mysoftboybensolo

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Today I learned that Van Halen have that rider in their contract about “a bowl of M&Ms with all the brown ones removed” in order to know at a glance if the promoter read the entire contract.  And the reason they do THAT is because they once had a stage collapse because a promoter hadn’t read the proper way to set up all the specific technical stuff.

So if the band goes in the dressing room or catering and sees brown M&Ms, they know they have to double-check the stage setup for safety.

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HARRIET SLATER as ELLEN MACKENZIE OUTLANDER: BLOOD OF MY BLOOD — 1.01 "Providence"

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rhett abbott. | cowboys make better lovers.

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James Dean in East of Eden (1955)

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Wicked + "subtle" Scarecrow foreshadowing (bonus ugly but relevant gif under the cut lmao)

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HEY ARNOLD! 1.02b • Field Trip

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Catch-22 1x01

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Mozzarella Stuffed Rosemary Parm Pretzels

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Becoming Karl Lagerfeld (2024) Daniel Brühl as Karl Lagerfeld

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ELLEN MACKENZIE Outlander: Blood of My Blood | 1.01 ― "Providence"

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Reasons Rhett Falls in Love With You (Over and Over)

A/N: HEHEHEHHEHEHE 😈 you already know what kind of mess this is about to be Warnings: if you thought you were about to recover from the endless trap that is Lewis Pullman — don’t. i’m dragging you straight to the bottom with me and we’re gonna rot together 💅 Masterlist Feedback and reposts are appreciated  ☀️

The Way You Talk to Amy

Rhett doesn’t mean to eavesdrop. Not really. He’s halfway through brushing dirt off his boots, crouched just inside the barn, when he hears your voice drifting from the porch — light, warm, touched with that soft cadence that makes his ribs ache in a way he can’t explain.

He doesn’t move. Just listens.

You’re sitting beside Amy, and she’s going on about a colt she saw out near the creek — skinny thing, barely a few months old. Most people brush her off when she gets like this, too full of excitement and facts and possibilities. But not you. Never you.

You ask questions. Real ones. Not the kind meant to placate a ten-year-old, but the kind that say, I care what you think. I want to know more.

“Think he’ll let me ride him when he’s older?” Amy asks, hopeful. “You?” You laugh, a smile shaping every word. “He’ll be lucky if you don’t train him better than half the men on this ranch.”

Amy laughs so loud it echoes, pride curling in her chest. Rhett feels it too — like warmth blooming from the inside out.

He leans against the doorframe, crossing his arms, watching you.

The way your braid slips over your shoulder. The way your thumb gently rubs circles into Amy’s knee. The way Amy looks at you like you hung the moon and rearranged the stars just for her.

You glance up and spot him.

“You done eavesdroppin’, Abbott?” He lifts a brow, easy. “Didn’t know I was invited.” You pat the porch beside you. “Now you are.”

And he sits. Not because he needs to — he’s got chores, horses to tend, fences to mend. But because this? This is what home feels like. Amy’s legs swinging against the wood, your laughter cutting clean through the dusk, the scent of sun and hay and your shampoo in the air.

He doesn’t say it. Not out loud.

But this is what love looks like.

—

The Way You Fit Into the Kitchen Like You’ve Always Been There

It starts the same way every morning now — the clang of a skillet, the smell of bacon, the quiet hum of your voice carrying over the clatter of breakfast.

And it always begins with you elbowing Rhett out of the way.

“Move, cowboy. You’re blocking the stove.”

He doesn’t argue. Not really. Just grumbles something about the wrong skillet.

“It’s a pancake, Rhett. Not a classified mission.”

You wear his old flannel like it’s your armour, hair twisted up, mismatched socks sliding across tile. Amy sets the table with quiet focus. Royal mutters about the paper and his missing glasses. Perry tries — and fails — to sneak bacon off the plate.

You swat his hand without even turning. “Not unless you’re feeding the dog.”

The kitchen is full — not just with people, but with something unspoken. Something steady. Something like you.

Cecilia breezes in, lips parted in surprise. “Well, I’ll be damned. She’s cooking for you boys now?” “Not for them,” you say. “They just keep showing up.”

Rhett stands in the doorway, pretending to sip coffee, but mostly just watching you flip the last pancake, hips swaying to music that isn’t even playing.

You don’t just fit. You belong.

Later, when the plates are scraped clean and the house is quiet again, he finds you rinsing dishes, sleeves rolled, suds on your wrist.

He slides behind you, wraps his arms around your waist, presses a kiss to the place where your neck meets your shoulder.

“You like bossin’ my whole family around?” You lean into him, smile tucked into your voice. “Someone’s gotta do it.” He exhales against your skin. “Don’t stop.”

You won’t. He knows that now.

—

The Way You Carry Quiet Joy

Some days are heavier than others. But this one? This one’s light.

He finds you out by the line, hanging laundry. There’s grass stuck to your calf, your skirt twisting in the breeze like it’s dancing for no one but the wind. You’re humming again — that tune he still can’t name — soft and steady, like your own personal heartbeat.

He doesn’t say anything.

Just leans against the fencepost, one arm slung over the top rail, watching you.

You move with ease. Peg, shake, lift. Shirt after shirt, sheet after sheet. Your fingers work without thought. But your smile — that’s what gets him.

Amy runs by, chasing the dog. You laugh, loud and unfiltered. The kind of laugh that says, I’m safe. I’m happy. I’m here.

Rhett doesn’t move. Doesn’t blink.

He just lets himself feel it — that ache that comes from wanting something so badly, it hurts a little just to watch it exist.

You spot him eventually. “What’re you starin’ at, Abbott?” “Just admirin’ the view.”

You roll your eyes, but your smile softens.

He stays longer than he needs to. Just to be near it. Just to watch you be.

—

The Way You See What He Can’t Say — And Say It For Him

Dinner’s tense.

Royal’s worked up — about the barn, about the storm, about the goddamn roof that still isn’t fixed.

“You always leave things half done,” he grumbles. “Same story since you were seventeen.”

Rhett’s jaw locks. He doesn’t lift his eyes from the plate. He’s learned not to. Learned to take the hit, swallow it, bury it deep.

But then your fork clinks softly against your plate.

“He shows up,” you say, voice calm. “Every day. Whether anyone thanks him or not.” Royal snorts. “That supposed to mean something?”

You stare him down. No raise in volume. No shake in your hands. Just steady, clean honesty.

“It means he gets the roof done. Just not your way.”

The silence that follows is almost violent.

Cecilia shifts. Amy looks between faces. Perry blinks like maybe he just saw lightning strike indoors.

But you? You just keep eating. As if it’s no big deal to defend a man’s soul like that.

Rhett can’t look at you. Not right away. Not without choking.

But eventually, he glances sideways. And you’re not looking back. You don’t need to.

You already said the thing he never could.

And it wrecks him. Every time.

—

The Way You Say His Name When You’re Laughing

The barn smells like hay and motor oil and chaos.

Amy’s got duct tape stuck to her jeans, and you’re elbow-deep in a wheelbarrow that’s seen better centuries. There’s a pile of wood, a wrench, and a prayer — that’s the whole repair strategy.

Rhett walks in and freezes. “What the hell are you two building? A bomb?” You don’t even look up. “Don’t need your judgment, Abbott.” Amy grins. “Uncle Rhett, this thing’s an engineering marvel.” “It’s a death trap.”

And then you laugh.

Oh, God, that laugh.

It bursts out of you, bright and crackling, like lightning through a summer field. And between every giggle, you manage to say his name — not like a warning, not like a call.

Just like it’s yours to say.

“Rhett,” you gasp, breathless, eyes lit up like fireflies. “You’re such a buzzkill.”

He should be mad. Should be scolding. But he can’t stop smiling.

Because there’s something in the way you say his name when you’re happy. Like it’s music. Like it’s always belonged to your mouth.

And Rhett thinks — yeah. I’d let her call me that a thousand times and still feel it hit like the first.

—

The Way You Hum When You’re Focused

It’s late.

The house is quiet. The kind of quiet that only comes when every door is locked, every dish is done, every light has been dimmed to a glow.

You’re in the kitchen, barefoot, slicing peaches.

Rhett watches from the table. He should be helping. Or sleeping. But instead, he’s got one elbow propped, coffee going cold, just… watching.

You’ve got that faraway look again. Like you’re thinking about something too soft to speak aloud.

And you’re humming.

That same damn tune. Off-key. No words. Just you, and the peaches, and the rhythm only you seem to hear.

And for a moment, he swears the house is breathing. Like you brought life into it — filled it with something sacred.

He doesn’t speak.

He just listens.

Because there are pieces of you that only come out in the stillness. And he wants to know every single one.

—

EXTRA

The Way You Don’t Know He’s Already Chosen You

You didn’t mean to stop.

But the sound of his voice freezes you halfway down the stairs.

You were just getting water. You weren’t even wearing shoes.

But now you’re pressed to the wall, eyes wide, heart thudding.

Because Rhett’s voice — low and tired and real — is carrying from the kitchen.

“She’s gonna be the death of me,” he says.

Cecilia doesn’t answer right away.

He laughs. But it’s not happy.

“She ain’t even tryin’, Ma. That’s what kills me.”

You don’t breathe.

“She hums when she slices peaches. Same tune. Every time. Don’t think she knows. But the house... it feels alive when she does it.”

He pauses.

“She says my name like she’s always known how. Not like she needs me. Just... like she wants me around.”

You press your fingers to your lips.

“I don’t think I knew what home felt like until she came in and started acting like it was already hers.”

The air shifts.

“She loves Amy. Stands up to Dad. Runs the kitchen better than I ever could. I keep waitin’ for it to feel like a phase. But it don’t.” Cecilia speaks then, quiet and clear. “So what’re you gonna do?”

And Rhett says it — soft, but steady.

“I’m gonna marry her.”

You don’t cry.

But your breath hitches, your chest twists, and your whole world shifts a little on its axis.

Because you didn’t know.

Not until now.

And tomorrow, when he looks at you like you’re the only thing that’s ever made sense —

You’ll finally understand why.

TAGLIST:

MY CHERRIES: veri🍒: @tokkiz @lizzie8878 @mrsparker3696 @pixie2k5 @0urlady0fs0rr0ws421 @astromilku drop your cherries: veri🍒: tag for ALL of that character works

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James Dean as Cal Trask EAST OF EDEN (1955) dir. Elia Kazan

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Wicked (2024) // Wicked: For Good (2025)

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hey arnold! - ghost bride (2003)

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Catch-22 (2019) >> Lewis Pullman as Major Major Major Major

You can call me Caleb. Even just Cal would be okay.

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“In the war film, a soldier can hold his buddy—as long as his buddy is dying on the battlefield. In the western, Butch Cassidy can wash the Sundance Kid’s naked flesh—as long as it is wounded. In the boxing film, a trainer can rub the well-developed torso and sinewy back of his protege—as long as it is bruised. In the crime film, a mob lieutenant can embrace his boss like a lover—as long as he is riddled with bullets. 

Violence makes the homo-eroticism of many “male” genres invisible; it is a structural mechanism of plausible deniability.”

–Tarantino’s Incarnational Theology: Reservoir Dogs, Crucifixions, and Spectacular Violence. Kent L. Brintnall.