust, berserker rage and more are just different names of the same thing, active or excess adrenalin…our minds are changed and muscles freed of restraints while under its influence but afterwards we have to put the beast back in the cage and deal with the mess it made, physically, mentally and spiritually.” The commander responded with a look in her eyes that said she was looking deep into the past.

“How did you humans tame the Gierophants? It was previously thought impossible to even safely approach them never mind ride them or direct them.” Krillna asked in an attempt to steer the conversation away from the maudlin thoughts the commander seemed to be sinking into.

With an almost visible brightening of her features the commander looked up at Krillna.

“We didn’t actually tame them, we were trying to find either a good escape route to get everyone out or possibly a way to ambush the Slentine army, make them fight on two fronts as it were. We ran across the herd of Gierophants by accident and sort of came up with the plan on the spot, we figured if they started to stampede in our direction the base would be destroyed but if they went just little to the side they would hit our enemies. Jackson over there used to be what we call a ‘Cowboy’ and said if you can point a bull’s nose in one direction the body would follow, so we made some lassos and climbing rigs and well, the rest is history.” The commander finished with a small shrug and a decidedly less shaky sip of her drink.

 Krillna was almost to shocked to breath.

“You found a herd of the planet’s largest and most dangerous animal, decided to irritate them into charging you with the enemy directly behind, hoping that they would run over said enemy and while they did that you threw ropes on them so you could climb onto them and ride them…you humans are insane.” with a shake of his great furred head Krillna could only thank the seven skies that these lunatics were on their side.

With a laugh the commander tipped the last of her drink back and wrapped her hand around one of his fingers, his hand being large enough to completely encompass her own, and began to pull him towards the firelight of the bonfires, a mischievous light in her eyes and a smile that spoke of wicked delights to come on her lips.

“Oh you haven’t even begun to see the madness of humanity, come and we shall sing you songs of our people.” The commander laughed as the crowd enveloped them, music wound through the air like smoke, soldiers and warriors alike danced and spun and Krillna could only laugh as he downed the rest of his drink and threw reservations to the wind with a final thought.

‘Humans are weird, but wonderful.

[supreme-leader-stoat]

With proper Space Age Cosmere just over the horizon, from what we've seen, Sanderson is very good at making the cultures he already had us fall in love with fucking infuriating from an outside perspective. Like damn, with Sixth of Dusk and The Sunlit Man, Scadrians are a bunch of fucking bitches, aren't they?

[ic3dior]

My takes on where the daggers/flyboys come from (more for my own use than anything) Also for the record I’m not American idk the vibe of every state.

So flyboys:

Ice is either from Alaska or Louisiana, to me he gives stronger Alaska vibes though. Alaska is consistently cold and snowy, his callsign is iceman. There’s a history there I’m telling you

Slider: okay majorly controversial, but I’m big on the German slider hc, so generations back the Kerner family moved to the us because of the east/west division but sliders parents moved back when he was 5/6, but slider ultimately decided to move back to the US. But if you want a state I’d say Pennsylvania

Goose: California. San Diego specifically. He probably took Carole and Young Bradley all around the city pointing stuff out when they visited when he was at topgun since they’d never been stationed there before and goose was excited

Maverick: don’t hate me, North Carolina or Virginia. The East coast just makes sense for him idk

Hollywood: this one’s hard for me but I’d have to say he gives Idaho or Arizona vibes. Like western ish but not full on cowboy country.

Wolfman: Texas. The cowboy hat screams yeehaw country to me

Chipper; Kentucky

Sundown: Kansas

Daggers:

Bradley: California born and raised, goose was stateside for his birth and it happened that they were stationed in San Diego. Also happened that he was born in gooses homeland.

Hangman: yeehaw. Need I say more??

Fanboy: he gives Nevada vibes to me idk

Payback: Oregon idk, again it’s just the vibes

Phoenix: either California or Wisconsin

Bob: Remember how Phoenix said “you’re my new backseater? From lemoore?” When they met, it gives me vibes that Bob spent most of his career stationed there when not on aircraft carriers so I’m gonna go with California again.

Coyote: Nevada or Colorado

[princessnijireiki]

https://www.tiktok.com/@thinkpiecetribe2/video/7519186989342592287

Transcript:

Beyoncé saw all the "Cowboy Carter is American propaganda" discourse on this app, and said to herself, "This isn't even my final form."

'Cause why the fuck did she just release a t-shirt in regards to the Buffalo Soldiers, talking about, and I quote, "Their antagonists were the enemies of peace, order and settlement: warring Indians, bandits, cattle thieves, murderous gunmen, bootleggers, trespassers, and Mexican revolutionaries. All these they met many times and with success, regardless of extremes of climate and terrain that ranged from the broken, rugged, and torrid Big Bend of Texas to the rolling plains, badlands and sub-freezing temperatures of South Dakota. Many a frontier official owed his life and his job to the support given him by these black men in blue, and many more farmers and ranchers slept soundly in their beds because a thin line of black troopers guarded them from harm."

Like, no bullshit, she just straight up called Native Americans, the indigenous people of this land, "enemies of peace" for protecting their homeland from colonizers. What does that sound like? Do we know what that sounds like? Yeah, we do, that sounds like American propaganda!

And it's not just American propaganda, it's copaganda as well. I'm not seeing a lot of people clock that, but look at the lines in here. Talking 'bout some damn, oh, "to the support given him by these 'black men in blue'." Oh, "more farmers and ranchers slept soundly in their beds because a 'thin line' of black troopers guarded them from harm." What does this sound like, y'all? Like, y'all gotta start connecting the dots.

So now that we know this exists, I want y'all to do two things. One, apologize to Hannah (TikTok user @ hannah.is.over.this), 'cause her take continues to be correct to this day. And two, expect Andrew Jackson's Indian Removal Act speech to be used as lyrics for Beyoncé's rock album.

Higher resolution image of the text on the back of the t-shirt. The quote is taken from "The Buffalo Soldiers: A Narrative of the Negro Cavalry in the West" by William H. Leckie, published in 1967. The shirt is either a vintage '80s-90s design from the brand Screen Stars, or a reprint of it, which would indicate an additional amount of effort was put into sourcing and tailoring for stage performance wear.

[dallasgallant]

American remains- Ghost Au lore post

I do have a eventual actual fic coming for this au so it won’t be as extensively written out here like for my vampire au, it helps that it’s also more canon aligned so there’s not too much extra world building involved.

World-

The world will be that of the canon world just with a tad more belief in ghosts/ they exist. I’d think it’d be easy to believe in legends and ghost when driving alone at night in a plains state anyway.

With that in mind it wouldn’t be uncommon to see a cowboys final ride or a soldiers last stand play out again and again. The people of Tulsa know it’s not just a building settling or the air conditioner.

It’s easy to believe if you open yourself to it, but you never expect your encounter to be with someone you knew. Ponyboy didn’t.

Ghosts-

All types of ghosts exist in this world, a lot of them being the more grounded ‘real life’ orbs and cold spots and simpler manifestations like that. There was moments that replay but aren’t a direct ghost more shadows of the past, buildings absorb negative energy and tragedy etc.

I want to focus more on direct apparitions as that’s what Johnny and Dally would be classified as, a bit of the standard fair when it comes to ghosts… sudden or violent death, stuck in this plane etc.

But with a twist, I really want this au to explore the cycles of grief and how it’s a non linear thing- and in this case affects the living and the dead. In the end no one moves on entirely…

It’s all about what makes a ghost or what makes a person stay, the cycles of grief and trauma, the weight people carry of a place and time or someone. The power of memory!

A huge inspiration for this au, beyond cowboy and civil war ghosts was the line towards the end of the book where Pony is thinking about boys who crumble under street lamps and jump at their own shadow and even himself— about how it’s too late for some but not others.

And it reminds me of American Remains by the Highwaymen and its chorus:

We are heroes of the homeland, American remains. We live in many faces and answer many names. We will not be forgotten, we won't be left behind. Our memories live on in mortal minds. And poets pens, we'll ride again.

How broader issues connect people in their struggle and how people get left behind over and over but are never forgotten- they come back. They’re simultaneously forgotten and immortalized - so many alike but also individual. Pony already wrote about them…

The thought that memory and pain bind. People die but ideas don’t.

It’s late and I really hope it’s understandable how this connects to ghosts and grief.

The au isn’t all deep subjects sometimes… it’s just neat spooky stuff.

Ghosts have a lot more agency when it comes to ‘moving on’ than traditional stories, it’s that they trap themselves. Or forget. At the end of the day ghosts are human- their cycles are too.

Unfinished business is less of a task and more of something they have to figure out- find acceptance/peace with.

Ghost lore-

A lot of haunting involves utilizing energy and radio frequencies to interact with the rest of the world. In the modern (1960s) age- radio and power lines are abundant. Ghosts prefer to be visible— with visibility comes personhood. It’s not constant, depending on energy and their connection it could be hard to keep it up.

Ghosts appear as they died, in most cases. Johnny tends to… flicker. Sometimes it’s a hospital gown, sometimes it’s jeans and a shirt but the burns remain. When haunting and not just wandering he’d prefer to be clothed.

[Included picture reference for Ponyboy as he’s the only of the living gang to undergo a more ‘drastic’ change. The others would just look a little older.]

Dally may constantly bleed but his blood will not stain anything, it disappears a few minutes after he does. What will stain is a residue left behind from ghost interacting with objects (fun non angsty lore)

To communicate with the living they’d have to manipulate radio, to those they speak with they’ll be a warm crackle to their voice as they speak through it … the voice always sounds distant too despite being right in front of you. (Sort of like making themselves a spirit box)

Johnny and Dally are both Semi-cognizant at the start of the au, both hyper aware of death and the passage of time but for them no time has passed. It is always then. Stuck in a place and time mentally and physically.

Out there on the sides of roads, out there in the dark waiting to be noticed and spoken to. Their main sort of “territory” is the roads and fields leading to windrixville, only sometimes making it fully back to Tulsa.

There’s been several times pony thought he saw them but it isn’t until they show up in the backseat of his car one late night drive it’s revealed. He’s driven by enough times, the ghosts get tired of waiting. Their first interaction is brief as pony nearly swerves off the road.

The two of them want desperately to reconnect with the gang, I’ve recently heard this but they “haunt for company.”

Don’t quite know where it’ll go yet but I’d love to hear ideas or see where others take it :)

Living-

Since this au is a tad more tied to canon these are also my general future headcanons, so if you see them in other works…

-

Ponyboy: 17. more of a troublemaker than he was as a young teen. He’s not doing anything too wild but will jack a car or two, gotten his grades back on track but is unsure where he wants to go with his life. Currently working at a grocery store to help out.

Soda: 19. started a career as a trucker, is around less than usual but still communicates with everyone via radio (Steve had begged for one to be put in at the DX) and phone calls when he gets the chance

Darry: 23. still working the same two jobs but is aiming towards a bookkeeping focus (pony is trying to push him that way) can understand Pony a little better, is more worried about Soda on the road at the moment. Better adjusted as he managed to keep them all together and Pony is set to graduate down the line.

Steve: 20. Graduated high school! Is still at the DX working on cars, he worked towards a managerial position and hopes to own a mechanic shop of his own someday or work up to a dealership. Had a radio installed at the station so he and pony can talk with Soda more often than waiting for phone calls, he gets along better with Pony.

Two-bit: 21. Ultimately got his GED! Like Pony he’s not sure what he is going to do with his life, is looking for a job (which Steve won’t let him live down)

[tribalauthor]

Most Wanted (roman × sophia one-shot)

Summary: After their hard work around Wrestlemania season, Roman and Sophia are invited in Austin, Texas by his cousin and they enjoy their time in the countryside far away from New York.

A/N: if you want more deep dive in their story, check out my fic The Wisewoman.

Warnings: age difference, smutty

word count: 4K

April 13 2024, 9.47am

Sophia's POV:

"Of course, I will. Are you kidding me?" Joe was talking on the phone with one of his million cousins.

We just woke up a little while ago and his phone rang. Now after Wrestlemania is officially over, we are devoted to our well-deserved rest. We sleep 'till late, we workout, we make love and we go to some secret places around New York. All the travelling drained us and we decided to stay in homeland for a bit. Well, technically New York isn't Joe's homeland but it's his current place of living, so it's somewhere close to that term.

"Yes, with Soph. I don't go anywhere without her, at this point. You gotta meet her." I am looking at Joe clueless because I have no idea what's going on. He seems delighted, so I guess everything is fine.

"Should we book a hotel or..." silence. We just got an invitation, I suppose. "Are you sure?" silence. "Okay, great. We are gonna start packing. See ya later." he said 'bye' and hung up.

Later?!

"Soph, do you wanna go to Texas?" Joe asked me casually.

"Are you kidding me? Yes. I have always wanted to go to the countryside." I replied excitingly. "What's the occasion?"

"My cousin's son is quarterback of Texas Longhorns and he is having that big game coming tomorrow. Going after his uncle's steps." I could sense the ray of emotions going through my boyfriend. He seems so proud.

"I didn't know you had cousins in Texas." I slightly pushed his arm.

"Us, Samoans are everywhere, baby. I have cousins in almost each state of America, I'm convinced." he slightly chuckled. "And even across."

"This cousin's name is Jonah. He has three kids and the oldest one, Dylan, is a freshman in the Texas college and we are gonna watch his game. I think you and Jonah's wife are gonna get along very well." he gave me a little background information.

"And we are gonna stay in their house?" I couldn't help but ask.

"Yeah, Jonah said it's no problem. The house is big enough. Can't wait to see him and the kids. It's been so long." Joe has very deep love for his family and I really love that about him. He also tries to be there for all of them as much as it is possible.

"Can't wait to meet another portion of your bloodline." I giggled. "Oh my God. I gotta buy some outfits that scream TEXAS." it suddenly hit me. Also I stared at Joe imagining him with cowboy hat, no shirt and those cowboy jeans with belt and my mouth started watering.

He looked at me confused. "What?"

"Nothing, let's drink coffee." I changed the topic but my accent accidentally slipped out. I said 'coffee' in the most New York way possible.

"First breakfast and then cwofee, babygirl." Joe just clowned the New York accent. I am fifth generation New Yorkian but I have never had a too strong accent because I try to surpress it and sound as dilligent as possible.

"Oh, shut up, Mr. Flor-duh." I did an impression of a Floridan accent. Then he grabbed me softly by the neck with his side arm, tryna pull a DDT on me.

4.29pm

Breakfast? Done.

Coffee? Done.

Workout? Done.

Shopping? Done.

Right now we are in Joe's private jet sitting side by side on the light-leather seats and we just finished 'Anna Karenina'. Seeing how much I like reading, Joe also started reading more. It feels strange in some way. Like seeing the high school jocks in the literature club.

"Karenin is a fool." Joe concluded as he closed his copy. "Imagine having such a gracious wife like Anna and not giving her the intimacy she deserves. He fumbled. He really fumbled." I started laughing out loud. "No wonder she cheated on him."

"Very interesting way of interpretation." I remarked. "I do sense truth in what you say but that 'passion' and 'emotional connection' Anna craved for cost her everything" I said my point. "Making her kid an orphan, losing his mother at such an early age. She wanted to go against the norms but I guess she wasn't strong enough and did the easisest exit - suicide." I shook my head in disappointment.

"I think Tolstoy also wanted to express that cheating brings nothing good." Joe added and I nodded my head in agreement.

"Exactly. She thought Vronsky was her escapism. Although he was, it wasn't for long and most importantly, it definitely didn't end well for both of them. In conclusion, do not cheat. Period." I finally closed my copy as well.

"I agree. You can find your person without cheating. I am the pure example of that." he said with a pride.

"Me too." I shrugged.

"But we should also acknowledge that every relationship and dynamics between men and women is different. Not everybody has my luck to be with a smart-ass blonde hottie." Joe grinned and I laughed.

"And not everybody has my luck to be with a man who gives me security, passion and understanding...and is also very hot." I caught my boyfriend getting red cheeks. After that I reached to hug him and sit and move to his seat to sit on his lap.

"I've been waiting for you my whole life, Soph." he said as he looked me deeply with his big brown eyes.

"Well, you are something I didn't know I needed but now I can't imagine my life without you, Joe." I said and I leaned to kiss his lips.

Then he suddenly pulled out to check his watch. "You know what? We have time for a lil' sexy sesh." he remarked and I laughed out loud then leaning to kiss him again, as I was pulling his shirt off.

6.54pm

That Texas air is no joke. The second we got out of the jet, a strong heat wave hit me. For the record, I am wearing a sleeveless denim dress and light brown boots with medium heels.

"I feel like I'm in the oven." I stated and Joe chuckled at me.

"You wouldn't last a day in Flworida, sweetie." he double teased me.

"Excuse me? I've been to Flor-duh before, remember?" I reminded him and then I saw a couple in the not so far distance waving at us.

"There they are." Joe grinned and waved at them too and I followed him.

"Look at you, Joe. Even bigger than you look on the screen." my boyfriend and his cousin exchanged a high-five and a hug. Jonah is a huge man, too, very buff figure. He is around Joe's age, I believe and slightly shorter than him. But you just can't get these guys confused when you see their beautiful, long, curly hair which Jonah had in a ponytail but the curls are still visible. Also the magnificent tribal tattoos these men have make them look so powerful.

His wife is a very, very attractive woman. She gives off heavy Eva Longoria vibes - brown hair, bambi eyes but with more curves cause that queen birthed three kids.

Deep respect.

"Hi, Soph. Nice to meet you. My name is Isabella." she grinned and hugged me.

"Nice to meet you." I replied sweetly and then took a look at Jonah. "Nice to meet you, too.

The house of our hosts is for real very big and spacious. It's also not exactly in the city but more like in the countryside since I found out Jonah literally has a big ranch business with cows, goats, sheep, horses. Whatever you can think of. Isabella, of course, helps. It's a family business. Not how wrestling is. This is something both of them built together which is beautiful.

So we are on the hill, with just the house, the ranch and the nature around us. The house interior, however, is rather modern in comparison to what is it presented in the movies, for example. Therefore, I assume it's very new or just renovated.

I also met Jonah and Isabella's beautiful kids which are more grown than I imagined. We have Dylan, who we are going to watch. He is the eldest one, freshman in college. Then we have Mateo who is 11th grade and Jolie who is 9th grade.

They all are hugging their uncle. "Y'all missed me?" he messed their hair. "They are so grown-up, oh my God." he also started giving the presents he bought for them earlier.

"I expected to see babies when he said three kids but I see grown people." I remarked.

"I spent my sweet 20s in giving birth, there is no way I will go through this again." Isabella laughed out loud. I found out that they are just one year older than Joe.

"Uncle, you are gonna win the championship back, right? Right?" Mateo asked for reassurance. He seems genuinely upset that Roman lost at this year's Wrestlemania.

"Of course. With the help of my Wisewoman I will win it back in no time but until then uncle needs to rest for a bit." Joe explained to his nephew.

"When I graduate high school, I wanna start wrestling." the kid declared and judging by their parents' expressions they don't seem surprised or delighted.

"Really? We gotta send you to Rikishi then. To his wrestling school." Joe seemed happy from that decision then he looked at his cousin and read their expressions.

"Let's go and set the table." Isabella commanded and her kids followed her to the kitchen.

"As much as we want to be supportive of our kids, we are also worried that there will be no heir to take after the business me and Isa worked so much on." Jonah expressed what it bothers him. "Dylan wants to pursue football, Mateo wants wrestling, Jolie...is not quite sure but I don't think she would want that.

"Jonah, there is always a way. Come on. Y'all are gonna find people while the kids would still have the upper hand. Don't be scared." Joe tried to calm his cousin down.

"I understand your point of view but there is really no place to be worried. One way or another, they are all connected to this business and I am sure they care about keeping its legacy. Why don't you try to explain them this and talk to the kids?" I spilled my dose of wisdom and Jonah sighed.

"I guess, I have to."

"Aunt Sophie...may I call you that?" Jolie asked me while we were eating the delicious tacos.

"Of course, sweetie." I replied and looked at her direction.

"Isn't uncle Joe a little old for you?" the unexpected and direct question caused my eyes to almost pop out of my skull.

"Jolie." her parents scolded her.

And I made them a sign it's okay. "I barely feel the age difference most of the time honestly and I fell for him a bit slowly but surely." I replied to her.

"I am going to pretend I didn't hear you calling me old, little missy." Joe seemed offended.

2.04pm

We were getting ready for Dylan's match. I am wearing tight blue jeans and a belt with golden ornaments on it. For top, I chose a black shirt with rather deep cleavage that makes my medium-sizef breasts pop. And for shoes, of course, classic brown cowboy boots and a cowboy hat.

I saw Joe was staring at me from head to toe and then he approached me, getting extremely close to me and put his hands on my cleavage, trying to put some buttons up.

"These girls right here are exclusive view for the Tribal Chief only." he said in those lecture tones and pressed his lips. I gave him a mischievous look and suddenly hit his butt a little too hard with my two hands. It is very well-defined especially with those jeans that he is wearing and it drives me crazy.

I accomplished the desired result. Joe seemed in pure shock. "So are the Tribal Cheeks but I guess we gotta accept the destiny." I replied to him and his jaw was literally on the floor, speechless. "You gotta wear jeans more often cause that fine ass...oohh." I squinted my eyes and spoke very flirty, almost sounding like a man.

I smelled a bit of a fear in him. Just exactly like a woman feels when random man is hitting on her. It's like we switched our roles for a bit. I flashed him a smirk while I was unbuttoning the buttons he fixed for me, looking at him dead in the eye and him giving a look of defeat.

"They are going to breathe today." I announced.

"Touchdown." Joe and Jonah yelled their lungs out. Texas Longhorns scored their win against Ohio. Half of the stadium was yelling from happiness.

Jonah hugged his wife and kids, Joe hugged me and then we all exchanged hugs, an ecstatic feeling after this match full of plot twists. My boyfriend seems genuinely happy. Even happier than when 49ers qualified for the NFL Superbowl. Of course, he would be. That's his family.

There is also that indescribable spark in his eyes probably because of the flashbacks he is having of his younger days when he used to be in Dylan's position.

When everything was over, his parents and us showered the young boy with hugs and "I am proud of you" speeches.

"Wishing you many more wins ahead, son." Joe hugged his nephew.

8.28pm

After some fans spotted us, willing to take some pictures together and asking us questions, me and my boyfriend headed to a very infamous city bar.

Isa and Jonah recommended us to look around Austin and experience the culture of Texas. Sadly, they couldn't join us because they have to get up early for work tomorrow.

Dylan will celebrate with his classmates and they will bring Mateo and Jolie home.

The bar we arrived at is named 'Deep Eddy Cabaret' and it looks exactly what I wanted to. It's not even a bar, it's a typical Texan pub with that dark cowboy aesthetics - dimmed lights, billiards, a tiny stage and of course, mechanical bull.

It didn't have too many customers since it's a Sunday night but it still had a certain amount of people. With the country music in the background, it looked so chill. Everyone was doing their own thing.

"I love it." I finally said.

"Can you play billiards?" Joe asked me as we were drinking the beers we ordered.

"Do I look like a person who knows how to play billiards?" I answered with a rhetoric question and my boyfriend chuckled. I took a look at one group of men sitting on the table and playing cards, looking like they are having fun.

"Those dudes over there seem to have a blast. Let's join them" I grabbed Joe's arm but he did not move.

"No. They seem they are having fun already." he opposed to me, knowing exactly why he doesn't want to.

"You are the most confident anti-social person I know, I swear to God." I said in awe. I don't know how is it possible to be both at the same time but I do forget Joe is a Gemini. "Come on." I whined as I had my arms wrapped around his huge biceps.

"The things I do for you..." he mumbled and we went to the table of these gentlemen. All of them had the cowboy hats on, the dark jeans and the tank tops. Judging by how they look, they must probably be in their late 40s or early 50s.

"Hi, gentlemen." I greeted as we reached their table. They immediately looked at us, serious for like two seconds and they all grinned.

"Hey, guys. Nice to meet ya." one of them said with a strong Texan accent. "My name is Connor. And here are George, Sam and Tom."

"I am Sophia and he is Joe, my boyfriend." I introduced us as I got my arm locked in his. Joe just lifted his big hand up and said a simple 'hello'.

"Beautiful couple." Sam stated and then he played with the toothpick he had in his mouth.

"The WWE's most wanted, huh?" Tom couldn't help but smirk. Oh, so they know us, too. "Don't worry, we ain't gonna ask you anything related with the forbidden word."

"Work?" I furrowed my eyebrows in confusion and suddenly a loud ass alarm echoed through the whole place with red flashing lights. I got scared for a moment that the place might be burning.

"You just ruined the rule of the bar." Connor said. "There is a punishment for that." I couldn't help but look scared and Joe had his hand on his temple, quietly judging me most definitely.

"You gotta ride the mechanic bull." George announced excitingly and my face fell.

"What?"

"Oh, that's gonna be quite the view." Joe sounded weirdly eager for all of this and I gave him a look of judgement. "Let's go." he yelled. Now he is full of energy, okay.

Once I got on that thing, I felt I was gonna lose my life a couple of times. You have the impression that if you fall out, it's a game over. That's why I was holding on hard with my feet and was riding that thing like there was no tomorrow.

I gave Joe a couple of seductive looks and winks, hinting he might be in the bull's position later. He gave me a few air kisses and he seemed to be pretty talkative with the men.

After a while the bull stopped and everyone applauded me. "Great job, Soph."

"This was more fun than I imagined." I stated and then Joe pulled me for a kiss.

12.29am

"This was amazing. I think these men developed an addiction for Texas Hold 'em." Joe shook his head.

We got in the house and it was pretty late. Moving on tippy toes like thieves in order not to wake our hosts up, we got in the guest room.

"Be careful not to become a gambler now, Joe." I playfully warned him. "Although I kicked your ass. I was definitely the MVP, everybody from the group acknowledged me." I spoke in a cocky tone as I started taking my clothes off.

"Yeah, okay, Vanessa Selbst. I'm not arguing with you while you are taking your clothes off." he teased me and I looked at him as I took off my shirt, leaving myself with the black lacy bra underneath and the same underwear. I also grabbed the cowboy hat and put it over my head, giving the real cowgirl experience.

Once Joe took of his black T-shirt, being only with the pretty jeans and a slightly messy bun, I bit my lower lip.

That is an extremely hot view. His abs, tanned skin, his thighs, his hair. I felt the temperature was rising in the room.

With no much thinking, I pulled him by the belt to kiss him. While we were at it, I removed his band from his hair, letting it all fall down. I made a few steps back, so I could enjoy the full magnetic view in front of me.

The hottest man alive.

And, somehow, I am the one that has to take care of him. Of course, I would. That man does everything for me.

"Hotshot." I whispered and slowly, got on my knees while my gaze was not leaving his. Those deep brown eyes glimmered from the awareness of what's about to come.

"Sophia, I am not sure whether I enjoy this extra freaky side of you or I am scared to death." he explained as I unbuckled the belt and unzipped the pants, still not taking his eyes off me. However, he did.

I do make him nervous, still.

I chuckled at his action. "Tribal Chief is nervous? I am just gonna give you a blow, that's it." I said and he looked at me again.

"Yeah, I know your blows and their dangerous post-effects. That's why I'm nervous." he explained himself as I pulled his pants down and started roaming with my hands around his scrotch.

"Am I bad?" I pouted as I grabbed it hard. Joe tried not to make any sound since we gotta be quiet.

"No. You are perfect and more. That's the problem." he whispered. I finally pulled his boxers down and that thing has no business being this big in a normal condition.

I used his handband to put my hair in a messy bun and then started stroking the stool, so it can get hard. It took literally seconds to do so, probably five. If one day this man stops loving me, I would know it by the time his dick gets hard and I stand by this.

"I just have one request" I said as I slowed the pace and looked at Joe deep in the eyes.

"Mm." he slightly groaned.

"Be quiet." I said and then fisted the penis with my one hand and started licking the head. Joe hissed from that.

"Okay. I'll try my best." he promised and then I decided to do a sudden deepthroat which caused him to groan with his mouth closed.

"Sophia. You wanna kill me?" he breathed out and I continued devouring his whole length but with a very, very slow pace. "Yes, you want." he responded fastly to himself and I caught him putting his hand on his mouth.

Then I fastened it a bit, locking my eyes with him.

"Why are you so good with it?" he asked and wasn't taking my eyes off of me. Then I started kissing it. No need to say it's wet from his juices and my saliva.

"To be honest, I don't know." I replied and then put it in my mouth again, sounding the room with slurping sounds.

A few gag sounds were coming when I was deepthroating, it's enivatble with a size like this. It's around 9 inches, I believe. Something between 8 and 9.

"Soph." he breathed out. That's the indication. Once he calls my name like that I know he is about to finish. It's time to give him his grand finalè, no games.

After a one last up and down, I felt the eruption flowing in my mouth. Joe kept his promise, being as quiet as possible.

I swallowed everything, making the sperm is only in my mouth and throat. After that I licked my lips while making deep eye contact with afterglow Joe. I then got off my knees and stood on my feet facing him. He bit his lip, still normalizing his breath. His deep brown eyes admiring my almost naked body. His long hair falling like dominoes.

The slight dimmed lights made everything 10 times sexier.

Joe suddenly reached to grab the towel he took a shower earlier with and put it on the corner of the bed.

"Okay, babygirl. Let's see how quiet you can be." he suggested and my eyes widened. Does he want to compete? The moment Joe sat on the corner of the bed, he pulled me, so I could sit on him but my back was against his chest.

I tried not to squeal since I didn't expect that.

"Don't you consider this a little unfair? I gave you a warning." I asked but he just aggressively teared my beautiful lingerie and put his hand on my pussy.

"What are you doing?" I whisper yelled. Did he go completely mad?

"I'll buy you new ones." he replied as he attacked my neck hungrily, slowly rubbing my wet private parts with the one hand and massaging my boob with the other.

"Mm. Fine." I rested my head on his shoulder as I moaned softly from the pleasure attack I am feeling right now. He knows too well how to handle my body and make me feel good. As he fastened the pace, my moans intensified, too.

"Quiet, princess. You forget where we are?" he reminded sweetly purring in my ear.

"Then stop being this good." I whined quietly as I continued melting in him. The deep chuckle he let out sent even more tickles in my pussy but the second I felt his fingers in there, I moaned once again.

"There's no way you would get a bad performance from me." he said with almost a whisper. Then he pulled the fingers out and focused on the clit again. Suddenly, the room was filled from the wet sounds of my core.

I had my lips strongly pressed and since I felt I was about to finish, I put my hand on my mouth to make sure there will be no sound.

As I exploded in pleasure, I saw stars. This is so good and feels so right because Joe is the right one.

"There you go." he praised me. "But we have a lot of work. We gotta learn how to be extra quiet in these situations." he started explaining as I was still normalizing my breath.

Couldn't help but feel his still erected penis around my ass, so I have to take the things in my hands now.

"I agree with you." I finally said as I turned to him and exchanged a sweet kiss, then getting my knees outside his muscular thighs.

"What are you-" I didn't let him finish the question. I just jumped on his dick, no warnings.

It was so sudden and swift that he let out a moan, his mouth wide opened while mine was close shut. Now it's time to ride him like that bull earlier. However, Joe seemed to have another plans.

He slammed me on the bed, so I could be under him. I gasped from the shock. "Joe." I whined. "I wanted to ride you cowgirl style."

"I will ride you cowboy style." he replied and took my legs putting him on his shoulder. Oh no. He wants to go fully in.

He thrusted slowly and deep in me. I swear to God I could feel him inside of my stomach. "This is just perfect." he breathed out. I could feel my eyes tearing up from the sweet pain.

I just need a little time to get used to it. We've done this position before. "You good?" my boyfriend asked with a bit of concern and I just nodded my head.

"You know I will adjust." I replied and he started doing slow strokes and I felt the feeling becoming better and better. I could feel us connecting not only physically but spiritually.

Body to body.

Soul to soul.

Joe leaned to kiss me with warmth. The moment he felt I am good and getting used to all of this, he turned rough again, changing the speed, starting my battle of muffling moans.

I have always been from the quiet ones before. Wasn't hard for me at all but ever since I got with him, things changed.

"You know, before I met you, I hardly believed in that soul tie thing." he said as he was going and I groaned.

"Me too." I replied.

"Right now, I can feel it." Joe stated and I feel the same way as well. I feel our sould tying to one another.

And I hope this lasts forever.

It has to.

"Same." I whispered and as he leaned to give me a kiss, we both moaned in each other's mouths, having an orgasm at the same time. I felt the warmth of his juices in my insides.

Then I removed my legs from his shoulders, putting them on the bed and Joe leaning on me but he was still inside of me. This became like a tradition. He just doesn't want to get outside most of the times and I don't want, too.

We gasped for air, while staring deeply at each other with the glowy looks. My boyfriend gave me a sweet kiss on the forehead while I hugged him wrapping my arms around his big back.

"In my cousin's household." he tsked and shook his head, ruining that beautiful moment we just had.

THE END.

[folcanta]

in their notes in the artbook, almost every staff member who worked on the Escaflowne film, regardless of their job title (concept artist, animator, sound designer, writer, etc.) said something along the lines of "I only wished I'd been able to do more, but what I did was something entirely new, and I gave it my all. I'm proud of that."

so i was researching the exact history of what made Sunrise fracture right after making Escaflowne and Cowboy Bebop (the truth will shock you: budget cuts and being underappreciated for making the sickest shit of all time) and stumbled onto this reaction to the Escaflowne film

(some context, if anyone doesn't know: the Escaflowne film gets a pretty bad rap generally)

i as a teen also watched the special features DVD and a lot of my understanding of Escaflowne comes from this and other notes from the people who worked on it, as well as just returning to it multiple times and learning as i go... through it and through life. Escaflowne is a phenomenon eager to reward your return.

so i'm really, truly, madly, deeply glad this person sought out the commentary in order to confirm this and shift their thinking. i don't think it's pretentious of me to say i find it worrisome that this confirmation wasn't for them more evident in, or at least suggested by, the art itself. i'm an artist and i appreciate art, whether it's something i enjoy or something i dislike, i like both knowing about it and knowing about my own response to it. i've watched and read a lot of things and Escaflowne stands out starkly for what it sought to accomplish and the methods with which it did so. by comparison to all the bullshit TV shows before and after it, it is objectively remarkable in its efforts. people remember Vampire Hunter D: Bloodlust, which came out around the same time, and for good reason— beautiful, weird visuals and a deeply romantic, tragic story. people remember the Cowboy Bebop movie for its wonderful choreography. outside of shipping, the most positive things ever said about Escaflowne is in regards to its soundtrack.

i wasn't a teenage girl in the way Akane means (deeply chronically transgender) but for where i was in life, for what i personally had experienced, i did need this story. i was only 13— not 15, not 20, and it hit me hard, changing my focus in art and storytelling. Escaflowne the series has a really particular structure to the pacing of its emotional beats, tonal shifts, and scene changes, something i've flagrantly learned from. the film is a different type of art piece from the show, and it's very frustrating the way its purpose is overlooked, panned, by much of its audience. there's this idea that it's some huge departure from the show.

to enough people, it's inconceivable that a girl who in one moment is unaware of her own feelings and chases the unattainable rather than slow down to appreciate the attainable, would in another moment become a girl who feels lost and powerless except through brief moments of hurt, for which she feels an awful guilt. it's inconceivable that in one moment, a man who found only torture and cruelty in the traditions of his homeland, and was positioned as an acceptable sacrifice to that homeland, wanting to spare his young brother the pain of this cycle, would in another moment go down a path of impenetrable bleakness and destruction with the singular hope of ending it forever. it's somehow inconceivable that an orphan boy standing where the shadow of his brother isn't, who is told his worth is to be found through killing and revenge, would in one moment lose his innocence to that struggle, and in another, crave only death to escape it.

it's so validating to hear that Escaflowne was crafted with the idea of it being returned to repeatedly over time as we evolve through time— just like how Hitomi returns repeatedly over time. it is self-aware and it is aware of you.

the weight of Hitomi's depression, the "darkness" that is emphasised but was always present in the series, and what Nobuteru Yuki said about the film being just about Hitomi, Van, and Folken... of the things this person is/was wrong about, though, the "loss of romance" stands out to me. the romance isn't lost at all. the romance is present even when sadness and despair and violence are brought to the forefront— it's actually imperative that it be there. how is it that you can no longer recognise that small source of light when the circumstances around it seem darker? how does it not then glow more brightly? the romance is being done in exactly the same way as the series— as a deep current unknown but increasing in volume and intensity over time, keeping the characters alive. saving their lives. but maybe calling it "romance" is the real issue. maybe we should just be calling it love.

Escaflowne the film allows the audience to live in the world a bit more; environments are seen and inhabited in 360°, creating more of a relationship between you and that world. Escaflowne the series isn't an environmentally, physically immersive story. You don't create a mish-mash setting— relegated to a backdrop— like this if you want it to be physically immersive. there's very little emphasis or lore within the bounds of the show about the world of Gaea other than its turmoil. Escaflowne is an emotionally immersive story. it wants to tell you about its characters, their motivations, their actions, their feelings. maybe it's too easy to get tricked into thinking "forced to feel an emotion" means it's a young/immature work, whereas Cowboy Bebop's bitterness and discomfort with letting sadness linger means it's more mature.

Escaflowne is— among many other things— a romance in a very classical sense, a story about (in this instance, two) people falling in love. it can only build that romance by contrasting it with conflict. the conflicts, like the quiet and calm moments, like the violence, death, trauma, works to establish how much the trust and care between them matters. LOOK WITH YOUR EYES. THERE'S GRAPHIC, GRUESOME SLAUGHTER IN THE SHOW. THERE ARE UNCOMFORTABLE FEELINGS LEFT TO HANG IN THE AIR WITHOUT CLOSURE. the only things that are darker are the states Van, Hitomi, and Folken are in— but its optimism, its defiant hope, is as fragile as it always was.

speaking of romance, i also think Escaflowne is seriously critiquing related concepts— Romanticism and romanticising.

that you can stare (i hope?) at a piece of art for over an hour, a film which looks and sounds like how that one does, and not see, or at the very least guess at, whatever the intense, coherent reasoning behind it might be... it's hard to believe. even if you don't understand it, you might still be able to sit with it and understand enough to know there's something you don't understand. oohhhhhh my head. alright. that's the best i can do.

[deliciouskeys]

Butchlander Cowboy AU

'You wear the hat, you ride the cowboy.'

[phoenixtakaramono]

Butchlander F, T, X!

(This Ask is regarding this.) I got a little ahead of myself writing out tiny 🔞 hypothetical butchlander scenarios—and then belatedly realizing this was tumblr so I scaled back the intensity ^^;. Also, note, there are portions where I’m being sarcastic with the italicized letters.

F = Favorite position (this goes without saying)

Their default position is doggy style, because they’re both old men, it’s easier for Billy to hit his prøstate with Homelander’s back arched and his arse raised high, and the position is supposedly easier on the bottom’s hands and knees. Personally I HC this is probably one of Billy’s three favourite positions to see Homelander in because 1) he won’t have to see Homelander’s insufferable face so much in this position he can shove the handsome cunt’s face down into a pillow if he’s being too loud or annoying, 2) it’s probably the best “tactical” position that allows Billy to assert the most control and authority, 3) he can almost wrap both hands around that trim waist. Like, damn, have you seen how tiny Homelander’s waist is in that muscled supersuit? Man’s waist be so tiny like what do you need that tiny waist for? 🙄 For another man to grab it?? Whøre.

Put yourself in Billy’s shoes. Wouldn’t seeing this man’s smug face and attitude and acting like a general menace to everyone around him inspire feelings within you of wanting to “bully” him and “teach him a lesson, putting him in his proper place”??? Preferably on his hands and knees. ⬅️ This, by the way, is probably Billy’s second favorite position to see his enemy in, with Homelander knelt down and supplicated before Billy, and Billy putting his mouth to far better use than Homelander going about his day terrorizing the poor overworked interns, Ashley, or the general populace.

Billy’s third favourite position is the cowgirl (cowboy?) position, with Homelander riding on top of him. Billy seems to be very partial to women riding him in the show; I do not see why this wouldn’t hypothetically carry on over to Homelander when they copulate. Homelander bouncing on anyone would, realistically, probably shatter the person’s pelvis underneath if he’s not too careful and forgets to control his superstrength like what’d happened to Popclaw and her landlord’s pulverized skull—but luckily Billy’s V-ed up so his pelvis is safe.

Now, I headcanon Homelander’s favourite position, both highkey and lowkey, besides fucking in the air like how he did it with Stormfront, to be the missionary style, with whoever’s bottoming lying on their back, facing whoever’s topping, with their legs cinched around the top’s waist or pushed back. You could argue it’s a boring milquetoast wonderbread position for straights, but consider this: Billy Butcher has no choice but to look directly at Homelander’s face in this position. Sure, he can soften the blow by handcuffing Homelander’s wrists to the bed or tying him up they both know it’s purely symbolic because Homelander can break out anytime with his superstrength to give Billy an illusion of having a semblance of control over him, but Homelander loves it because 1) he’s probably been touch-starved during the formative years of his life we’re not counting the Vought scientists or Homelander’s own hand so any prolonged skinship and physical contact with his partner is novel to him and satisfies his curiosity/ craving for stimulation, 2) the position allows for direct pressure on his enlarged prøstate that’s both intense and stimulating it’s the best position because it allows the top’s d!ck to massage the prøstate or P-spot at the best angle, 3) he can feel when Billy shoots inside him, and 4) most importantly, the missionary position can lead to intimate lovemaking. The position allows their faces to be so close, allowing every thought and feeling to be transmitted on each man’s face.

In a way, it’s Homelander’s test for Billy. Billy cannot run away from him, from this, from whatever this is that’s happening between them, and from facing his f*cked up feelings for Homelander; that’s what Homelander wants. It’d be wonderful if, after reaching ørgasm, Billy’s d!ck stays inside him and the two men hold each other to gather their breaths. To withdraw straight away would be, in a sense, to reject the shared feelings; to reject Homelander himself. Homelander’s also a pretty needy, possessive narcissist; if Billy’s V-ed up, I can see Homelander having the compulsion to touch Billy constantly like a territorial beast scentmarking his favorite prey since he won’t break as easily, so it only sounds right that Homelander’s favourite position is missionary. If he must bottom for Billy, then it’s only natural that he’s a high-maintenance pillow princess who expects Billy to do all the work, as well as expecting a towel or soft pillow to be placed under him, etcétera. It’s also his favourite position if the roles were reversed, but that’s a topic for a different day (you requested for butchlander, Anon, so I will give you butchlander-themed answers and not homebutcher-themed answers 👌).

T = Toys (do they own toys? do they use them? on a partner or themselves?)

Eh. Personally I say not really because I think these two men prefer being hands-on with their partners and think toys are unnecessary during lovemaking there’s an unfortunate traditional macho connotation where the male partner would feel offended if their wife prefers or has to rely on a toy to achieve climax. They’re not that adventurous of a couple per se no, (outdoor) flying sex doesn’t count. But considering one of them is a superhero (HL) and has his own adult merchandise line with his Americana brand plastered all over it, it’d be a missed opportunity if they don’t so let’s say I can see it happening as a rare treat or as “punishment.”

Billy would have to be the first to bring it up—and Homelander would have to match his freak. Billy would derive a great deal of pleasure and entertainment subjecting Homelander to toys, because he thinks it’s funny to see Homelander stunned and embarrassed as hell when Billy surprises him with a stars-and-stripes massive d!ldo called the Star-Spangled Banger that’s supposedly a life-sized replica taken from a cast of Homelander’s own dong (Billy would never pass up the opportunity to make fun of him at his own expense, leering at him and taunting that Homelander’s obviously overcompensating because the real deal’s not that big) or red-white-and-blue butt plugs, chastity cages, what have you—and he tells him he wants to see Homelander using them. Because, as a patriot, Homelander oughta try out his own products. It would be such a shame if Mister America himself did not give them a test run. It’d only be honest and responsible of him since Vought is using his name and likeliness to produce these. (B: “Tsk, tsk. You wouldn’t want to cheat your fans with false advertisement and poor quality control, would you?”)

Any obscure Homelander-branded adult toy, minted or discontinued, indie-made or counterfeit, and even Vought’s unreleased experimental first prototypes, Billy’s made it a mission to hunt one of each down. Some people collect baseball cards; Billy collects Homelander-branded adult toys and merchandise. Although, ironically, because of this, Billy’s not beating the allegations anytime soon that he’s not one of Homelander’s biggest closeted (anti)fans.

Neither of them are bonafide 100% exhibitionists or voyageurs, but getting away with doing something naughty is a turn-on for the both of them—and Billy would go out of his way to inconvenience Homelander such as convincing him to wear remote-controlled bullet vibes to The Seven meeting or party, promising to reward him if he doesn’t get caught. Makes a whole game outta it. Wagers that Homelander can’t last; this infuriates Homelander and gets him egged to try to prove Billy wrong because he’s The Homelander, damn it, and he has “the restraint and self-control of a saint, so I’m going to make you eat your words, William!” Homelander would naturally anticipate that he’s going to win because how hard could it be? But for all that tough talk, Homelander’s set up to fail because with the gradual intensifying of the vibrations throughout the hour, Billy suddenly cranks the power up to maximum while Homelander’s mid-conversation—annnnd you already know what happens.

As for who’s using the toys, it’s fairly evident, because of Billy’s machinations, Homelander’s the one in the relationship using them. At first Homelander scoffs at the thought of it because unlike pathetic humans, he’s a god who doesn’t need to rely on the aid of a toy to achieve release but he’s eventually persuaded into trying them out because 1) his default competitive “Fuck you, I’m confident in my own masculinity, William; and I’ll prove it to you” after Billy taunted him and called him chicken, 2) he lacks agency with his lovers in general and usually just goes with their flow i.e. with what happened between him and Stormfront, him and Madelyn, him being on board with there now being a hot “evil” British guy who’s obsessed with him and claims he just wants to hurt him, etc (he’s happy with whatever makes them happy, if he’s the one providing it (he likes the concept of being perceived as a good supportive partner—and be praised for his efforts)) and 3) turnabout’s fair play so this is all Homelander’s evil manipulative masterplan to gradually ease Billy into the idea of using a toy himself for Homelander to watch—because he thinks it’d be sexy and he also wants Butcher to feel good.

But jokes on Homelander though because through gradual conditioning and repeated climaxes, if Homelander’s feeling particularly horny/lonely and Billy’s not there, and his hand’s not doing it for him, Homelander will fetch a box he’d hidden in the nightstand which contains his adult toys and his prized custom-made toy that’d been modeled after Billy’s own d!ck. In the bathroom or elsewhere, as someone who’s used to modeling and finding the best angles for the perfect shot that looks flattering on him, he could take a nude selfie of himself or film a short clip of him using it. And he’d then text it to Billy with a provocative message like “It’s not the same without you here :(” to get his British lover hopefully hot and bothered and quick to respond back. Don’t worry; his scandalous nudes sent via text are encrypted and hidden behind a conspicuous calculator app. In Homelander’s perspective, it’s a special treat that he’s bestowing him, teasing Billy like this, and it gives him a rush of power feeling desired and knowing the physiological effect he has on his former archenemy. He’d never admit it aloud but on his loneliest nights, Homelander may have used his favorite toy(s) to simulate the feeling of being penetrated by his lover and to work out the day’s stress that’d piled up. Butt plugs, I will have to say, is probably a recurring theme of their active sex life—because it can help prep and stretch the cavity and get Homelander primed for what’s ahead. Not to mention, if used right, it can serve as foreplay. This ties into a different Anon Ask I’d received about what a kink of theirs would be, so I’ll just ask that you check out that one for more detail about my HC for that it involves Billy’s canonically giving creampies, a breeding kink, and a butt plug. :)

Personally I HC that Billy is open to his partner using toys—it’s his CIA honeytrap training—but this is Homelander we’re talking about. So Billy would only be willing to give a toy a try after being subjected to much whining and wheedling from Homelander about how it’s unfair that it’s only been him and “I’d say ‘pretty please,’ William, but it’s my birthday/ our anniversary soon so this is the bare minimum I’m asking from you this time; you love me don’t you?”—until Billy reluctantly caves in to shut him up and uses a fleshlight or something under Homelander’s watchful eye. Ironically it’d lead to Homelander feeling irrationally jealous because of course he’d be jealous over an inanimate object pleasuring his lover. FYI, if Billy intentionally starts using it more often (he uses it more to drive Homelander up the wall and not because Billy likes using it per se), that toy will never be seen again in their bedroom. That one entire merch line will be recalled and forever banned because of one irrationally jealous petty Supe who uses his power and influence to make sure the unexpected threat to his love life is eradicated from this earth.

X = X-ray (let’s see what’s going on under those clothes)

…I presume because of the theme of the tag game that this has to be a spicy answer for the both of them, and not the boring answer. 🤣 I mean, show-wise, we already have our answer:

Underneath his Hawaiian shirts that he bares open at the chest, his trench coat, jeans, and untied boots, William J. Butcher wears his St. Christopher medallion—and whatever he wears for underpants (briefs? boxers?) if he’s not going commando. Mister Tall, Dark, and Handsome is an intimidating, dreamy hunk of a man with a full beard, dark chest hair faintly smattered over his pecs, with that hair probably going down a faint happy trail that stops at a full bush up above his groin. And you know what they say about European men; I’m a massive believer that Billy has big dick energy and that he knows what to do with it. If given a choice between Butcher and Homelander, both Becca and Maeve would both choose Butcher without hesitation. William J. Butcher is a service top. He’s a bear with bad boy aura, and both women and gay men would stop in the streets to stare. That long sinister scar that skitters up Butcher’s brow to the side of his forehead only adds to his charm and mystique.

For Homelander, headcanon-wise, underneath the spandex supersuit and leather gloves is a naked Homelander with his blood orange you cannot convince me that’s red; that’s blood orange eagle-patterned briefs. If it’s a special occasion, he will wear a jockstrap or something more scantily clad like a g-string but I HC that, just like Billy, he usually roams around his penthouse in his full birthday suit (aka naked). They’re both middle-aged bachelors with their own bachelor-pads so they can wear whatever they like in their own home if no one else is around.

Now, his chest hair and a full bush…I am of the opinion that he waxes/shaves. Look at that full body GIF. Either he gets a full Brazilian wax or he shaves himself all over for that sleek, supple baby skin—to make himself more like marble. This way he doesn’t have to look at his graying pubic hair *snerks* if he’s bare all over. It’s only in S4 that he lets himself go to symbolize the man’s spiraling but otherwise I believe he used to have a full body and hair care routine, grooming himself meticulously. And unlike Billy who has a faint dusting of freckles on his shoulders, scarred tissue, and callouses, Homelander’s body is perfectly smooth and unscarred and his hands are deceptively soft to the touch (I’m of the opinion he cannot develop callouses considering his skin’s “invulnerability”).

Regarding Homelander’s d!ck size, I think it’s funny to imagine him as average or on the smaller side (and I will always enjoy the fics and fanart that make fun of him for that) for the joke of him over-compensating (it’s hilarious considering how big they made his show canonical strap-on and how big the costume’s codpiece is), but just to be contrarian and buck against the butchlander trend, I personally HC that he has a massive tool as well. It’s beautifully curved, extra thick and long, between 6"-9" when erect. 🤷‍♀️ Because, hey, there’s gotta be a reason why Madelyn or Stormfront and, to an extent, Maeve put up with his psychotic ass. He’s supposed to represent the pinnacle of humanity, so I don’t see why Vought scientists could not have somehow genetically engineered his schlong, when he’d been a test tube baby, to grow into a length which is “the most popular” size according to Vought’s sample pool of women. Now, you combine that with Billy’s emotional baggage—and now you have a very compelling case of this perfectly engineered d!ck being ignored and deliberately not put to its intended reproductive use. It’s for the good of humanity. There’s also something very compelling about the thought of Homelander with his hard erection swaying and leaking at the tip (each time he tries to touch himself, Billy slaps his hand away because he wants to see him to “come like a woman”) until he finally spurts, coming hands-free whilst being pummeled and milked by Butcher’s massive d!ck. At the very least, it’s a size or length or girth that is socially acceptable and that women would be impressed by but not too big that they’d look at it and flee the other way.

[natsuki208]

Black Butler cast in Halloween costumes 🎃

———

Ciel - A king, to represent the chess piece

Sebastian - Vampire, it’s close to what he is

Lizzy - An angel, for her purity

Finny - Scarecrow, to protect his garden

Mey Rin - Kitty, to see if Sebastian likes it

Bard - Cowboy, to represent his homeland

Tanaka - Himself, but wearing a mask

Snake - Magician, reminds him of his old ‘family’

Grell - Wicked witch, but covered in red.

William - Grouchy black cat makeup, purrfect

~

(Now for a personal bonus:)

Alois - A knight, to make him seem tough.

Hannah - A nurse, and it’s not suggestive.