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lewmagoo · 1 month ago

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we own the sky | rhett abbott

part three: atmosphere

read the previous part here

series info: new parts will be uploaded every friday at 7pm est. want more? read the synopsis here. find the series masterlist here. listen to the playlist here. see the posting schedule here.

description: in which you decide it's time to stop running

warnings: 18+ only, heavy themes, mentions of character death, grief, angst with a positive ending, smut, unprotected p in v sex, creampie, inaccurate weather terms, please do not check my science lol this story requires some suspension of disbelief. i usually try not to say much about reader's family in fics but i do mention them having an unnamed great-aunt, as it was necessary to the plot

pairing: rhett abbott x f!reader

word count: 13,768

notes: this story is inspired by twisters. you do not have to watch the movie in order to understand this story, because aside from the storm chasing aspect, it has nothing to do with the twister universe. i've been working on this story for 2 months straight, and it is my pride and joy. i am so excited for everyone to read it! without further adieu, here is we own the sky!

“Let’s go.”

Without a moment of hesitation, you were running after Rhett, shoes thudding against hardwood. You stepped outside and slammed the door shut behind you. Together, you descended the porch steps, and you followed him out to meet the team.

They were all milling about, discussing their course of action. At the sight of you approaching, they stopped talking, watching in surprise as you flanked Rhett. Perhaps they were worried this chase would end like the last one had, but if they were, they didn’t show it.

“Hey! You comin’ with?” Jeslyn asked you, hazel eyes questioning.

Attempting to smile, you nodded. “I am,” came your answer.

Zara caught your eye, and she stepped toward you. “Are you okay to keep an eye on the radar, or would you rather just observe from the sidelines?” She was offering you a choice. You could get involved hands on, or take all the pressure off yourself and simply watch.

You knew what you had to do. “I’ll watch the radar. I can do it this time, I promise.”

She didn’t question you. She didn’t display any shred of doubt. She simply nodded her head. “Okay. You can ride with Rhett, then.” She shifted her weight from foot to foot as she continued. “Rhett said he told you about Danny and Finn’s new trackers?”

“Oh, uh, yeah, he did. Are we using them today?”

She nodded. “Yep! Me, Jes and the guys will get them up and running so you don’t have to worry about that. They should give you a high resolution feed on the radar and let you see things a lot more clearly. We’re hoping the trackers will give us a way to predict twisters more efficiently than just relying on emergency channels for warnings. We’ll see how it goes today.”

Moments later, she was handing you the iPad you’d used last time. She gave you a reassuring smile. “You’re gonna do great.”

You almost scoffed, but instead, remained stoic. “Thanks,” you murmured.

She patted your arm before the stepped back to address the whole time. “Alright guys, let’s do this!”

And with that, everyone climbed into their vehicles, preparing to run straight into the face of danger. You took a steadying breath as you settled into the passenger’s seat of Rhett’s truck once again, making sure to fasten your seatbelt before you unlocked the iPad.

You felt Rhett’s hand on your forearm, squeezing gently. He didn’t say anything, but you knew what he was trying to communicate. You can do this.

You could. You were sick and tired of letting your grief and fear control you. You would never be able to move on with life if you didn’t do something about it. This was in honor of your friends. Perry, Rebecca, and Lydia. You were going to do them proud.

In the meantime, however, there was a long stretch of land to cross before you met the storm. And in that quiet forty-five-minute drive along the wide open stretch of road, you were forced to come to terms with what had happened in the kitchen that morning. Or, rather, what had almost happened.

You couldn’t stop replaying it in your mind as you stared out the window at the rolling Oklahoma plains.

Beside you, Rhett’s mind was whirling a mile a minute, thinking about what had transpired in the kitchen. He’d almost kissed you. He was so close to feeling your lips against his for the first time in years, until the moment had been ripped away.

Now, all that was left was an uncomfortable ache in his chest. A void that could only be filled by facing his feelings for you. What Amy had asked that morning struck a chord in him. It felt like a slap to the face, or a bucket of cold water dumped upon his head.

He still loved you. As if that came as any surprise at all. Had there ever been a time when he didn’t love you? You were a permanent fixture in his life. His earliest memory was the two of you sitting in church together, no older than four years old. You had made a silly little stick-figure drawing of the two of you holding hands.

He never forgot that. And as years passed, it sometimes felt as if your stick drawing had predicted the future.

He realized he loved you when he was twelve years old and entirely too young to understand the weight and depth of true love. You were kind and understanding and you laughed at his attempts to be funny. You made him feel seen when no one else so much as spared him a glance.

Through his greatest achievements, you were there. Through his rock bottom moments, you were there. You kept him steady when he couldn’t stand. You held him together when he was falling apart. Hell, you’d even physically held him together when he was gored by a bull and was certain he was going to bleed to death.

You were there until you weren’t.

And for the six years that you were gone, he tried to replace you. Found himself entering into the beds of girls he didn’t love, hoping to find a connection half as special as the one you shared. But nothing stuck. He realized it was because he never moved on. And maybe he was a fool for it, but he didn’t care.

Here you were now, in the passenger seat of his truck again, and he knew that he wasn’t going to let you slip through his fingers. He was going to fight for you, like he should have done from the very beginning.

“Want y’to know I’ll be with you every step of the way out there, when the storm hits. You’re not alone,” Rhett assured you. He glanced at you briefly before turning his eyes back to the road.

“I know,” you whispered in reply, mouth curving into a fond smile. “I’m glad you’re with me.”

It was his turn to smile, albeit shyly. “I’m glad, too.”

There were so many things left unsaid between you. Feelings that needed to be brought to light. But now was not the time. Not when you were driving into the eye of a storm and couldn’t afford to be distracted.

For the rest of the drive, not much was said between either of you. You were too preoccupied with what was to come. You kept your eyes on the radar, analyzing the storm. There was no guarantee that it would turn into a twister, but something in your gut told you that it would.

The closer you got to Coal County, the darker the sky grew, and it seemed as if you were driving right into the belly of the beast. Lightning flashed in the distance, followed by the unsettling rumble of thunder.

“Damn, look at that,” Rhett remarked. His eyes were wide with anticipation.

“Think it’ll give us our twister?” You asked.

He looked at the sky again. “It just might.”

Suddenly, Finn’s voice crackled to life over the radio. “We’re gonna get ready to send the trackers out soon. You should get better data on the iPad when we do!”

“Alright, we’ll be ready when you are!” Rhett responded into the handheld device.

A wave of fear ebbed through you, cold and icy, as if you’d just been plunged into a bath of frigid water. With each passing moment, the sky became more foreboding. The fields surrounding you were churning, wind rippling through the stalks of green.

Your heart rate picked up in your chest as you watched it blow in, angry clouds moving across the sky like an ocean wave. The kind of wave that would drag you out to sea, straight to your demise.

“Stay with me, honeybee,” came Rhett’s gentle urging. “It ain’t here yet. Need you t’ get your head in the game.”

“I-I’m okay,” you promised.

“Trackers are airborne!” Zara exclaimed through the speaker.

Reality was beginning to set in. There was no turning back.

Eyes locked on the screen, it didn’t take long for new info to be fed through, a notification popping up at the top of the screen. Severe weather approaching.

You looked to the sky again, focusing on the way the clouds were moving, the direction the wind was blowing. Then you opened the truck window, sticking your hand out to feel the breeze. The air was humid, yet electric. There was no doubt that a storm was coming.

You began counting down in your head. Ten, nine, eight, seven, six, five, four, three, two, one. The first drop of rain slapped against your hand. Then another, and another. Quickly, you drew your arm back into the truck, jamming your finger against the button to close the window.

Lightning splintered across the sky.

The rain fell harder, and within seconds, turned into a sheet of water, intense and heavy. Visibility dropped, and Rhett was quick to flip the headlights on, although it did little to illuminate the path ahead.

“Here we go,” he breathed, voice trembling.

Another notification came across the top of your screen. Tornado warning. Seek shelter immediately.

The rain gave way to hail, large pellets pattering against the truck. Your stomach dropped. Hands trembling, chest going tight.

“Okay darlin’. Need you to tell me where to drop the trailer,” Rhett urged.

The wind whipped against the truck, and you closed your eyes for a moment, pulling yourself together. You could do this.

It was difficult to see, but you did your best, eyeing the radar, glancing out the windows. Then you saw it. In the distance, amidst the wind and rain, a tornado was just touching down. With your heart in your throat, you leaned forward in your seat. You breathed deeply, closing out all the sounds around you. The roar of the wind, the rumble of the twister.

You closed your eyes. Three, two, one.

“Go right!” You cried. “If we wanna stay in its path, you need to get into that field!”

Without questioning you, Rhett veered to the right, directly into the cornfield beside you. You stared out the back window of the truck before you looked down at your radar again. “Keep going straight! We need to get a few hundred feet farther!”

Rhett slammed his foot against the gas, and the speedometer needle shot up, speed increasing with each passing moment. You reached out and grabbed the walkie-talkie, pressing the button and calling into the receiver, “Get ready! We’re about to drop the trailer!”

“Copy!” Came Finn’s voice, “we’ll be waitin’ for your green light!”

Letting out a trembling breath, you set the radio down, hand coming up to clutch the iPad in your lap, while your other hand shot up to hold onto the ceiling handle. The ground beneath the truck was uneven and choppy, and you were jostled about something fierce.

“C’mon, honey. We gettin’ close?!” Rhett called to you.

“Almost!”

His hands were clutching the wheel for dear life, knuckles white. His body was tense, shoulders drawn up toward his ears. Wild eyes glanced in the rearview mirror at the destruction that was quickly approaching.

“Shit, it’s close,” he breathed, voice barely above a whisper. For a split second, he wondered if this was the most foolish decision he’d ever made. He wasn’t thinking about himself. He was thinking about you. If anything happened to you, he’d never forgive himself.

But now wasn’t the time to allow himself to be distracted by such things. Instead, he brought his full focus back to his driving, heart pounding in his chest, limbs vibrating with adrenaline.

Then, your voice cut through the air, a desperate shout. “Now, Rhett!”

He slammed on the brakes, and you both lurched forward from the force. Gritting his teeth, he slapped his hand down against the control panel situated in the center console, hitting the button that activated the anchors on the trailer, sending them down into the soil.

Then, he shoved his fingers into the button labeled release, and the hitch unfurled, detaching the trailer from the truck. The split second that it landed, Rhett thrust his foot against the gas pedal, mud and debris flying from beneath the spinning tires before the truck shot forward.

You snatched up the radio, eyes locked on the approaching tornado. It needed to be timed perfectly. The tanks needed to open up the second the twister was in range. As Rhett sped through the field, you held your breath, staring out the truck window, hand gripping the walkie so tight you thought it might shatter in your grasp.

It was coming. Closer, and closer, and closer. Wild and powerful, devouring everything in its path. Almost there, just a little bit further…

“NOW!” You yelled into the received. “NOW, NOW, NOW!”

“Copy!” Finn shouted back.

Rhett didn’t dare slow down. He kept going, determined to get you to a safe distance. He veered the steering wheel to the left, getting out of the path of the twister. As he drove, you watched, silently praying that the nitrogen would work.

And then the vortex engulfed the trailer, and you squinted, but couldn’t see if it was working. You were so engrossed in the moment you didn’t even stop to let it register that you had finally faced your biggest fear.

But Rhett saw it. He spared you a glance as he drove, and he saw not fear, but wonder in your eyes. For a moment, he was transported back to all those times you chased together. The excitement and adrenaline you shared. Nothing could top that.

Despite the danger that was quite literally hurtling toward you both as he drove, he couldn’t help the smile that spread across his face. Oh, how he’d missed this.

“It’s not working!” Jeslyn’s voice suddenly cut through the speaker. “You two better get outta there, twister took some tanks with it and they’ll probably hit you guys if you stay in that field!”

Rhett grabbed the walkie. “I’m gettin’ us out. We’ll catch up with you guys!”

He floored it, truck rocking as it raced through the field. “Hold on!” He told you.

You clenched your jaw, bracing yourself. But that was nearly impossible, and you still felt your ribs collide painfully with the side of the door. At that point, you weren’t even watching the twister, you were merely trying not to get your head knocked against the window.

You put your trust in Rhett to get you both to safety. And, much to your relief, he did just that.

Minutes later, the truck shot out onto the main road, and he kept going, headed east, out of the storm’s path. Once he was certain that he was far enough out, he stopped the truck, tires screeching against wet asphalt.

As he threw the gear into park, he shoved the door open and jumped out. After taking a moment to catch your breath, you quickly unbuckled your seat belt and put the iPad on the dashboard before you climbed out of the truck after Rhett.

You jogged over to him, where he stood near the truck’s tailgate, watching the tornado in the distance. It seemed that it was true. The nitrogen hadn’t done a single thing to tame the beast. But Rhett found that he didn’t care about that. Not when you were standing there beside him, alive and safe.

“Damn, those tanks didn’t do anything,” you mumbled in disappointment.

He shook his head. “I don’t give a shit about the nitrogen,” he said plainly.

You looked at him in confusion. “Why not?”

“Because, look at yourself! Y’did it, girl! You chased down a fuckin’ twister!”

It was then that you realized what had happened. You hadn’t run away. You hadn’t let your trauma stop you in your tracks again. You put your nose to the grindstone and you conquered that deeply rooted fear that had been festering inside you for the last six years of your life.

“Oh my god,” you breathed, eyes wide in disbelief. “I…I did it. I actually did it!”

Rhett laughed, and it was the most beautiful sound you’d ever heard. “I knew you could do it. I knew it!”

You leapt forward, throwing your arms around his neck, and his own arms came up to encircle your waist. He spun you both around, all while rain and wind whipped around you. None of that mattered. And as he slowed to a stop, still holding you close, once again, you were the only two people in the entire world.

Your arms lowered, hands resting against his chest, which was rising and falling rapidly, heart racing like a hummingbird. You gazed into his face, so handsome and strong, so familiar and kind, and you knew that you would never leave him behind again.

You weren’t sure who moved first. Maybe both of you did at the same exact time. Either way, you were leaning in without another moment of hesitation, pulled even closer together by that invisible string of fate. And this time, you let it tie you together as one.

You tilted your head back, and he leaned in, his lips mere inches from yours. Your eyes fluttered shut, anticipation mounting as he ducked forward. Oh so gently, his lips connected with yours, and you melted into him. Just for a moment, the grief, stress, pain, denial; it was all washed away, replaced with a feeling of all-consuming warmth.

What started out as a tender, tentative kiss blossomed into so much more. Heat sparked between you, the beginnings of what would soon turn into a wildfire. His big hands came up to cup your cheeks as he deepened the kiss, pouring all of his heart into the action.

Your veins fizzed as if you were made of stardust and champagne. If you were a firework, you would be exploding across the sky in a million different colors.

This was what it had always felt like to kiss him. A memory you had nearly forgotten until now. Sizzling and desperate, gentle and sweet. Neither of you had any desire to pull away, but your lungs said otherwise, and you were forced to part, breathing labored.

His pupils were blown wide, nearly swallowing the blue of his irises.

A sob tore its way from your throat as you spoke. “I love you, Rhett. I love you so goddamn much. I never stopped.”

His chest heaved, and his mouth parted, silent words coming out before he could muster the strength to form them into syllables. “I love you too, honeybee. More ‘an I ever loved anyone in my whole life.”

You didn’t bother wiping away the tears that were pouring down your cheeks. “I’m sorry I left. I’m never leaving you again, you hear me? I’m yours forever.”

Unshed tears glimmered in his own eyes. He was too overwhelmed with emotion to utter a response, but that was okay. The only response you needed was him surging forward to kiss you again, tears and rain mixing as your lips met.

Finally, you were done running.

When you parted again, you were made aware of how quiet it had become. You looked up to realize the storm had passed, and the twister was gone. The hum of approaching vehicles drew your attention to the road, where you were made aware of the rest of the team pulling up.

Rhett didn’t let you go, choosing to keep an arm around your waist as he turned to greet everyone. You felt as if you were on cloud nine, despite the slightly grim looks of your friends.

“You guys alright?” Zara asked as she hopped out of the F150, boots crunching against the ground.

“Yeah, we’re just fine,” came Rhett’s response.

“We stopped to check on the trailer,” Finn piped up, shoving his hands into the pockets of his jeans. “That thing held up pretty well. Twister dragged it across the field but believe it or not it’s still in working order.”

“No shit?” Rhett was surprised.

“Yeah. Tanks went flying, though. We’re gonna have to see if we can find ‘em so they don’t end up sitting in some farmer’s field.”

“We can help look for ‘em all. Gotta figure out how to secure those better next time.”

“I think we also need to try something else. Maybe see if we can add some more nitrogen tanks,” said Jeslyn.

“How the hell are we gonna do that? There’s no room left on that trailer,” Danny interjected, lifting a hand to run through his silvery locks.

“Well, maybe we can bring in a second trailer,” she suggested.

Danny sighed. “Okay, but how many more tanks of nitrogen will we need? We’ve gotta calculate all of it. Go back to OU and do some more tests before we just come out here blindly.” It was clear that he was irritated. “Besides, how do we even know if it’s gonna work? Feels like we’re fighting a fuckin’ losing battle here.”

“Hey,” Zara spoke, her voice clear and hopeful. “We’ll figure it out. We need to tweak some things, and that’s fine. No big deal.”

“Yeah, but how many more things can we tweak? We don’t have the budget for this shit, Zar. We’re just bleeding money at this point.”

“Okay, let’s just take a breather,” came Rhett’s interruption. The two of you had simply been observing, waiting for the group to settle their own argument. But it was clear that tensions were mounting and needed to be diffused. “Look, it’s lunch time, why don’t we stop by the closest town, get somethin’ to eat, and put our heads together so we can figure all this out.”

Finn’s posture fell, and he nodded. “Yeah, sure. Let’s go.” He was already turning to head back to the RV.

“You’re right,” Zara agreed with Rhett. And then, for the first time in the last few minutes, she seemed to finally notice you, and she mustered a smile. “Hey, you did it! That took guts.”

You ducked your head sheepishly. “Thanks.”

“Really, it’s awesome. I’m proud of you,” Jeslyn echoed her wife’s sentiments, reaching out to pat you on the shoulder.

Their encouragement meant a lot to you, and you accepted it gratefully, struck with a sense of belonging. A comradery. You were truly part of the team now. And it felt good.

“We’ll follow you?” Zara nodded toward Rhett, and he nodded.

“Yeah, Phillips is the closest town. We can stop off there an’ eat.”

“Sounds good!”

As everyone climbed back into their vehicles, you breathed out a sigh, catching Rhett’s eye. He reached for you, pulling you to him. “They’ll figure things out. They always do,” he murmured.

“Yeah, I’m sure they will,” you agreed. He opened the passenger door for you, and you climbed into the seat, settling in as he rounded the truck and got into his own seat.

As he put his seatbelt on, he looked at you, and his cheeks rounded as his lips curved into a smile. He couldn’t believe how quickly everything had changed. Suddenly, he felt like a lovesick teenager. The feelings that he had tried to repress for so long were finally allowed to come to the surface. Rhett never had been the most expressive person, but he simply couldn’t wipe the look of elation off his face as he drove toward the next town over.

The missing half of his heart had returned.

The ride into town was blanketed with comfortable silence. You could see in the horizon that another storm was rolling in, and as you took a gander at the radar, you saw that a string of storms would be hitting the area later that day, and into the night.

You hoped the team wasn’t planning on going after any of them. After what you had just gone through, you were utterly drained, and weren’t even sure if you could handle another adrenaline rush.

Much to your relief, the afternoon was relaxed. You stopped to eat at an old family diner, where you ordered some comfort food and allowed yourself a moment of respite. Everyone else was discussing the plan moving forward, trying to figure out if an extra addition of nitrogen tanks would be effective enough to actually stop a twister.

Despite your background in weather science, you didn’t contribute much to the conversation, because you were content to just listen. But you were struck with an idea as Zara and Finn went back and forth across the table, trying to figure out the next course of action.

“I just thought of something,” you said. “It might be a long shot, because there really isn’t that much research out there to support it, but what if, instead of just nitrogen, you added some CO₂ tanks to the mix? It might drop the air temp even faster. But, again, could just be a crazy idea on my part.”

Zara shook her head, dark curls escaping her bun and tumbling against her forehead. She hastily shoved the strands behind her ear. “No, no, that’s actually not a bad idea,” she agreed. “Back when we started testing out the nitrogen we did talk about using CO₂ but ended up deciding nitrogen was better. I dunno why we never considered using the two together, though. It might work!”

“It’s worth a try,” Jeslyn agreed, arms folded against her chest, her back slouched against her seat.

“If we’re gonna do this, we’ve only got one more shot,” Danny said, expression grim. “We got lucky with the nitro tanks, what with my uncle working at the nitrogen plant. But he can only get us so much at a discount before we gotta start paying full price. That shit is expensive. We can’t afford to pay full price.”

“Then we supplement CO₂ tanks in between, so we don’t have to get as much nitrogen,” Finn suggested as he leaned over the table, motioning with his hands for emphasis while he spoke.

“Yeah, but even if we use less nitrogen, it’s still pricey. We can’t afford to go into debt with this. I can’t, anyway. We need funding for this project, and the only way we’re gonna get it is if it actually works. Which means next time we go out there, we better actually stop a twister, or it was all for nothing.”

“Okay, here’s what we’re gonna do,” Zara finally announced. “We’ll go with your idea to test out CO₂ along with the nitrogen. Danny’s right, we don’t have the finances to keep buying nitrogen, especially at full price. So, we’ve gotta hope like hell that this next chase we go on is the one the experiment works on. Otherwise we’ll have to try to figure out how to get funding another way, and I just don’t think we’ll be able to.”

“So that means the next time we go chasing, it could be the last time,” Finn concluded.

Zara sighed. “Yeah, it could. At least the last time trying this experiment.”

“Pressure’s on now, isn’t it?” Jeslyn sighed, hazel eyes downcast.

“It’ll work,” Rhett said from beside you, offering his vote of confidence. He looked at Zara and Jeslyn. “If anyone can make it happen, it’s you two. Jus’ work your genius magic and we’ll be fine.”

The girls smiled at his encouragement. However, it was clear that everyone was tired of talking science, and the table soon faded into silence as all of you finished your respective meals. Another storm was rolling in outside, turning the sky dark again.

Rhett glanced out at the sky as everyone stood and began readying themselves to leave the diner. “We should get goin’ before the storm hits. Might turn into another twister,” he remarked, wary of the incoming clouds.

You certainly didn’t want to be caught in another tornado, so leaving right away sounded rather appealing to you. You were quick to leave a tip for your waitress on the table, along with everyone else’s contribution, before you made your way toward the register to pay for your meal in full.

“I’ve got it,” Rhett spoke to you, stepping into your path, already sliding his wallet out of the back pocket of his jeans.

“Oh, you don’t have to,” you protested, holding up your hand to decline.

“Nope, s’my treat. Think of it as a li’l reward for chasin’ that twister.”

Who were you to deny him? With a shy smile, you relented, allowing him to pay for your meal. When he was done, you walked out of the diner, side by side, a feeling of peace settling within your heart. He opened the passenger door of the truck for you, and you swore you felt butterflies flutter to life in your belly.

Nothing could ever take the charm out of the cowboy.

As you set off back toward the Abbott farm, the weather remained steady, rain cascading from the sky. You were grateful that the worst of it seemed to be behind you. It allowed you to relax in the cab of Rhett’s truck, cozy and safe.

You found yourself growing sleepy partway through, and you ended up with your head resting upon his shoulder. Beside you, he couldn’t ignore the surge of comforting warmth that traveled through his body. This felt so right. As if you were a missing piece to the puzzle, now comfortably slotted against him, in the exact place you were always meant to be.

He wouldn’t admit it to anyone else, but during that drive home, he did travel quite a few miles under the speed limit, just to lengthen the tender moment. He was committing it to memory, every last second, because that was one thing he hadn’t done when you were together before.

He hadn’t lived in the moment as much as he should have. And when you left, that was one of his biggest regrets. Now that he’d been given an opportunity to make up for lost time, he wasn’t going to squander a single moment of it.

But eventually, he did turn into the Abbott driveway, tires crunching against wet dirt and gravel. And as the truck came to a stop, you were jarred from your slumber. With a soft hum, you lifted your head from his shoulder, squinting as you realized where you were.

“Welcome back to the land of the livin’,” Rhett teased.

“Wow, guess I was more tired than I thought,” came your groggy reply.

“Chasin’ twisters’ll do that to a body,” he agreed.

As you stretched your arms out in front of you, you gazed out the windows. The rain had slowed, sleepy tip-tap-tips splashing against the glass.

“Guess we should go inside,” you mumbled.

“Guess we should.”

A beat passed. And then another. Finally, you let out a sigh and slid across the seat, wrenching open the door. Rhett followed suit, and you both hurried into the house, eager to stay dry.

“Oh, thank the Lord!” Cecilia’s voice rang out from the kitchen as she rushed out to meet you. Her face was stricken. “You two scared me half to death! What are you thinkin’, not answerin’ your phone, boy?!”

Rhett’s eyes widened, and he patted his pocket for his phone, retrieving it only to realize that it was completely dead. “Shit, ‘m sorry, Mom, I didn’t even think,” he was quick to apologize.

“I thought for sure somethin’ had happened to you! I was worried sick, expecting a call from the sheriff tellin’ me you got yourselves killed!” She motioned wildly with her arms, tendrils of short brown hair falling from behind her ear and into her face.

Her reaction was perfectly reasonable, considering all she’d lost.

“Hey, hey, we’re alright,” Rhett assured her, tone low and even. He reached out, placing his hand on her shoulder. “We’re safe, nothin’ happened to us. Jus’ didn’t realize my phone was dead.”

You offered support, moving to squeeze her hand. “Yeah, we’re all good. Still in one piece.”

The woman nodded solemnly, placing her restless hands on her hips. “Yeah. Yeah, you’re fine. Of course you’re fine. I’m sorry, I just…I lost my head for a bit there when we got home from church and I heard about the twister that hit near Coalgate. I thought…”

She trailed off, unable to voice it.

“S’okay, Ma. I’ll make sure my phone is charged next time, that way y’ can get a hold of me.”

Cecilia managed a smile. “Good. I’ll, uh, I’ll try not to act so hysterical about it next time.”

“You aren’t being hysterical,” you told her. “You’ve got every right to worry.”

“Uncle Rhett?!” Suddenly, Amy’s voice cut through the tension in the air, and the nine-year-old came rushing down the steps, her golden hair flying behind her shoulders.

Rhett turned just in time as the girl threw herself into his arms. He caught her with ease, lifting her off the ground. “Gramma said somethin’ might’ve happened! I was so scared!” She exclaimed.

“Hey now, nothin’ to be scared about. I’m fine,” he promised his niece, leaning back to brush her hair away from her face. “I ain’t goin’ nowhere, Ames. You’re stuck with me.”

She managed a giggle as he tapped her nose. “Good. I’m glad you’re alright.”

You watched the tender moment, and you couldn’t help the tears that welled in your eyes. He was so good with her.

When he finally let her go, he stepped back toward you, and you found yourself instinctively slotting yourself against his side in search of his safety and warmth.

Amy caught on immediately, and her face broke into the biggest grin you’d ever seen. “You are in love!”

This time, you grinned right back at her and said, “We sure are.”

As she jumped up and down and said, “I knew it! I knew it! I knew it!” you looked at Rhett. There was this beautiful fondness in his eyes that you never wanted to forget as long as you lived.

“You two want any hot cocoa?” Cecilia asked, a twinkle in her eyes, as if she’d always known you and Rhett would get back together. Perhaps it was mother’s intuition.

“Yeah, that sounds really good, actually,” you agreed.

“Ooh, can we put the colorful marshmallows in it?!” Amy inquired, hope in her voice.

“If you can find ‘em in the pantry!” Her grandmother told her, at which the girl scurried into the kitchen without missing a beat, eager to find the dyed confections.

As the pair busied themselves in the kitchen, you ducked out of Rhett’s embrace to take your damp shoes off. He followed suit, placing his boots on the rack near the door, lest his mother be frustrated with him for leaving them on the floor.

You ambled further into the coziness of the house, taking a seat on the tan upholstered couch that stood in front of the windows. The couch that converted into a bed for Rhett to sleep in each night.

“Is the mattress in this thing comfortable?” You asked as you settled in.

Rhett hummed, shrugging as he retrieved the old quilt from the back of the couch. “Yeah, I sleep fine on it.”

But surely it wasn’t as comfortable as his own bed. The one you had the luxury of sleeping in for the duration of your stay.

You could invite him to join you.

Was that being too forward? After all, you’d only just rekindled your romance. Was inviting him to sleep in the same bed as you moving too fast? Or would it be like simply resuming where you’d left off. When you were together before, you’d spent more time in his bed than your own. Being with him in his childhood home felt like a safe haven.

It still felt like that. Though, he was part of what made it feel like home. Without him here, it was just a house. A mere building. But bring him into the picture, and there was warmth, safety, and security.

And that was why you thought about inviting him into bed with you that night. You yearned to feel the comfort of being wrapped in his arms as you slept.

Dare you ask him to join you in bed that night?

“Do you guys want whipped cream?” Amy abruptly called from the kitchen, jarring you from your thoughts.

“Please!” Rhett responded. You echoed his answer, letting out a breath as you shook your thoughts of longing away.

He took a seat beside you, spreading the quilt he’d just grabbed over both your and his laps. Immediately, you were surrounded by warmth, and you let yourself sink back into the couch cushions, breathing a sigh of relief as the tension you carried began to slowly melt away.

“Y’alright?” He asked, cadence low. “Been an eventful day.”

“I’ll say,” you agreed. “I’m okay. Just tired from the adrenaline crash.”

His knee bumped against your own. He left it there. “I know I already said it, but I’m proud of ya. I know facin’ that twister wasn’t easy.”

“Well, I know climbing back on a bull wasn’t easy for you, so I guess we’re even.”

He hummed, nodding his head. “Guess we are.”

Moments later, Amy and Cecilia entered the living room with mugs of hot chocolate, and soon, the four of you were huddled around the coffee table, enjoying the sweet, chocolaty drink as the rain continued on outside.

You let your walls down and embraced the domesticity of it all. For once, your body wasn’t in fight or flight mode, and you felt at ease. You could get used to this.

When it came time to prepare dinner, you volunteered to help Cecilia, but after she learned that you’d endured a tornado chase, she insisted that you rest.

“You’ve had enough activity for one day, hon. Y’ should take it easy,” she told you.

This left you to sit on the hardwood floor of the home office, with Amy across from you and Rhett beside you, a jigsaw puzzle littering the space between you. You were quite enjoying watching his large hands put each small, fragile piece into place with such precision and care.

He was so beautiful like this. Comfortable. At ease in his home, with his family. A life you had once dreamed of living with him. And now, you supposed it had become a dream of yours once more.

You could see yourself in the future. A quaint little home, just the two of you. A simple, happy life.

And that’s when you knew. Sitting there, watching him work on a puzzle on the floor, you knew everything was about to change. Your life was forever intertwined with his now, and you would be his until death did you part.

That thought didn’t scare you. It filled you with so much hope, rising up inside you like water from a babbling brook. It was a beautiful feeling.

Later that evening, as you sat around the dinner table, you were beside him, shoulders touching, stealing glances at each other throughout the meal. Things felt lighter now. The tension was gone.

“You two finally quit beatin’ around the bush?” Royal asked. His expression was neutral, but his eyes swam with humor.

Rhett squeezed your knee under the table. “Yeah. We did.”

“Good,” the older man said, nodding in approval. “She’s a good one, like your ma is. Don’t lose ‘er this time.”

The man beside you let his mouth quirk into a soft smile. “I won’t.”

“He’s stuck with me,” you agreed, placing your hand over his, which still rested upon your knee.

Soon after, when supper was finished, and the dishes washed, you found yourself in the living room again, curled up on the couch with Rhett by your side. Amy pleaded with her grandmother to let her stay up just a little later, despite her early wake-up call for school the next day, as she wanted to watch a movie with you and Rhett.

Cecilia made the exception, and it wasn’t long before the opening credits of Treasure Planet were playing. One of Amy’s favorites, Rhett informed you. But as the movie went on, you found your mind traveling elsewhere, hardly focused on the cartoon.

Instead, you were fixated on Rhett’s proximity.

Your head was resting upon his shoulder again, and he was perfectly content with that. This felt more intimate than when you’d fallen asleep on him in the truck. Here, you were settled into the comfort of his home, cozy beneath a quilt that his mother had made many years ago.

It reminded him of the movie nights you would have when you were teenagers. You would trade off who picked the film, and he would often choose ones set in the horror genre, just so you’d have an excuse to hide your face in the crook of his neck during frightening scenes.

Here and now, curled up on the couch with you snuggled against his side, he was overcome with a surge of protectiveness. There was no doubt in his mind that he would do whatever he had to, just to keep you safe.

“Looks like someone fell asleep.” Your whispered statement pulled him from his thoughts, and he glanced over at the floor near the television, where Amy had fallen asleep. He hadn’t realized how much time had passed. The movie was nearly over.

Rhett hummed. “Guess I should take ‘er up to bed,” he murmured.

Reluctantly, he rose from the couch, instantly missing your warmth. Stretching his extremities, stiff from sitting for so long, he stepped across the rug covered floor and stooped to gather his niece into his arms.

She barely stirred as he cradled her close. He had this down to a science now. He was always good at making sure he didn’t disturb her sleep whenever he had to carry her to bed.

From the couch, you watch with fondness as he handled her gently. He took her upstairs, stepping into her room and laying her in her bed. When the covers were pulled over her, he ducked down to kiss her forehead before he crept back out of the room and shut the door behind him.

As he did so, the sound of thunder rumbling through the distant skies reached his ears. Yet another storm was blowing through, it seemed.

When he made his way back downstairs, he found you in the living room still, folding the quilt that had been strewn over your lap. He watched you for a moment, taking in the sight of you tidying up the room. Oh, how effortlessly beautiful you were.

When you caught him staring, you ducked your head shyly. “Thought I’d make myself useful and clean up a bit,” you said.

“Mm,” he hummed, lashes fluttering.

The way he was looking at you took your breath away. “Did you, um, get Amy to bed alright?”

“Yeah, she’s still out like a light,” he told you.

“Good. I love how she insisted on staying up later, and still fell asleep,” you responded with a good-natured smile. Kids were funny.

“She always does that,” he agreed, “an’ every time, I carry her upstairs.”

“You’re good with her. She loves you,” came your next statement, tone full of fondness.

Rhett ducked his head. “I love ‘er too. She’s a special li’l gal. Ever since Perry and Bec died…I dunno, I’ve just felt responsible for her.”

“Well, she’s lucky to have an uncle like you.”

His cheeks rounded as he smiled, and your heart clenched in your chest. He was truly so endearing.

A moment of silence passed. Then another. The air between you was heavy, as if both of you wanted to say something, but were hesitating. You knew what you wanted. It was right there, on the tip of your tongue, but you couldn’t bring yourself to speak it.

Another crack of thunder rolled outside, and you jumped slightly, caught off guard. This seemed to push you to speak. “Well, I…I guess I’ll head up to bed.”

You swore you saw disappointment flash in Rhett’s eyes, but it was gone within a split second. “Yeah. Yeah, ‘m sure you need the rest after the crazy day we had.”

“Uh-huh. I’m pretty beat.” You padded across the rug covered floor, your arm brushing against Rhett’s as you passed. As if on cue, a flash of lightning illuminated the house, followed by the loudest crash of thunder you’d ever heard. The force of it rattled the entire house.

Both of you jumped, and you found yourself surging into his arms on instinct, holding your breath as you waited for the residual rumbling to pass. When it was quiet, you looked at each other, and you began to laugh silently.

“Jump scared by thunder,” Rhett mused with a grin, “didn’t see that one comin’.”

Your hands rested atop his chest, where you could feel the quickness of his heart. “Me neither,” you agreed.

Slowly, your gaze flickered to meet his. His eyes narrowed slightly, and his mouth parted as he took in a breath. As another flash of lightning lit up your surroundings, something shifted between you. Warmth in your belly. Desire in your heart.

When your fingers curled into the fabric of his shirt, he knew what was going to happen. So did you. That was why you weren’t surprised with yourself in the least when you heard yourself say, “Do you, um…do you want to come upstairs?”

He leaned in, mouth just barely brushing against your own. “I do.” More than anything.

You let your eyes flutter shut as his lips captured yours. You swore, you knew exactly what it felt like to be a lightning bolt when he kissed you. Bright and alive, thrumming with raw energy.

“Please, I…” What were you asking for? Your tongue suddenly felt like lead in your mouth, and you couldn’t form syllables around it.

Rhett sighed softly, his large hand coming up to rest upon the side of your neck. There, he felt your racing pulse, and his eyes widened. “I know, honeybee. It’s been so long, hasn’t it?” His tone was choked. Labored.

Your bottom lip quivered as you were suddenly so overcome with emotion you could hardly breathe. To your dismay, the only sound you could make in reply was a whimper. But, oh, if only you could have photographed the face Rhett made when he heard the sound.

His brow furrowed, and his jaw went slack. You swore his eyes grew darker.

“C’mon, let’s get you upstairs.” He took your hand in his and led you slowly up the steps, your footfalls light so as not to alert the entire house of your movement.

With each moment, the closer you got to Rhett’s room, the faster your pulse raced. He guided you inside, carefully pushing the door shut behind you. You stood in the middle of the room as he moved to turn on the bedside lamp, swathing the room in a golden glow.

You jumped slightly as yet another boom of thunder shook the ground, but Rhett was there within seconds, hand soothing along the expanse of your arm. He hooked his index finger beneath your chin, prompting you to look at him.

“Y’ want me to stop, just say the word, and I will.”

But you didn’t want him to stop. “O-okay.”

He kissed you again, languidly, lovingly, but with the mounting intensity of the storm outside, as well as the one currently brewing between you, it soon grew into something more. You parted your lips and allowed his tongue into your mouth, tasting each other.

Your hands rested upon his solid chest, and his own settled on your hips as he eased you back toward the wall. When you came in contact with the solidity behind you, you gasped.

You were cornered, surrounded by him, his scent, his body heat. He invaded your every sense. And when his hands came up to rest against the wall at either side of your head, you felt so protected.

His chest heaved slightly against yours, and he closed his eyes, gathering himself before he leaned in, pressing a kiss to the corner of your mouth. Then the edge of your jaw. Down, down, down, to your collarbone. The bite of his day-old stubble against your flesh made you shudder, and you felt goosebumps raise in his wake.

Tongue and teeth oh so gently grazed your pulse point, and he buried his face there, breathing in your scent. How was it that you still smelled the exact same after all this time? It wasn’t just your perfume. It was your entire chemical makeup, a scent so intoxicating it made him weak in the knees.

“Can I take this off?” He asked, cadence low, fingers curling into the hem of your shirt.

“Please.”

He lifted the fabric, tugging it off of you as you lifted your arms to allow him to remove it entirely. He took in the sight of you, in just your bra. You expected to find hunger in his eyes, and it was there, but there was something else. Deep adoration. Reverence. It made you feel as if you were going to dissolve into stardust.

Feeling much too clothed, he decided to join you, leaning back to yank his shirt off, letting the fabric fall to the floor in a heap.

In the lowlight, you caught sight of the tattoo of a bull and rider inked into the skin of his chest. Lovingly, you brought your fingers up to trace over it. You remembered so vividly the day he got it. You were there with him.

Silently, you leaned forward, kissing the artwork. His breath caught in his lungs, and his lashes fluttered. You used to kiss that tattoo all the time. Especially when you were riding him.

And then your tongue darted out to trace it, and he audibly gasped. Moments later he was pulling your face toward his again, kissing you deeply, desperately, teeth grazing your bottom lip.

You were both a little frenzied as you pulled at each other’s remaining clothing. You unbuckled Rhett’s belt and he glanced down to watch you tug his jeans down his legs. Once he’d kicked them to the side, leaving him in a pair of blue boxers, he unbuttoned your own jeans, gazing up at you as he guided the denim toward your ankles.

He squeezed your calf, and you lifted one leg, then the other, to step out of the pants. The only thing keeping you from being entirely exposed to him was the thin fabric of your underwear.

You watched through hazy eyes as he began to kiss up your leg and along your inner thigh, palms resting upon your hips. When he made it to your underwear, he looked right at you as he kissed your clothed pussy, at which you moaned breathlessly.

“Wan’ see this sweet li’l pussy. Will you let me see her, darlin’?” His accent had grown deeper with the rasp of his voice. It swam through your head and sent shockwaves through your extremities.

“Y-yes.” You weren’t sure how you found it in yourself to speak.

“Yeah?” Cautiously, he began pulling the underwear down your legs. Slow, slow, slow, all the way down until he reached your ankles. Once you stepped out of them, he was finally greeted with the sight of you.

Deft fingers came up to part your delicate folds, touch featherlight as he began to explore. He was pleasantly surprised to find that you were already soaking wet.

“Can’t tell ya how much I missed this. How much I thought about you the last few years,” he admitted before he leaned toward you, running his nose along your inner thigh before he left another kiss to your now bare cunt.

Your knees nearly buckled, and he’d barely touched you.

“You…you have?”

“Uh-huh.” His tongue darted out to taste you, and his eyes flickered shut. He’d be the first to admit that he’d conjured up images of you when his hand was wrapped around his aching cock. Your softness, your pretty sounds, the feeling of your slick warmth around him. He’d spill his release against his lower belly as he moaned your name into the confines of his bedroom.

“I-I’ve thought about you too,” came your confession. Your head was spinning.

“Oh really? You touched this pretty cunt while thinkin’ of me?”

“God, yes.”

Hearing you admit it had him twitching with need within the confines of his boxers. What he wouldn’t give to be inside you again.

“S’much as I wanna eat you until you come all over my face, I think I need t’ be inside ya. Been too long.”

He rose to his feet, and he grasped your wrist, bringing your hand between his legs. You gasped at the feeling of his hardness. Had you forgotten just how thick he was?

As he kissed you again, you eagerly dipped your hand past the waistband of his underwear. When your fingers curled around his shaft, he grunted in surprise against your mouth.

Stroking him lightly, you took the opportunity to lavish affection on him, kissing along his jaw and neck as his cock grew even harder in your hand. Burying your face against the side of his neck, you took a moment to fully immerse yourself in the moment.

This was real. You were here. In the very bedroom where you’d given yourself to each other for the first time. Now, you were together again, giving yourselves to each other not for the first time, but for the last time. Not because it would never happen again, but because this was the moment that you were acknowledging that you were it for one another. A way of pledging yourself to him, a silent promise that there would never be anyone else.

It was you and him, for the rest of your lives.

“Take me to bed, baby,” you whispered against the feverish column of his throat.

How could he deny you?

With one arm holding you close, he guided you to the bed. But then he paused, brow furrowing. “Didn’t think this through,” he murmured. “The both of us ain’t gon’ fit on that bed.”

“We’ll fit fine, it’ll just be a tight squeeze,” you replied.

But he shook his head. “Nah. The way I wan’ lay you out and fuck you? I need more space than that.”

His words sent a shudder through you, but you still managed a playful quip in return. “Then what do ya propose, cowboy?”

“One sec.”

Then, he went around the room, gathering all the quilts from the rack on the other side of the room. He even yanked the covers off of the bed. You watched in amusement as he spread everything out on the floor, creating a makeshift bed, complete with pillows. It appeared to be a very cozy setup.

As soon as the last pillow was put in place, he straightened to his full height, gaze falling upon you once again. He reached for you, and you let him reel you in, guiding you toward him until your body was pressed against his.

His eyes reminded you of a feline’s, narrow and sharp. The warmth of desire glowed within them, drawing you in, sending shivers down your spine. With a loving kiss, he whispered, “Lay down for me, honeybee.”

Your mouth went dry, and your breath came out raggedly. But you complied, dropping to your knees and crawling toward the pillows, where you then laid your head. You watched, chest constricting, as Rhett pulled his boxers down his legs and tossed them aside.

His cock, hard and heavy, bobbed between his thighs, and you audibly whimpered. You had forgotten how thick he was. The memory of what it felt like to be filled by him flashed through your mind. The delicious stretch. The utter fullness.

Above you, he wrapped his hand around his shaft, stroking lightly as he stepped toward you. Then he knelt, and you still couldn’t tear your eyes away from that gorgeous cock.

“Look at me.” Quiet, yet commanding. Your eyes snapped up to his. “You gon’ let me make love to you, baby?” His hand traveled along your thigh, coming closer and closer to where you needed him most.

“Y-yes,” you peeped.

He smiled knowingly. “Need it so bad, don’t ya?” His voice was barely contained, trembling as he moved to hover over you. “I do too.” His fingers slid over your dripping center, and you gasped softly as they circled your little gathering of nerves.

Rhett moaned when he felt you pulse beneath his touch. As he dipped two of his fingers inside you, his mouth explored your chest, biting at the sensitive skin of your breast before he swirled his tongue around one pert nipple.

You whined as his mouth latched onto the sensitive bud, your hand coming up to thread through his dark locks. You hadn't realized how turned you were until that very moment. But you could feel it now, dripping around his fingers as you clenched around them.

"Rhett, please, I-" You didn’t know what you were asking for. Your mind was swimming. Hazy.

Hearing your pitiful begging had him looking up at you expectantly.

"What do you want, darlin’?"

"You. I need you. I-I can’t…I don’t…please, just…" God, you were spiraling with need.

“Shh, I’ve got you,” he soothed, tongue licking into your mouth before he slipped his fingers out of you.

You watched as wrapped his lips around the digits and sucked your desire off them. Your own mouth fell open at the salacious sight.

“Mm, tastes just as good as I remember.”

He was hovering over you again, bracing himself with his hands against the floor. His gaze was so intense, but you couldn’t look away. When you felt his hard cock against your inner thigh, you shivered in anticipation.

“Honey, I…I don’t have any condoms,” he admitted, voice wrecked.

Maybe it was foolish of you, but you couldn’t be bothered to care. Not when you were so close to having him inside you, skin to skin, after going so long without. You wrapped your arms around his neck and said, “I don’t care. Take me raw.”

Rhett grunted, jaw tightening, lashes fluttering as his pupils dilated. “Fuck. You’re gon’ be the death of me.”

You let your legs fall further apart, giving him full and complete access. But he hesitated, and you could see the wheels turning in his head. “Hold on a minute. I’ve got somethin’ that might be helpful.”

He moved over you, toward his nightstand. Curiously, you watched as he rummaged through the drawer, and moments later, he held up a bottle of lube.

“Thought I still had some of this.” He made his way back over to you, situating himself on his knees before you. “Wan’ make sure you can take it without me hurtin’ you.”

You watched as he carefully poured some of the lubricant onto his palm, and your breath hitched when he brought his hand down to his cock, coating it fully. In the soft glow of the lamp above, it glimmered on his skin.

But he wasn’t finished yet. He poured more of the liquid into his hand, warming it before he lovingly smoothed it over your pussy, prepping you further.

Then he knelt between your parted legs again, and your heart fluttered in your chest as he aligned himself with you. He slid through your delicate folds once, twice, then let his tip catch against your entrance, drawing a gasp of desire from you.

When he began to roll his hips forward, your back arched, and you squeezed your eyes shut, relishing in every last second. Inch by inch, he slipped inside you. Arms braced near either side of your head, he held himself steady, grunting lowly as your velvety walls enveloped him.

As he bottomed out, he let his head fall to your shoulder, where he remained for a few moments, gaining his composure.

He couldn’t speak. If he tried, he knew his voice would fail him. He’d been rendered utterly speechless as he let it all sink in. This was real. He was here, now, on the floor of his childhood bedroom, with you laid bare beneath him.

For a few moments, you were both still, adjusting to the feeling of him inside you. Tears pricked behind your eyelids, and you focused on breathing deeply. For the first time in a very long time, you felt at peace. Here, joined as one with him.

He lifted his head from your shoulder and kissed you softly before he broke the silence. “Y’ready?” He asked. Breathless.

Whining softly, you nodded. “Y-you can move.”

Another kiss was left against the corner of your mouth before he slowly pulled his hips back, inch by inch, before rolling them forward again. You let out a broken moan, suddenly so overwhelmed by him. He swallowed the sound, mouth open against yours as he drew back again, only to fill you up all over again. Your chest heaved. The tears in your eyes finally made their way down your cheeks.

The drag of his thick cock was so slow it was almost not enough, yet too much all at once. You could only focus on him. His comforting warmth, his familiar scent, the pleasured sounds rumbling deep within his chest.

Outside, the wind and rain wreaked havoc, but inside, you were safe, shielded by your lover, lost in the way he made you feel. You didn’t realize how much you’d truly missed him until this very moment. It hit you all at once, like a kick to the stomach, knocking the air out of your lungs.

Instinctively, you wrapped your arms around his shoulders, burying your face against the crook of his neck as he moved. You breathed him in. Earthy, musky, and so familiar. You wished to bottle up his scent so you could have it with you forever.

“Missed y’so much,” Rhett spoke, voice trembling. He leaned back so he could look fully into your face. When he saw your tear streaked face, he lifted his hand and lovingly wiped the tears away with his fingers. “Can’t believe you’re in m’ arms again.”

Then he was kissing you deeply as he picked up the pace of his thrusts, causing you to moan brokenly into his mouth at the feeling. You threw your head back as he built a rhythm. Back and forth, faster and deeper. You felt so indescribably full. He didn’t want to ruin that closeness, so he kept his movements contained, barely pulling his hips back, moving in a pulsing motion.

He was so deep that you could feel every ridge and vein of his cock, creating this wonderfully delicious friction within you. It took your breath away and made your head spin all at once.

You let your eyes fall shut and you whimpered as he kept rutting into you, stretching you, fulfilling your needs in ways you never could have imagined. This felt right. Your bodies joined as one. One soul. One heart.

“You feel so good,” you breathed, unashamed of the tears still streaming down your cheeks. “So good.”

Rhett could hardly utter a reply. He was breathless, his ever sense overwhelmed by you. Nothing else mattered. Here, on his bedroom floor, with you laid out so beautifully beneath him, he didn’t have a care in the world but you.

Again, he leaned back to watch you, in awe of the way you shivered and gasped, your body responding to him, releasing more of your slick around his cock. It sent a crackle of arousal through the base of his spine, and he pulsed inside you. You squeaked softly at the feeling, tightening around him.

He couldn’t resist stealing a glance at the place where your bodies met. His mouth fell open, eyes nearly rolling back. The sight of you stretched around him sent a jolt through him. “Takin’ me so well,” he sighed out. “Like you were always made to.”

You pulled his face back to you, urging him to meet your gaze. “I-I was,” you whispered in agreement. “I was made for you.”

“Yeah?” His tongue darted out to wet his lips. “You’re mine. Always will be.”

You tugged him toward you to kiss him again. “All yours.”

With one hand braced against the floor, he brought his other down between your bodies, fingers locating your swollen little button, so sensitive to his touch. You whined out his name, back arching off the floor. He purposed in himself that he was going to make you come before he ever did, because he wanted to feel the way your sweet pussy fluttered and clenched around him as you fell apart.

The sound you made as he swirled his fingers against you was music to his ears. The sweetest whimper he’d ever heard.

He kissed your tears away, a loving gesture that only served to bring even more tears down your cheeks.

As you looked up at him, you were overcome. It hit you like a ton of bricks, knocking the wind right out of you. You brought your trembling hands to his face, cupping his cheeks, committing every part of him to memory.

The love you felt for him was so deep, so intense, that you couldn’t put it into words. All you could do was cry. And you did.

He lowered his head, forehead resting against your own. He slowed down his pace just a little, and it made you feel impossibly closer to him. “Shh, I’m right here,” he soothed. “Don’t need t’cry, honeybee.”

“I-I-I just…I can’t believe I get a second chance with you.”

It was his turn to grow overcome with emotion. His eyes fluttered, and he let out a soft breath, nuzzling his nose against yours. “I know,” he whispered. His mouth was on yours, kissing you delicately, encasing you in love and devotion.

His hand had stilled between your legs, but he soon resumed his movements, fingers swirling as he kissed you. How was it that you could feel such deep emotion and pleasure all at once? It felt as if your body might explode into millions of stars from it all.

You wished that you were more eloquent. That you could find the words to tell him how you truly felt. But it seemed as if he already knew what was in your heart. Because it was in his, too. That all consuming love that he’d always had for you. Something that would never die.

Everything had taken on a new meaning. This wasn’t just the two of you making love on his bedroom floor. It was the joining of two wandering souls as one. And you gave yourself to him as he kissed you. Pouring every part of yourselves into that kiss.

You felt as if you might float away. And yet, there Rhett was, anchoring you, keeping you tethered to the earth. To him.

Beyond you both, thunder once again rolled across the night sky, your only reminder of the danger that lingered just beyond the walls of the Abbott home. It didn’t matter. None of it did. Not when you were sighing, trembling, weeping in his arms. Baring all the intimate parts of yourself to him.

You were climbing toward that peak now. Even as your tears fell and you cried softly against his mouth, a familiar, enticing heat had begun to spread through your lower abdomen.

Subtle at first, but soon, it began to spread throughout your extremities. From the top of your head to the soles of your feet. Rhett could feel it, too. The way you tightened and gushed around him.

“Oh, honey,” he sighed. “You’re close, ain’t ya?”

At which you nodded, bottom lip quivering.

“Poor thing. Don’t worry, I’ll get you there.”

You let him take control entirely. You both realized that although you’d been apart for so long, he still knew your body well. For him, it felt like getting right back in the saddle. Natural. Comfortable.

When he moved to switch positions, you let him, trusting him without question. He was gentle as he guided you up and into his lap, still nestled snugly inside you as he settled onto his knees.

You were face to face, chest to chest, hip to hip. Now, as he held you in his big arms, it felt all the more intimate, if that was at all possible. He cradled you as if you were the most precious thing to him. And, truly, you were.

“Move your hips with me baby,” he urged, voice a whisper against your heated skin, dancing across your collarbone.

With your arms strewn around his shoulders, you tentatively rolled your hips, and when it elicited a gasp from him, you were emboldened to build your own rhythm. There was nothing rushed or frantic about it. You simply took the time to enjoy each other’s bodies, as you climbed toward that glorious peak.

His hand was between your thighs again, fingers pressed against you, swirling firmly, deliberately. He kept his forehead against your own, eager to watch your face. God, you were the most beautiful creature he’d ever seen. Your brow furrowed in pleasure, eyes going out of focus.

And it was all because of him. It made his chest swell with pride to know he was the reason you were overcome with bliss.

He kept his movements slow and even, so deep inside you that neither of you could tell where he ended and you began. You were certain that you would ache with emptiness once you parted, but for now, you were content to be in the moment and relish in the fullness.

However, you were quickly beginning to lose yourself. Part of you never wanted it to end. You wanted to stay like this forever, the electricity of desire crackling beneath your skin, along the base of your spine. And yet, you also wanted so badly to come for him.

“S’okay, honeybee,” he was struggling to form syllables, his breathing rushed. “Let go when y’need to.”

His lips were warm and open against yours, tongue laving at your bottom lip, asking for entrance, which you granted. Moaning into each other’s mouths, losing yourselves in the moment.

You expected your orgasm to hit you like a ton of bricks. Perhaps you’d have to bite down on his shoulder to suppress your scream so as not to wake the entire house. What you didn’t expect, however, was the opposite.

It didn’t hit you hard and sudden. No, it was gradual. Like the spark that started the wildfire. So small, yet able to grow into something so wild and unkempt. You felt it in your lower belly first. As if someone had taken hold of the very core of your being and tugged, like a rope being pulled taut. It wasn’t long before the delicious warmth began to spread further into your extremities.

You were a live wire, thrumming with electricity. “Rhett,” you heard yourself gasp, and you buried your face against the crook of his neck as you began to tremble.

He spoke again, but you couldn’t hear it over the rush of blood in your ears. The range of motion between you was so minimal, and yet it was sending you toward cloud nine. Slow, deliberate grinding, building and building and building until you knew you were too far gone to hold yourself back.

Then he was tilting your head back, hand cradling your neck as he sighed into your open mouth, “Come for me, sweet darlin’.”

And you did.

As it ebbed through you, you were engulfed in the most comforting feeling you had ever experienced. You locked eyes with him, and he watched in amazement as you unraveled. Your face contorted into an expression of raw, unabashed pleasure.

It ebbed and flowed through your body, rising to meet you like the warm waves of the ocean, heated by the summer sun.

And you smiled. A wide, blissful smile as you shuddered in his arms, wholly and utterly satiated. It was as if part of yourself had been missing and was now found. You felt complete and fulfilled in a way that mere mortal words could not describe.

As you floated down from your peak, Rhett was barely holding it together. With trembling hands you held his face and kissed him, rocking in his lap, knowing that he, too, needed to reach his end.

“I love you,” you gasped as you moved, shivering from sensitivity as your puffy center brushed against the base of him.

He let out a high-pitched keen, deep in his throat, and squeezed his eyes shut. “S-say it again,” he sighed, Adam’s apple bobbing as he swallowed.

You picked up your pace, knowing he was almost there just by the pulse of him inside you. “I love you.”

This time, his head fell back, his mouth open to let out his broken moans. He was so close. It clouded his every sense, consuming his being. “Again. Please. Say it again.” If he wasn’t so wrapped up in the moment, he might have marveled at the tears that had begun to roll down his cheeks.

With one hand still holding his face, and your other arm now wrapped around his shoulders, you cried out, “I love you, I love you, I love you!”

His own hands immediately came up to grip your hips and he let out the most beautiful sound you’d ever heard. A cross between a groan and a sob. He had to muffle it by hiding his face against your shoulder.

You felt it then. The warmth of his very essence spilling into the deepest part of you, claiming you, filling you to the brim. You took it all, slowing down until you finally rested still against him as he shuddered from the aftershocks.

You weren’t sure how long the two of you stayed like that, bodies intertwined. After a while, you felt him begin to soften, and gravity took over as his spent cock slipped from the confines of your slick heat.

And oh, how empty you felt without him there to fill you. However, all at once, you were content. For the first time in a long time, you felt alive once again.

As the afterglow settled in, Rhett lifted his head and offered a sheepish smile. “Was that alright, honeybee?” The tips of his ears went pink.

You hugged him close. “It was everything I needed,” you replied with honesty, punctuated with a loving kiss to his lips. “You’re everything I needed.”

The look of pure adoration in his face made it all worth it.

You weren’t sure who initiated it, but soon, you’d switched positions and settled against the mound of pillows and blankets, with your head resting against Rhett’s chest, right over the place where his bull and rider tattoo was.

His fingers traced patterns along your spine, as your own fingers trailed absently over the expanse of his chest. You knew that you should eventually move and get cleaned up before you fell asleep like this, but neither of you wanted to break the spell.

Rain pattered gently against the window. It seemed that the storm had begun to fade, leaving behind a quiet, sleepy earth in its wake.

“Did’ya ever think we’d end up like this?” Rhett spoke into the comfortable silence of the room.

You hummed. “Before I came back, I didn’t.”

His fingers stilled against your back. “When did it change for you?”

“The night of the rodeo,” came your reply.

“For me, it was the first time I saw you after you came back. Brought all these feelin’s back that I tried to ignore. But then I held ya when you jumped outta the truck durin’ that twister. And then I, uh, saw you when you ran out the bathroom to grab a towel.” Mirth was in his tone as he said the last part.

You couldn’t help but smile. “God, I was so embarrassed about that,” you admitted.

“S’alright. Nothin’ to be embarrassed about.” He resumed the gentle patterns against your back with his fingers. “I sure am glad I got to see ya naked again, though.”

You lifted your head and slapped his chest lightly. “Hey now,” you scolded, humorously so.

His mouth curved into a good-natured smile. When he leaned in to peck your lips again, you eagerly accepted the kiss.

But it was soon time for the conversation to turn serious. Rhett’s lashes fluttered, his eyes growing misty.

“I gotta ask…what does this mean for us? Because I need y’to know, I’m serious about you. We ain’t two kids fresh outta high school anymore. If we’re doin’ this, I wanna do it right. I want to make this relationship work. But only if you want that, too.”

You let out a soft breath, absently tracing his chest tattoo. In your heart of hearts, you knew what you wanted. “I do want that. I’m not about to walk away from you again, I promise you that much. But I’ve gotta figure out what I’m doing with work. I don’t want to go through a long distance thing.”

His brow furrowed slightly as he placed his warm hand over your own, giving it a squeeze. “I could…I could move to Maryland with ya.”

You met his gaze. “You? Leave Wabang?”

“What? I could do it.”

“You’d hate the city, Rhett. You’d hate living in my one-bedroom apartment. I know you love this place and it’s where you’re happiest. You don’t need to sacrifice that on account of me.”

“Doesn’t matter where I’m livin’, as long as I’ve got you.”

Your heart clenched at his words, and you nuzzled your nose against his. “I’ll figure it out. But I want to make this work, more than anything.”

“So do I.” Rhett was willing to go to the ends of the earth, if it meant he got to be with you. If he had to move to the city to do so, then so be it.

For now, he was content to share this moment with you, bodies entangled on his bedroom floor. It reminded him of days gone by. And if only for a moment, he could close his eyes and go back to that time. When you were young and in love. When his brother was still alive. When life felt safe and hopeful, as if nothing bad could ever happen.

But it did happen. The bull riding memorabilia that currently surrounded you both was a reminder of what he’d lost when he took a horn to the gut. The first bitter taste of reality he’d gotten as a young man. Little did he know that just a few years later, he’d lose three of the most important people in his life, and that injury would feel like a mere paper cut compared to the agony of grief.

How far both of you had come since then. You’d conquered your fear of storm chasing. He’d conquered his fear of bull riding. And it had brought you both together again.

The truth was, you’d needed to go on your own respective journeys of healing so you could return to each other as better versions of yourselves.

“I guess we should get cleaned up,” your sleepy voice pulled him from his thoughts.

He smiled, lips brushing against your forehead. “Guess we should. I’m about t’ fall asleep on this floor, and I know I’m gonna regret it in the mornin’ when my back is fucked up.”

Reluctantly, you sat up, immediately missing his warmth as the cool air rushed over your skin. Rhett stood, his knees popping slightly as he did so, and he reached for your hand, pulling you up with him.

The evidence of your combined releases was slick against your inner thighs, and you were reminded of what you’d just done. The way he’d just made love to you. It sent a rush of warmth down your spine.

“I’m all wet,” you murmured shyly.

Rhett grunted softly. He could see the milky white glistening on your skin, and he had to avert his gaze, because he knew he’d wind up taking you all over again, and you were both much too tired to withstand another round.

“I…I can help clean ya up?” He offered with an earnest smile.

You decided to take him up on that, which led to you both sneaking across the hall and into the bathroom, where Rhett so lovingly wiped you clean. It reminded you of the past, where he had been so eager to learn how to care for you after sex. It had been a learning curve for both of you, being each other’s firsts. It had been such a special experience, one that you cherished to this day.

“Y’ready for bed now, honeybee?” He asked, once you were clean and had brushed your teeth.

You nodded, and together, you tiptoed back across the hall, feeling much like your teenage selves, trying not to get caught by Cecilia whenever you’d sneak into Rhett’s room in the middle of the night.

When you were safely closed into the confines of his bedroom again, you both scrambled to pick up all the pillows and blankets so you could settle into bed.

“Ain’t much room in the bed. Guess we’ll have to snuggle up real close,” Rhett said with a grin.

You stepped into his warmth, kissing his jaw. “I’m fine with that. Reminds me of all the times we used to squeeze into this thing together.”

Rhett was more than happy to have someone to cuddle up to again. His bed had been empty for far too long. And as he climbed beneath the covers that night, your body curled against his own, a sense of peace washed over him.

You nestled your head against his chest, and he felt a sense of protectiveness overcome him. He would watch over you while you slept. You were safe with him. You always would be.

When he fell asleep that night, his dreams were filled with flashes of your beautiful face, and he slept better than he had in years.

taglist:

@ryebecca @peachystenbrough @attapullman @sebsxphia @damrlova

@fragilefearnie @floydsmuse @versipellesh @lovinglyeternal @likearolloftape

@bobfloydsbabe @nobody7102 @mearslot @torturedpoetspsychward @floydsglasses

@hearteyesforlewis @shamelessghostwagonwobbler @cloudofbutterflies92 @keep-on-burnin @ravenmoore14

@queenbbarnes @phoenixhalliwell @lyn-js @sunsetsimpsblog @ixxvixcviii

@shinycupcakebaker @frequentnosebleeder @atoncments @eolsens @casuallyclassless

@desert-fern @perfectprettypisces @parcetamoldaisy @zirrocom @rhettsgirll

@just-in-case-iloveyou @ada--44 @sydney-malcontent @9ullmans @callsignmedusa

@antiquitea @ohmyeyesmyeyes @spidervman @oddlymighty-witch @fairyheart

@kissmecaitie @dreams-in-anthracis @rhettmotel

#rhett abbott x reader #rhett abbott smut #rhett abbott fanfiction #we own the sky

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ramblingautisticman · 26 days ago

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Here is part 1 of my new series 'And They Were Gamers!', a series in which Logan and Wade play video games and be cute and gay- enjoy!

I'll be posting it here and on A03! I've got about three-ish chapter ideas/things I'm writing, any suggestions or idea please comment!!

(Based on this post!)

(Tagging @ineffable-monster-romancer because you gave me the idea for the tiny house and flowers!!)

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

It had started simply. Wade scrolling through YouTube at 3am due to insomnia, and wasn’t that how most things started?

He was used to staying up late, his body refusing to give in to the tiredness running through him. Logan had tried to get Wade to sleep easier- tried to find a way to get him relaxed enough to pass out- but nothing had seemed to work, so he did continued to do what he always had, didteacting himself with his phone until he either fell asleep or it was morning.

Eventually, he moved from tiktok to Youtube, and after awhile he found a video that seemed interesting. Something about a game called Minecraft. He had heard of it- the kids at the mansion had talked about it briefly when he was there a few months ago- but he had never actually seen it. So he pressed play and lay in bed watching it, finding himself quickly enamored in the video.

Before he knew it, he had spent the next 5 hours watching videos and looking up the different versions, and quickly it had become something he needed to play.

It seemed like a fun little time waster for when he couldn't sleep, plus, it seemed very relaxing compared to the other games he enjoyed.

So when Logan finally stirred, Wade had quickly started rambling about it, telling him anything and everything he could about the game- coming up with 100 and 1 reason as to why he should buy it- and even if Logan had no clue what was happening, when he left to go shopping and left Wade to watch even more videos about this game, he threw in the copy of Minecraft Wade had wanted (and yes, he had to message Laura to ask what one Wade needed for the switch thingy he played on, and spent a good hour being annoyed at how many different versions of it there seemed too be).

When he came home, Wade had helped bring the groceries to the kitchen, spending the whole time talking about a video he had watched about someone making a castle in the game- and by the end of his ramble- the only thing left in the bag had been the game.

Wade had nearly exploded with excitement when he saw it, quickly wrapping his arms around Logan in a bone crushing hug and thanking him about 50 times, before grabbing Minecraft and rushing over to his Switch.

And that was Wade for the next 3 days solid. It was all he did, and thank god they had no missions, cause honestly? Wade would've probably just taken the thing with him.

Luckily, Logan found his excitement over it cute so he was allowed to get away with not doing much else. And it seemed to be helping Wade when he couldn't sleep which was a bonus.

After about a week, Wade had greeted him at the door after walking Mary Puppins, tears in his eyes as he held the screen up for Logan to see.

"My dog died!! I had him since the first night! And now he's dead and I didn't even get to finish the dog house! Stupid fucking skeleton shot him!! I'm such a bad dog owner! Don't let Mary near me!!" He cried, tears now rushing down his cheeks, a frown on his face.

And Logan really didn't know what any of that meant, but he didn't like Wade being this upset. And he didn't like hearing him think he was a bad dog owner. "Hey, it-s okay- you are a real good papa to Mary." He said softly, gently holding the dog closer to Wade, watching as she licked his face.

It seemed to help alittle, Wade gently holding her with one arm, kissing her forehead before looking back to the screen of his Switch. "I wanted to make him a house...I was so close to getting a nametag for him.." He muttered, looking back up at Logan with those big sad eyes that made his heart ache.

"I'm sorry baby, why don't we cuddle up on the couch? You can show me the monster farm thingy you were making, yeah? Maybe you can get another dog?" He suggested, gently guiding Wade to the couch and gently sitting down, listening as Wade slowly explained that the monster farm was called a 'Mob Spawner', and that he didn't know if he could find another dog because of where he lived.

Logan thought that maybe it would pass in a few days, but Wade was still heart broken about his Minecraft dog, and Logan needed to fix it. So, he devised a plan. Well- him and Laura.

It seemed that Wade had messaged her about it, because she knew exactly what Logan was on about when he had sent her a text for help. Initially, he just thought that Wade could find another dog, and even though that was technically true- Wade didn't seem very happy at the idea of going and getting another one. Something about not wanting to go exploring and loosing all his XP if he died.

So Laura suggested something else. She had suggested that Logan learn to play it so that he could go and find Wade a dog himself. Which made him very very confused. He wasn't good with technology- had only just figured out smartphones- but he wanted too. Wade deserved to have his dog back, and here he was, sneakily using Wade's switch to try and learn the game.

It took a few days to get the controls down, but Logan quickly got used to them- and honestly? He began to understand why Wade loved it so much. The relaxing music, the cute animals, the addition he was gaining to mining.

Now, playing it himself, Logan understood why Wade had gotten so upset when his dog died. It was easy to get sucked into the game- to shut your brain off while collecting wood or getting attached to a chicken you managed to hatch from a random egg- and it made him want to get Wade his dog even more. That, and play it with Wade himself.

It took another few days to get a dog. He had to wait for Wade to go on a mission, but as soon as he left the apartment, Logan booted up Wade's world and got to work. He still wasn't good- he had to Google a few things- but eventually he found and tamed a dog.

Logan spent about an hour getting it back to Wade's house, and then proceed to spend another hour figuring out how to fish for a name tag. As soon as he started fishing, he realized that maybe he was enjoying Minecraft more than he had expected. It surprised him to enjoy a video game- he had only ever really played a few in the 80s with the kids at the mansion- but here he was, 4 hours later still playing.

He hd originally just wanted to get a dog for Wade, name it Mary Puppins and be done, but he couldn't help but get more and more into it as he contuined to play.

At first he realized Wade didn't have an anvil, so he went mining for iron. Then he needed some more levels for the name tag to make sure he didn't used Wade's, so he went and killed some mobs. Then he decided to make the dog alittle house, even if it was just a square of wood, then he found some flowers and decided he wanted to decorate with them.

Before he knew it, Wade was opening the door and loudly announcing he was home. Logan tried to save and exit the game quickly- but as usual- Wade was faster than he was, quickly looking at Logan with a confused expression.

"What is this??? Your using technology beyond an old android? Am I dreaming?" Wade said dramatically, taking his mask off and plonking down next to Logan on the couch. "Wait...why are you on Minecraft?.."

Logan looked up from the Switch and over to the man sat next to him, blushing slightly, as if he'd been caught with his hand in the cookie jar. "Oh well- you seemed so sad about your dog- ya know? And I wanted to cheer you up, so I messaged Laura and she said about me finding you a dog so you didn't die with your XP, so I tried to join on a different profile thing but I couldn't, so I logged in on your one- I promise I didn't lose any of your XP or use any of it- and look! I found you a dog- and I called her Mary Puppins, and I even made her a house! Also, I found some red and yellow flowers, so I thought that would look nice....." He rambled, suddenly worried he had upset Wade. Should he of asked before he played? Did he mess the world up?

He held the screen infront of Wade- the same way Wade had done to him a week and a few days ago- and glanced at it, pointing at the little dog. "It's a grey dog, so I thought she kinda looked like Mary, ya know?.." Logan added, looking back at Wade, who seemed to be crying? Shit.

"Sorry- did I ruin it? I just wanted to help- I can get rid of the dog hou-" like usual, Wade interrupted him.

"Oh my god! Peanut! That is the most amazingly romantic thing that someone has ever done for me! You learned how to play it- and then got me a new dog?? And you got yellow and red flowers to decorate? Our colours!? You are the most amazing boyfriend ever!! I'm going to keep her so safe in her adorable little house and-and I'm buying you a Switch and we are going to play together and make a house together and we can put our beds together!" Wade rambled, somehow with on breath, and Logan couldn't help but smile widely at his excitement.

He kissed Wade's cheek softly before handing over the console. "Yeah, that sounds good...I've already been looking at one actually- Minecraft is really fun. And I'm glad your happy." Logan said softly, laughing alittle at how stupid it was he was nervous about this. It was a video game, why did he need to be anxious?

"Oh, I am buying you whichever Switch you want, I'm buying you Minecraft, and we are going to spend the weekend making the best house ever." And honestly? Logan wasn't going to argue.

#deadpool and wolverine #poolverine #deadclaws #deadpool 3 #wade wilson #deadpool #logan howlett #wade x logan #logan #wade winston wilson

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nevarroes · 2 months ago

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hi, new to this blog - just want to say, im absolutely obsessed. you art is incredible, both in skill, and clear love for your work. im so enamored by these two. i scroll through your art tag and just - wow. i love how each time you draw him, he gets bigger. i love the tenderness, eroticism, and also love in each drawing.

however, being as new as i am, i feel a little behind on the lore behind these characters (your lore, i mean. not canon lore haha) i tries finding a post perhaps with some backstory but i can't, so i hope you don't mind answering my question if someone's already asked it/you've already talked about it.

what's the story behind gortash gaining weight? as in, (apologies if im awful at explaining) is it a clear feeder/feedee relationship, or is the weight gain just a side effect of cas feeding him a lot, and he just kind of accepted it? i hope i explain this well, english is not my first language haha.

Hi, first of all thank you so much, it truly means a lot to me that there's still people like getting interested in them and all!💜 I've covered some of this in older asks (like ages ago, I admit) but more than happy to summarize it again here

So to Cas, it’s not about the fetish—he’s not generally into fat people or the kink at all (quite the opposite, actually). It’s more about control and the damage done, if that makes sense. Cas wanted to have power over Gortash, hoping it’d both ruin him in a way and make him unappealing to others, maybe even make him dependent on Cas. Physical attraction wasn’t really the factor in the beginning, Cas was just obsessed with Gortash and by nature he’s not capable of "mild" feelings like some simple crush. Even before Gortash got fat, it’s not that like…. Cas found him irresistibly attractive or something, that was never the actual thing

It wasn't obvious from the get-go either, Cas began by inviting him to eat more and over every business they discussed, subtly enabling him without even really knowing himself what he was trying to achieve. Cas holds himself to an extremely high standard when it comes to fitness and nutrition (I’ve mentioned this before but he has a horrible relationship with his body and eating considering his past as an incubus and trying to live up to certain things. It's an eating disorder if we want to be real, but its a bit different since when in the Hells he doesn’t technically need to eat). Cas usually finds people who let themselves go gross and undisciplined, but Gortash was viewed differently by him. He wasn’t fat before either (probably wouldve made Cas absolutely not interested anymore), but he ate a lot of junk and was excitable by a good meal, which seemed strange for a man that Cas considered to be oddly similar in behavior to devils. Gortash still didn’t that eat much though, since he prioritized work and would often forget to eat (before Cas that is)

Cas found this intriguing more than anything—how could someone like Gortash, who carries himself the way he does, have a slight weakness for something as trivial as food? So, it became a bit of a game, seeing how far he could push Gortash. He realized he could go pretty far, Gortash even let Cas influence him to the point of discomfort and physical weakness. U know, overeating until he was clearly not in the position to fight back and if Cas wanted, he could exploit that.

Gortash obviously noticed what Cas was doing too but since he couldn’t find a logical explanation for it, he allowed it to continue, out of curiosity more than anything. he didn’t care much about getting a little fat and he knew he would, but his power to him was always in his intellect and words, not his physical form. Early on he made some snide comments too, like asking if Cas was trying to make him fat to take his power and telling him how it was a rather inefficient tactic. But Cas never stopped, and Gortash let him continue. In a way, it was some twisted gesture of affection from Cas too… he doesn’t seem like the type who’d go out of his way to keep someone fed or remember their favorite treats and then attempt to send 10 deliveries of it, yet there he was. And Gortash, though he’d never admit it at the time, enjoyed having someone "show up" for him and him personally instead of his power or his work, in some strange way😖

Over time, it just kind of progressed further into the whole feeding thing. Gortash didn’t feel the need to stop since he saw how much joy it brought Cas and it wasn’t hurting him in his eyes. So it got to the point of Gortash allowing him to hand feed him and all too and well… yeah. Cas found the whole thing turning him on too of course, not just because of what it did to Gortash’s body, but because it was something Cas caused. It showed the control he had over Gortash—proof that his influence wasn’t just in mind games or his imagination—in a physical way. I wanna say that it still is definitely genuione attraction, it’s just a very specific… scenario that developed out of Cas’ obsession with Gortash mixed with his destructive tendencies and abosolute horrid relationship with body image and stuff. So… its not that Cas is into fat people or would have this kink with anyone else, it’s that he’s into Gortash, and he wants to "possess" him completely

I went further into detail about like… a few topics related to this in past asks but i can’t link them all as it really depends what ur curious about! But here’s the tag pages in case you didn't see them, I do try to tag everything that might be interesting at some point so it's not sorted, more of a "if you get bored you can scroll through it" thing😩

gortcas lore

gortcas nsfw lore (a lot of shit here but the blog got censored, there's a new tag on my side blog now but most info is here)

#blakemail #mollys fics also generally show their relationship and such in more depth people should read them and stuff... heart emoji...#gortcas lore #weight gain

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alotofpockets · 1 year ago

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Happy when you're around | Florence Pugh

Paring: Florence Pugh x Reader

Summary: You're helping your girlfriend film her newest Cooking with Flo video, and help her with a Q&A on Instagram live.

Masterlist | Marvel masterlist | Words: 707

Florence was dancing around the kitchen, between the chopping of vegetables and stirring in pots. She was in the process of filming a Cooking with Flo episode. You were behind the camera making sure to get all the right angles to give her fans the best experience.

You loved how at ease Florence was in front of the camera, she had to be with her job of course but this was different. She connected with her fans, talked to them, even when her episodes weren't live and she couldn't see their responses or have a two way conversation with them. She never failed to find a new topic to talk about.

As a bonus Florence posted an extra story on her Instagram for her followers to send in questions, after she posted all the parts to the Cooking with Flo. She was nervous because she had never done this before, but she was excited when she saw all the questions come pouring in.

Florence wanted to answer the questions on an Instagram live. So, you suggested putting up a tripod to film her and to read the questions aloud from your phone, that way it was more like an interview. Flo thought it was a good idea, it eased her nerves a bit.

"Hi, everyone! I hope you enjoyed that little Cooking with Flo." She started. She knew how much they love the series, as they're always requesting more. "Thank you so much for all the questions you've sent in. My lovely girlfriend, behind the camera, will read as many of them out for me before we have to leave. I hope to answer as many as I can!"

You looked at Florence to give you the sign to ask the first question. Once she did you read one out for her. "Let's start off with a food related question, what is your favorite dish to make?" - "Hm that's a good one, I love so many. Honestly, I think my favorite thing to do is to create a dish from the leftovers we have. I get to be more creative and challenge myself."

You continue with the next question, "Are you working on any new projects at the moment?" Florence looks at you and smiles. "We just finished the press tour for A Good Person. If you haven't seen it yet, it's out in theaters now!" She plugs while making finger guns towards the camera. "But to answer your question, no not at the moment. I've had a busy couple of years work wise and while I'm very happy with that, I want some time with my girlfriend. So, I'm taking a couple of months off, and we're going to travel together. I've got some auditions planned before we go, so who knows after our trip I might have some new projects coming up."

You continue asking more questions, when you stumble upon one with your name. "Haha I like this one, I'd like to know your point of view on this. What is y/n like when she's filming your Cooking with Flo videos?" Florence moves her hands in a come here motion. "If you all don't mind, I'm gonna bring her in front of the camera for this one."

Once you sit down next to her, she starts answering the question. "Y/n is amazingly supportive behind the camera, and in general. She's very detail oriented and knows exactly what I want to show and when I want to give you all a closer look at something. Besides that I also have the cheesy answer, which is that she's beautiful behind the camera, and she always looks at me with the most admiring smile." You blush at all her compliments.

"That's because I'm always happy when you're around." You say while leaning into her more. She puts her arm around you. You see the screen filled with lovely messages from the audience and feel the smile on Florence's face. "We have to get going now, but I promise I'll answer more questions soon! Thank you for joining us and I hope you'll all have a wonderful day." With that you end the live and cuddle up to your girlfriend, before you have to get ready.

#florence pugh #florence pugh x reader #florence pugh x female reader #florencepugh #cooking with flo #florence pugh fluff #florence x reader

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weaselandfriends · 5 months ago

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Are ARGs the new avant garde?

There's this unfiction ARG on YouTube about a fake video game called Valle Verde. Here's episode 1, there are three episodes:

youtube

Watch this and the other two episodes. This is the most technically impressive thing I've seen on YouTube that was made by a single person, and if you watch this video for 54 seconds you'll start to see why.

Once you've watched Valle Verde, you can read this post.

ARGs, or alternate reality games, were a natural outgrowth of creepypasta (as the great Jenny Nicholson once put it, "campfire stories on a global scale"). With creepypasta, people, usually young people, would hop onto the internet and tell a spooky story about a haunted Sonic cartridge with realistic blood or a super evil serial killer who was never caught or Slenderman or something.

Due to the memetic nature of these stories, though, there became an arms race to make them on increasingly elaborate scales. Soon, people were ROMhacking their favorite old games to actually show the spooky haunted realistic blood. A famous example, Ben Drowned, showed modded/corrupted Majora's Mask footage that was generally effective because Majora's Mask is already sort of a creepy game.

Ben Drowned was also notable for being a story that was continually updated. Originally, most creepypasta would be a single story, usually short, posted once. This is an effective medium for horror, which loses effectiveness the more things get explained, but at the same time, when people like something, they want more.

Okay, so how do you make an ongoing horror series that doesn't outright explain everything, and thus retains its horror aspect? The answer, seemingly independently reached by a wide variety of indie horror creators at the same time (Ben Drowned, Marble Hornets, and the godfather Five Nights at Freddy's) was arcane hidden lore.

That's basically what separates an ARG from creepypasta: the "game" in "alternate reality game" is that sprinkled throughout a series of videos are scraps of hints toward a broader narrative, and the viewer is expected to locate those hints, piece them together, and figure out what's actually happening.

The logic is similar to the appeal of a mystery novel, so it's no wonder this took off. Channels like Game Theory posting lore breakdowns of FNAF or other popular series raked in beaucoup views. Indie horror devs would start putting dumbass lore hints in their goofball games to piggyback off FNAF's memetic success. Pathetic things like this happened:

But ARGs are fundamentally different from a mystery novel. In a mystery novel, the terms of the mystery are overtly made known. Someone has been murdered and a world famous detective has arrived to find out who did it/how they did it. By contrast, ARGs are often abstracted to the point that it is difficult to know whether there actually is a mystery. And besides, the mystery in an ARG isn't "who is the killer," it's "what is even the plot?"

Heavily abstracted, often fragmented storylines, with no clear plot, disjointed organization, and only scattered ambiguously meaningful moments that could be arranged in any number of ways to attempt coherence. What does this remind me of?

They reinvented postmodernism!

This realization came home when Skinamarink received a theatrical release in 2022. Skinamarink was an analog horror (another offshoot branch of creepypasta/ARGs) video blown up to cinema length, created by an analog horror YouTuber based on an original 20 minute video they made. Mainstream critics who saw this film, being completely unaware of what analog horror was, extolled the film for its Lynchian, Kubrickian influences. They were unaware its actual greatest influence was Mandela Catalogue. They were unaware that a thrillingly unique, abstract form of storytelling had organically been created by a group of outsider artists on the internet.

Kubrick would be proud.

I find this especially exciting in a mainstream pop cultural milieu that is trending toward, at least in my appraisal, increasing obviousness and simplicity in how it communicates ideas, which is not only boring but also annihilates the capacity for nuance, interpretation, and even meaning itself.

This also comes alongside ARG creators often pushing themselves to new technical extremes, extremes that are absurdly impressive for individuals. Kane Pixels has created amazing found footage videos using Blender-made labyrinths. The Mandela Catalogue guy was doing some crazy shit with puppets(?) last I checked. And, of course, the act of modding old games has evolved into the act of creating whole video games entirely as a vehicle for an ARG. The first example of this I know of is Petscop, and there have been others like Catastrophe Crow (which splices in an extremely accurate pastiche of a retro gaming video essayist, plus period-accurate game magazine articles), but Valle Verde takes it to a new level.

Since you've all seen Valle Verde by now, I won't waste time explaining the seriously impressive stuff it pulls off.

Instead, I'll let the other shoe drop.

I have a fundamental problem with all these ARGs, one that pains me all the more because I am so thrilled by so many aspects of them. The problem is that once you dig into them, once you piece together the underlying narrative from all the tiny clues, interpret the ambiguities, and see the broader picture -

The picture sort of sucks.

Ben Drowned, FNAF, Petscop, Catastrophe Crow boil down to the same residual dew: Children died. (Either murdered or just tragically.) Their spirits haunt the game cartridge/animatronics. All the scant hints point to the cause. (Ben Drowned spoils it in the title.) It's not only sort of banal but also the story that you could probably guess at without reading into the deep lore, just from the story's general vibe.

It's a fundamentally boring answer to a fascinating puzzle, and worse, it reveals that there was no true value in the puzzle being presented as it was. The abstraction and postmodern technique of the narrative contribute nothing to its overall meaning. They exist with the sole aim to obfuscate, because horror only works when unexplained. Rather than leave the horror unexplained, though, the way Kubrick would in The Shining (which deliberately strips out overt explanations that exist in the book it adapts), or Lynch would in anything, these works are attempting to have their cake and eat it: there's stupid lore that explains everything, but it's just a little hard to find. In that sense, rather than being a rejection of the current cultural milieu toward works that make simple sense, this trend seems more like an attempt to reinject that milieu into one of the few genres of storytelling that had effectively rejected it. (It reads similarly to all the Babadook-inspired indie horror films of the past decade where the monster is some transparent allegory for grief or trauma or something.)

So what's the story of Valle Verde?

I won't go into a Game Theory breakdown of every symbol and detail. As far as I can tell, this is what's going on:

Valle Verde, the fiction within the fiction, is a Japanese video game developed with experimental technology called THBrain that gives it a sophisticated and advanced artificial intelligence capable of making on-the-fly alterations to the game's script. Valle Verde, the series of videos, depicts an investigation into certain malfunctioning elements of the game prior to its release. The player character, self-identified as TEST05, is actually played by two "agents" (of what agency is unclear) named Pablo and Robert testing the game and chronicling anomalous behavior.

The series of glitches and other bizarre things they record seems to depict a theological battle between Valle Verde's freemasonic villagers, led by Foxxo (remember that the next elections), and the Catholic Church, led by Pietro (possibly an avatar for St. Peter, the first pope and guardian of the gates of heaven).

Joseph of Cupertino is the patron saint of aviation. It's a "time flies" pun.

It's unclear how much autonomy either of these factions have, even knowing that there is apparently a super-sophisticated AI capable of injecting novel information. Pietro at times breaks the fourth wall and addresses Pablo directly by name; the villagers don't break the fourth wall, but do all sorts of stuff that is described by the tapes as anomalous. The AI seems like the obvious culprit, but in Valle Verde 2, Pablo actually meets the AI, who claims to have sequestered themselves from the rest of the game because they didn't want to partake in the villagers' rituals, and who has even disabled all their language libraries except Spanish to avoid comprehending the screams of the children trapped inside the game.

Oh yeah. Children are dying.

The THBrain seems to not only enable incredible AI, but is a way to upload humans into the video game (maybe this is unrelated to THBrain? I'm fuzzy on that point). Several children have already been uploaded and are presumed dead; currently, an Argentinian child named Matias is trapped in the game. Matias is the only other character besides Pietro capable of breaking the fourth wall, due to being a real person; he is aware of Pablo as an "agent" and suggests at some sort of conspiracy outside the game, which has not been explicated in much detail in the available videos.

The reason the children are dying is eventually revealed: the freemasonic villagers are sacrificing them to their false god, Moloch.

I'm not kidding about the freemasonry. Note the Argentinian flag.

There are other plot elements that are a bit murkier; Valle Verde seems to be a nexus of several unrelated video games, which can be accessed through an in-game library, and it is within this nexus that Moloch lives, and perhaps where the underlying purpose behind the villagers' actions lurk. There is also a recurring motif of a coming Christian apocalypse, likened to Noah's flood. After the freemasonic sacrifice, a doomsday clock ticks closer to midnight. Are the masons unwittingly provoking God's wrath? The series is framed as footage from 1997 that was unearthed in the modern day, so was this apocalypse averted, or did the apocalypse simply exist within the game, with no bearing on reality? The series remains ongoing; future installments may clarify.

But the underlying issue remains that, for me at least, the basic conflict in its simplicity and lack of ambiguity seems inadequately matched to the unique, impressive, and open-ended presentation. It retroactively makes me wonder what the point is of telling the story the way Valle Verde is told, if its story is in essence the Church versus Satan-worshippers, with clear moral and ideological lines drawn. Doesn't a more conventional narrative make sense for this sort of story?

There's a scene early on when the player character traverses a series of rooms corresponding to the Seven Deadly Sins. The sin of greed is depicted, not simply with stacks of gold, but with works of modern art:

As the player proceeds through the room, they discover a dumpster where Renaissance artwork by Titian and Michelangelo is trashed:

The message here is almost fatuous. It's also deeply ironic. Valle Verde is a work that has far more in common, in terms of its formalistic technique, with Picasso than Titian. Is it a lack of self-awareness that puts this here? Or perhaps something else?

The novel Infinite Jest ends abruptly, with none of its plot points resolved. In this way it's similar to the titan of American postmodern literature, Gravity's Rainbow, which peters out without explaining the conspiracy that has driven its narrative. Infinite Jest plays a trick, though, as devious as it is facile. The final 200 pages of the book have been cut off and moved to the front. The story's beginning is a flash forward that, in its lack of context and confusing abstractions, is difficult to make sense of on first read. Upon rereading after finishing the book, though, it clearly contains the answers to all the unresolved plot threads.

If postmodernism could be described as an artistic period of uncertainty and obscured truth that was a response to the similarly uncertain Cold War era, where the inner machinations of governments may at any time cause the annihilation of the entire world, then what Infinite Jest did, published just a few years after the Cold War's end, could be seen as a reclamation of truth.

Truth itself is a concept deeply interwoven with Christianity. In Valle Verde, Pietro even calls it out with a green highlight to indicate its importance:

La Verdad sounds suspiciously similar to Valle Verde. Coincidence?

The context of this quote comes after the villagers destroy the church; Pietro reassures the player that La Verdad remains unchanging, and that this tribulation shall pass.

Might Valle Verde itself then be an Infinite Jest style reclamation, using the formalistic techniques of postmodernism that are so useful for obscuring truth to obscure what is, at its core, a simple and morally black-and-white tale of Christianity versus wicked idolatry?

There is a real-world allegorical undercurrent to Valle Verde that makes this reading even more appealing. Valle Verde's creator, Alluvium, is Argentinian, and the game is steeped in references to Argentinian history and politics.

That's a map of the Falkland Islands and a picture of former Argentine dictator Juan Peron.

At one point, when the villagers destroy the church (with the unwitting? help of the player character, who seems to have no moral interest in anything happening, and who only does whatever anyone asks him, whether it's Pietro or Foxxo), a highly overt reference is made to the death of Pope John Paul I, who reigned for only 33 days in the late 1970s before he died, officially, of a heart attack. The abruptness of his death, and the failure of the corrupt, Mafia- and freemason-connected Vatican Bank in the years that followed, have led to conspiracy theories that John Paul was actually murdered by freemasons within the Vatican so that they may continue to corrupt the Catholic Church.

Specifically, the conspiracy posits the assassination was done by the freemasonic branch P2, or Propaganda Due, an illegal fascistic secret society that contained many high-ranking members of Italian politics (including Silvio Berlusconi), whose goal was to act as a shadow government that could prevent the rise of communism within Italy. (P2 definitely existed; how much it actually influenced Italian politics is a matter of debate.)

Though primarily an Italian organization, P2 had several influential members from other countries, notably Argentina, where several politicians and military leaders at the highest levels were involved. As a nation, Argentina is something of a tragedy; at one point considered a rising economic powerhouse, its excellent geographic and demographic advantages were squandered by a long succession of corrupt leaders, including those involved in P2. It makes sense, then, why an Argentinian creator like Alluvium might be so interested in critiquing the evils of freemasonic corruption.

Valle Verde satirizes Argentina's leadership via Foxxo, not only through his freemasonic devil rituals, but also in more down-to-earth ways. In his introduction, Foxxo provides the player character 100 coins, telling him to "remember that the next elections" (Foxxo's catchphrase, despite him clearly stating he has been given absolute authority over the area by The Smiling One); moments later, when the player turns to leave, Foxxo mugs him from behind and puts him 99,999 coins in debt.

Through the use of masonic slogans like liberté, égalité, fraternité (which is written over what appears to be a portal to Hell) and masonic symbols such as the Statue of Liberty and Washington Monument, there's an undercurrent that expands this freemasonic secular/Satanic conspiracy beyond Argentinian politics and into the post-Enlightenment secular governments that have come to rule the so-called free world. "Progress is God," the freemasons state during their child sacrifice ritual. (Foxxo is joined in this scene by the village's museum curator, representing knowledge, and its scientist, representing progress.)

It's this kind of framing that makes me wonder about the previous scene depicting Picasso paintings as emblematic of the sin of Greed, compared to Renaissance paintings in the dumpster; is there a general theme here raging against modernity in all its forms, compared to a fundamentally good and absolute Christian religious truth? If so, it makes sense why Valle Verde is presented as it is, so abstractly; it shows a world rendered incomprehensible by modernity, but one that can be sifted and parsed to find incontrovertible religious salvation still shining underneath.

It is a rejection of "progress," using the formal techniques of "progress." In a milieu where the promises of the Enlightenment seem to have hit a dead end, where the freedom secularism once promised has given rise to corruption and abuses akin to those the Catholic Church of the Renaissance once inflicted, perhaps the sense of going back appeals.

The English literary world post-Infinite Jest itself also seems to have returned to the past; the works published today are realistic in style and scope, eschewing most formal techniques pioneered across the preceding century. Though I doubt that was David Foster Wallace's goal, it's what he created. Valle Verde, which is so explicit in its fundamental belief in Christianity, is probably far more deliberate in its rejection of the world as it currently exists.

Though there have always been voices calling for a return to the past, perhaps this is a mindset particularly enticing in the information age, when meaning seems so fragmented as to be ungraspable. Though Valle Verde is conscious of what it is doing formally in a way that, say, Ben Drowned is not, the inner simplicity of these ARG narratives obfuscated by abstraction strikes me as a collective yearning for clearly explicated, graspable truths in a world where such a thing seems increasingly impossible. Almost a fantasy: If only this incomprehensible eldritch horror could be explained by a 10-minute Game Theory video!

(The eldritch itself is a horror rooted in incomprehensibility. Making it explicable banishes it entirely, the way the protagonist of Valle Verde banishes a demon by holding aloft a crucifix. La Verdad triumphs. Couldn't our lives be so simple?)

Not every ARG is like this. Kane Pixels, another creator I would highlight for their exceptional technical talent and avant garde storytelling, has created far more nuanced and ambiguous narratives with works like The Oldest View, which deals with themes of nostalgia and memory without being resolvable into a simple pat sentence synopsis. Overall, I consider this entire collection of web original horror creators to be blessed with both the talent and mindset to create truly innovative works of fiction, even if many of them are outsider artists fumbling around just trying to scare someone; as outsiders, these confused anti-confusions of theme and meaning might be par for the course.

Valle Verde is an impressive work of art, even if it is an avant garde work that paradoxically rejects itself. Perhaps in that paradox more could be said than had it remained fully self-consistent. Either way, I eagerly await what comes next.

#Valle Verde #ARGs #creepypasta #analog horror #digital horror #postmodernism #art #unfiction

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zbengui · 4 days ago

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I've grown to love Singed as a character after watching act 2, which I should've seen coming considering my proclivity for mad scientist archetypes. He stood out to me in the first season too but there wasn't quite enough for me to sink my teeth into back then, so I'm glad they've decided to reveal more details regarding his lore now even if it still remains rather vague. That's actually one of the aspects that I like about him, it's fascinating how much he influences the overall plot even though his character receives almost no focus. He is constantly instigating chaos and causing so much tragedy for the main characters, and yet he is never confronted. I was actually just thinking about how it's a little funny that Jayce is getting blamed for what happened to Vander, even though Singed was the one who injected him with that serum. He brought Vander back to life and offered Jinx and Vi the chance to rebuild their family, only to immediately and brutally take it away.

That's kind of his entire thing. He brings the dead back to life against their will and they come out of it deeply and irreversibly changed (Vander, Jinx, possibly Viktor...?). He keeps his subjects breathing even if being alive is nothing but torture for them (Rio), not necessarily out of sadistic pleasure but in service to his ultimate ambition. For progress, evolution. It is then revealed that the motive behind all of his horrendous experiments is to bring his daughter back to life. It's all because of love, as he admits. I don't know a whole lot about the lore behind this, but I have to wonder how Orianna herself feels about this. Is she in pain, just like her father's other subjects? Is she grateful or resentful for what he is doing to her? Did she have any say in this?

One thing I like about his scientific methods is that he is willing to put his own body on the line and experiment on himself, like when he pumped his blood into WarWick. It definitely goes to show how... passionate he is. I also appreciate that he doesn't let any specimens go to waste. He even preserved the decapitated head of that guy he tested Shimmer on back in S1:

I'm sure most people would agree that Singed has a very impactful screen presence. Almost every single line he says is relevant for the overarching themes of the story. It feels like he's always dominating the scene, even when he was being held prisoner because he knew that his captors would immensely benefit from having him on their side and that Ambessa, the opportunist that she is, was going to ask him to join her as an advisor sooner or later. It's horrifying to imagine the biochemical warfare he is going to unleash while working with the Noxian army. He's going to invent new war crimes.

I also wanted to mention how relevant he is for Caitlyn's character arc in this season because most people seem to be overlooking it. I may have my personal gripes with her character progression in act 2, but her interactions with Singed in episode 5 were excellent. Singed isn't just a "crazed Zaunite", he is actually a Piltovan alchemist that is using the people of Zaun as lab rats for the sake of a deceased family member. Caitlyn realises that she will end up like him if she continues walking down the path she is currently on. That realisation, I think, is what informs her decisions later on.

I find his relationship with Viktor very fascinating too but that dynamic deserves an entirely separate post. They are both scientists with similar interests but very different philosophies and work ethics (or lack thereof). As I've briefly mentioned already, I believe Singed is going to bring Viktor back to life, robbing him of his autonomy once again in the process.

That is to say, I'm very invested in this weird old man and I'm excited to dive into his League lore after this season is over and find out what other atrocities he has commited.

#arcane #singed #caitlyn kiramman #viktor #I could add more but I'm going to keep it at that for now

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she-posts-nerdy-stuff · 4 months ago

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Fruzsi and the Importance of Her Character in Season 2 of Shadow and Bone

Okay I feel like I have been continuously teasing this post for a ridiculously long time and I have finally gotten around to writing it, I also feel like the fact that I talked about it so much might have built it up to sound bigger than it is but honestly I think that Fruzsi is a FASCINATING character study; I'm very excited to talk about her and have finally found the time (yay!) so hopefully you guys will find this at least a little bit interesting too

Tagging people who registered their interest here but please don’t feel pressured to read <3 @merlinxmagic @girasoljpg @atmosphericwrites @naushtheaspiringauthor @lunarthecorvus

SHOW AND BOOK SPOILERS AHEAD + TALKING ABOUT GRISHAVERSE SETUP & THE CHARACTERS' BACKSTORIES/EXPERIENCES (Mostly Zoya, Genya, Alina, Fruzsi, and Inej)

Super quick recap since of her story so we're on the same page as we begin: Fruzsi first appeared in Season 2 Episode 2 of Shadow and Bone and is a Grisha Tidemaker loyal to the Darkling. Her parents sold her to the Darkling when she was a child, its unclear how old she was, and we should take into consideration in this matter that there is no indication whatsoever that she was ever at the Little Palace since none of the other Grisha seem to recognise or know her and vice versa. She is instrumental in the Darkling's army and receives one of the amplifiers made from Baghra's bones, subsequently learning to manipulate water molecules into ice shafts that she can use as a weapon. She is responsible for Dominik's death towards the end of the season and is subsequently killed by Nikolai.

So right off the bat whenever anyone talks about Fruzsi I tend to see two things: "wannabe Zoya" and “the power of her amplifier was a problem because it will be too difficult to differentiate between amplifiers and parem". I've taked before about my thoughts on amplifiers and parem and why I didn't think it was going to be a problem for the Six of Crows spinoff show (*sobs*) but the general consensus seems to be that not only was Fruzsi an unlikeable character because of her actions, but because she was seen as a only being there to provide an enemy and a hand of the Darkling, and I think that's a real shame because she is a fascinating character and she tells us SO MUCH about the Darkling and other major characters. My personal favourite details about Fruzsi are her parallels with Zoya and the point from which they run opposing, the parallels she has to Genya and Inej and the subsequent parallels that her introduction creates between the Darkling and Heleen Van Houden, and the setup of Fruzsi, Vatra, and the Darkling's other Grisha to create genuine empathy for villainous characters for the reflections of the protagonists we can see in them.

Fruzsi's introduction in episode two begins with the Darkling arriving to see her and saying that she made it in good time - now we don't know where she travelled from, so yeah it could be the Little Palace (he was travelling from the base he set up in episode 1) but personally I don't think that there's much implication she ever lived there considering she doesn't know any of the other Grisha and she doesn't wear a kefta until the Darkling has new ones created for his new army. She's wearing pretty typical clothes that we see of the Ravkan population when we first meet her; a blouse and ankle-length skirt with a long coat, and from the very start is in dark shades that visually connect her to the Darkling in the audience's eye. Although she isn't hesitant to speak to him she shows consistent discomfort around the Darkling, making small steps away from him when he raises his hand and acknowledging non-verbal orders from him with immediate effect, as well as confirming that she never broke her promise to not open the Journal of Morozova without prompting and somewhat hurriedly. The Darkling is actually pretty quiet throughout most of this scene, cutting of Fruzsi's sentences and instructing her but not following any attempts she makes to initiate real conversation. When he tells her to reveal Baghra from behind the waterfall she asks him if he's sure, one of few instances in which she questions him, and after barely a second of maintained eye contact between them she turns away, physically bunching her shoulders and seeming to shrink in on herself, before turning to the waterfall and completing the task in silence. Everything we see of Fruzsi in this scene seems to contradict Baghra's later description of her as "deranged" and I think that this is really very noteworthy, because we start to develop this idea that Fruzsi's actions are different in front of the Darkling than when he isn't present - particularly since we know in this scene that Baghra has not seen the Darkling in weeks and has been alone with Fruzsi during that time. We actually don't see Fruzsi without the Darkling until very late in the show (episode 7), when her anger at the world and her easy ability to command the other Grisha are revealed ("First Army did this [...] If they wear the uniform they are all the same. Kill them all!"). We get this brilliantly foreboding image of her marching so confidently through the carnage with soldiers of both sides running and shouting and fighting and dying all around her while she barely shows any kind of response but to calmly begin her own method of very direct attack against Nikolai after walking through the battle completely untouched. If anything, Fruzsi seems quite unbothered by the entire thing until she fails to kill Nikolai, killing Dominik and several others instead, and screams her frustration before being forced to run for cover from approaching soldiers. After this her attacks are arguably much more emotional because she feels challenged and as though she has failed (relevant as I'll cover later because of the way the Darkling manipulates her), but all of this seemingly culminates only when Vatra dies, and in that moment we get this wonderfully clever shot of them holding each other's hands so that we can see the tattoos (I'm going to rant about the tattoos in this post) and then we see Vatra smiling in her final moments (that's gonna come up again as well). This moment is the most emotional we ever get to see Fruzsi; she looks down at Vatra, sheds a silent tear, and begins to exhibit more power than we have ever seen in her before. It is bare moments after this that she loses her fingers in an attack from Jesper and mere minutes afterwards that Nikolai shoots her in the throat and she dies.

It's confirmed in s2e7 that Fruzsi's parents attempted to sell her to the Darkling and arguably this is where her parallels with Zoya begin - "You remember when your family first brought you to me? The price they demanded when they discovered you were Grisha?" "Perhaps now I can repay the debt" "I would have paid it 100 times over". Ugh this angers me so much. He bought her and she believes, she genuinely believes, that she owes him for that. I'm going to talk about the structure of this relationship really strongly echoing Heleen Van Houden later on but particularly in this moment we understand that there is something here very similar to the Kerch indenture system that I'm actually really glad to see included as part of the worldbuilding and development in the show since we didn't get the opportunity to explore it as much in Kerch (*screams frustrations into the wind*)

Although we sadly didn't get the chance to explore Zoya's story in the show (*cries in cancellation*) it's explained in the final duology of the book series that her mother attempted to sell nine-year-old Zoya as a bride to 63-year-old, very rich, and twice-widowed Valentin Grankin. When Zoya's aunt, Lilyana, attempted to stop the wedding Grankin attacked and nearly killed her; in fear for herself and her aunt Zoya experienced a massive, terrified outburst of power, which was how she discovered she was Grisha, and Lilyana was able to rescue her and take her to Os Alta. My absolute favourite take on Fruzsi is that she is Zoya's Shadow, which is an idea that my friend voiced whilst we were watching the show and we discussed together at length at the time, but that I have never seen anyone talking about online.

The idea of having a Shadow comes from Suli culture and is explained to us in Crooked Kingdom by Inej; whenever a person does wrong it gives life to their shadow, with every action making the Shadow stronger until they are stronger than the original person and the person is defeated by the wrongs they've done - or learns to overcome them and defeat the Shadow. Inej's believes that her Shadow is Dunyasha and she fights her in Crooked Kingdom. I FREAKING LOVE the theory that Fruzsi is Zoya's Shadow because their stories parallel each other very well; both are abused and sold by their families only to be taken in by the Darkling and manipulated into believing that he is their saviour. The Darkling very much works by making others feel that they owe him something for any action he completes, just as we see in his manipulation and abuse of Alina, and Fruzsi and Zoya are prime examples of this. We even have two very similar scene setups between season 1 and season 2 that show us just how similar the Darkling and Zoya are in terms of the pent up rage that they keep private - in season 1 where the Darkling leaves Zoya alone in his room whilst she is trying to initiate intimacy because he is manipulating her and Alina against each other and wants to make Zoya feel like she has been abandoned in favour of a newer, shinier toy and once he's left Zoya screams her frustration and releases a gust of Squaller power that disrupts his chamber, and in season 2 when Fruzsi, in her second appearance (now wearing the new dark kefta design) hesitantly informs the Darkling that David stole Morozova's Journal and is immediately dismissed before the Darkling screams his frustrations and uses the tether to find and haunt Alina. Although this comparison between the Darkling and Zoya is of course more obvious it also gives us an idea of similarities between Zoya and Fruzsi because it extends this implication we have that Fruzsi acts very differently out of the Darkling's presence than in - and considering that at this point we have never seen her without him we have this gathering sense of intrigue about her backstory and her character. In a similar-ish manner we also have the scene in s2e5 when we get another example of the few times Fruzsi attempts to stand up to the Darkling, in this case openly telling him that they would do better to redirect their efforts North because it would be "the more strategic move"; the Darkling's response is to threaten her with his Nichevo'ya and manipulate her in a similar way that he does Zoya by replying "Alina Starkov is worth more than any army. So at the risk of sounding repetitive... find her", actively diminishing Fruzsi when he's been purposefully making her feel important and like she matters to him so that she feels she must redouble her efforts for him to notice and appreciate her and therefore desperately hopes to do a better job of bending to his will, especially since he's basically turned her entire purpose and usefulness to him into brining Alina back to him. Ugh this man i swear. I'm going to go on to talk about parallels between Fruzsi and Genya pretty soon so in this respect as well I want to add emphasis to the fact that when she disagrees with him on a point - and mind you not that she makes any suggestion of betraying his cause but only that she thinks they should take a different tactic to be more successful in it - he uses the presence of the Nichevo'ya to scare her into submission. The next time he gives her an order (to take down the First Army encampments) she agrees immediately and barely speaks to him except to ask "And what of the Sun Summoner?" - And note this is after she has taken Genya to the other Grisha because she was told to show her off as an example.

I have to say that at this point in time I was not expecting her to be the gold mine she became, and it's looking back on it knowing more about her backstory that I notice a lot of smaller details in the way she acts around him that consistently suggest she is afraid of him and I think that is shown really well in Reford's performance, I don't see her getting enough of the praise that she deserves - she was great!

Am I even making sense? Anyway

Fruzsi and Zoya are consistently presented with these similarities and I really love the idea that she represents what Zoya would have become without the influence of our other main characters, particular Alina and Genya. I really like the idea that she's Zoya's Shaodw and a literal, living embodiment of the wrng that Zoya did under the Darkling's command, but the only place that I think this theory falls short is in Fruzsi's death. If Fruzsi was truly Zoya's Shadow then they would have to face each other for one of them to die, but Fruzsi was killed by Nikolai in the aftermath of Dominik's death. However, I also think that there was standing there to start developing something truly, truly poetic in Nikolai killing Zoya's Shadow and Zoya later killing Nikolai's (or maybe even metaphorically doing so in trying to help rid him of the demon??) BUT I GUESS NOW WE'LL NEVER KNOW (*screams*) (*cries*) (*curses Netflix’s name*)

Now moving on to her parallels with Genya and Inej. I think that the loss of Heleen from season 2 (which I’ve shared my thoughts about a bit in the past so won’t go on about now) left a hole that was, in a way I didn’t quite expect, filled more by the Darkling than it was Pekka Rollins. There are multiple quotes from the Darkling this season, mostly directed towards Fruzsi and Genya, that I find to have very specific reminiscence of some of Heleen’s quotes from the the Six of Crows duology and this was the most obvious one for me, and the one that originally made me think of this particular comparison:

"I have always known your worth. Now show me," - the Darkling, s2e7, in the conversation where he specifically states that he bought Fruzsi and she specifically states that she owes him a debt for that

"I know your worth, little Lynx, right down to the cent" - Heleen, Six of Crows, to Inej when torturing Inej with the implication that she intends to find a way to bring her back to the Menagerie ("You'll wear my silks again, I promise")

(Also as a quick addition I think that so much can be said about Rachel Redford's acting in this specific moment of season 2 episode 7 after the Darkling delivers that line. She looks up at him, and the proxemics + their actual heights I must admit have a brilliant added effect to this, with what starts as such genuine sorrow but so quickly turns to such fierce determination before she shows him what she's capable of now that she has the amplifier. After her demonstration she is almost in shock at the revelation of what she was able to do but the pure exultation, the relief, the triumph in her expression does not even come close to existing until the moment that the Darkling says "extraordinary". He's not even looking at her - in fact, I don't doubt it possibly that he wasn't complimenting her herself but simply the creation of the amplifiers and their strength - but the expression on her face then is absolutely unmatched and it speaks VOLUMES) (I genuinely recommend rewatching that moment with this in mind because I cannot stop thinking about it)

And then layered on top of this, we have the tattoos. THE TATTOOS.

I made a specific post about the costuming in season 2, which you can read here if you’d like to, and that covers my thoughts on the new keftas but I didn’t go into detail on the tattoos at the time and I have a lot of thoughts about them. The Grishaverse, mostly the Six of Crows duology, uses tattoos incredibly symbolically and places particular emphasis on choosing to take the mark, creating a massively important bond to something that you deeply care about and will never want to break (gangs, Kaz’s ‘R’ for Rietveld), and being forced to take one on (the pleasure houses, of course most primarily Inej’s Menagerie tattoo). Although we don’t get as much emphasis on this since the show didn’t get the opportunity to explore the gang tattoos yet thus far (and I guess now it won’t *shakes fist at Netflix*) we did have focus surrounding Inej’s Menagerie tattoo and it’s removal in this season and, as much as I wish we’d been able to see her book canon tattoo removal (cut off by a butcher), this side by side comparison of the Grisha being given no option but to take on the amplifying tattoos and Nina using her Grisha power to remove Inej’s tattoo is absolutely fascinating and really well done.

So this for me creates an ongoing comparison between Fruzsi, Genya, and Inej - and taking on what I said about Fruzsi’s apparent absence from the Little Palace despite clearly having an established relationship with the Darkling and having been with him for some time, we can consider the earliest pieces of information we have about Genya’s life. Now it’s a long time since I read the S&B trilogy so I can’t remember if this specific detail is true to book canon but in the show Genya states that the Grisha testers found her when she was seven but that she was gifted to the Queen when she was eleven. We have no information about what happened to her during these four years, and yeah maybe she was at the Little Palace training but we don’t have confirmation of that and I wouldn’t trust the Darkling as far as I could throw him (which probably wouldn’t even crack a metre let’s be real). This also adds a really interesting layer to things with Fruzsi being the one instructed to show Genya off to the other Grisha as an example of what will happen if they try to betray the Darkling because we get this moment when she kneels down to take hold of Genya's chains and they are both sitting in the cage together that I think is really powerful in everything it says about how easily either of them could be in the other's position in that moment but we're also still very aware that Fruzsi has the far more power - or at least an illusion of it. In this same scene Baghra, about Genya, states "she served you loyally since she was a child, endured years of abuse on your orders, and you reduce her to an example? Oh Aleksander, where does this stop?" and honestly that is so brilliantly written (and so brilliantly delivered in the scene) that I don't think I need to say anything on top of it but when we consider this side by side with Fruzsi's position I think that this really is a very powerful parallel and a constant reminder that no-one who places their trust in the Darkling is ever safe, and that pretty much everyone on his side is there because of manipulation and because of abuse - be that abuse from the Darkling or abuse from others that the Darkling has so well learned how to manipulate in ways that are very, very similar to the way Jarl Brum manipulated and abused Matthias (I have written a lot about that too. I have strong feelings.)

I have so much fascination and I feel so much sympathy for Fruzsi and I think that this is one of the things that the show did so fantastically well in her and in the other Grisha on the Darkling’s side who are all manipulated and controlled by him in just the same way our protagonists were, who were ultimately still all very young people who had been attacked and threatened and made unsafe in their home for who they were and who were offered what they believed was the only solution. I think one of the greatest examples of this, other than Fruzsi, is seen in Vatra, the amplified Inferni who is so proud of herself when she brings the Hummingbird down - "Yes! I did it" and btw she says this with such an expression on her face I don't even have the words I would just genuinely recommend you rewatch the scene to get what I'm saying it's s2e7 around 24:30-50 she actually looks so proud of herself she's like a little kid and it's so soul-crushingly clever and incredibly well done and it breaks my heart she's been so successfully manipulated - because she so genuinely believes that she is doing the right thing and she is making a difference for her people, and even when she dies with her hand clutched in Fruzsi's she dies smiling. That girl breaks my heart every time I rewatch, and honestly even though she is presented in a more unlikeable way Fruzsi breaks my heart as well because I can see so much of our beloved characters in her and effectively what could have happened to them and what could have become of them if they hadn’t managed their escape. This duality and constant cause to question the morality of the characters is so brilliantly done and one of the biggest successes of the adaptation considering how well it was done in the books as well but could have been something difficult to translate between medias where exposition is concerned, and I think that Fruzsi was an incredible example of this and that we really should talk about her more

Thanks for reading my nonsense ramblings if you got this far, I hope that it made sense and was at least somewhat interesting <33

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doctorofmagic · 5 months ago

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No one asked but here's some thoughts about Stephen's current and future life.

First of all (and to be completely honest), before Blood Hunt, I do think Stephen was starting to find joy in being the Sorcerer Supreme now that things were seemingly going well in his life.

Just to name a few, he befriended his general self, his marriage was rekindled, Mordo was finally locked down, Clea and Umar were starting to find a common ground (at least, they were not enemies anymore) and Donna II happened, blessing their lives. Stephen was finally thriving. He was executing his duties just fine despite the challenges of being Earth's magical defender. Conflict was obviously expected but it was far from the struggles he faced in v4, for instance. There was optimism.

The fact that he seems sad in that Pasqual's post could be about anything but if I was to predict why, I'd say it's because 1) he didn't want to pass the mantle down at this point in his life and 2) he didn't want to pass the mantle down to Victor specifically because well, it's Doom. And let's be real, Jed's interpretation of their relationship is not similar to T&T or Infamous Iron Man or even Secret Wars. Even if Victor is rarely portrayed as a villain these days (more like an antagonist), there's still a certain dread whenever he shows up in stories. So it's only natural for Stephen to be worried about what's coming next.

Personally, I think Victor will not be a bad Sorcerer Supreme. He's competent and incredibly complex. There's altruism in him, especially when it comes to protect Latverians and people in general (Doom 2099 my beloved). And let's not forget about his dramatic ego and petty personality. If anything, I'd go for a gray representation. He will not be the king of altruism (aka Stephen), but he will not be a shallow villain by desecrating the mantle (something I'm pretty sure Mordo would do. Hate that guy). That said... Oh, he's also in for a big surprise, not expecting the burden that comes with such a huge responsibility. But that's just my two cents. Could always be wrong. However, I still remember when he tried to go after Jericho and gave up as soon as the light of the Eye of Agamotto hit him, so... This idea does have canon support.

(panel merely illustrative; from an alt future/reality)

As for Stephen and Clea, what comes next for them? I know the fandom is desperate for domestic vibes and a peaceful era for them. But let's be real, it's Marvel. Also it's Stephen and Clea. For starters, Clea is still the Warlord of Manhattan, which means that area will remain under her protection, tying her to our dimension. As for Stephen... We know him, right? We know he will never stop doing what he does, Sorcerer Supreme or not. We have tons of magic characters doing their jobs. Even when magic was practically dead, he found a way to keep doing good because it's intrinsic of his personality. And let's not forget Wong and W.A.N.D. They still need someone reliable, and I hardly think they'll go for Victor when consulting all things mystical. Oh, and Strange Academy, of course.

Last but not least, every change in status quo hardly lasts more than a year or two in comic books. It happened so many times before: Salomé, Jericho, Loki, even Clea. It was only natural for Victor's turn, given how T&T is such an important book to their mythos.

As for me? I think it's not really fair for me to share my feelings assuming how much I love both Victor and Stephen. I've seen some unhappy fans (and I can't relate, sorry 🥲) and some excited ones.

The reason I'm still kinda blue is merely due to the lack of new announcements, whether it's a new Doctor Strange book or a mini featuring Victor. Also it's almost certain that Jed is done with his work, which hit me like a train. I really don't want to say goodbye to Jed just yet, and seeing his work continue with Moon Knight while going for the X-books makes me a bit bitter. There's still the possibility that he's staying, but it's all conjecture at this point. I mean, I dread that some bad writer comes next, and boi do I have a no-no list. Hopefully, SDCC will shed some light on these dark times of uncertainty.

Well, that's it. Do I ramble a lot? Was not expecting to write such a long post, sorry about that (old testament me comeback?). Just wanted to write down my thoughts since they were making a mess in my head. If anything, I'll still be around for whatever comes next. After all, my love for Stephen knows no shame 🔥

#doctor strange #stephen strange #clea strange #doctor doom #victor von doom #wong #marvel comics

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netherfeildren · 11 months ago

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End of Year Thoughts :

A different sort of post from me this evening.

I've been trying to write up my feelings about this year all day and struggling hard. Partly because I always try my hardest to keep this space as positive a place as possible and this here is not entirely that. Mainly because I've found myself for the past few days, and in spite of all I've been writing, very sort of bad and sad and strange about my writing, finding it a little meaningless, a little mediocre. Difficult because one, obviously, but two, now that I want to say something good and positive about what I've produced this year, words are falling flat and failing me. Frustrating because now that a year in which I've done so much new is coming to an end, I find myself lacking any sort of inner excitement for all this said newness. Typical and normal feelings within the creative process, I think, but still frustrating to navigate nevertheless.

What I'm clinging to through this, though, and fiercely, is you all who have been so astoundingly kind and supportive and generous to me all year long. You lovely people who read my work and talk to me about it and have befriended me in all the most special of ways. I appreciate you all so much, and sometimes I feel I say it so much it becomes redundant, but at a certain point words fail to express the magnitude of gratitude and so the only way I can continue to show my thanks of you all is to say it a million more times, and then keep writing for those of you who have been by my side all year long.

The point I'm trying to make, I think, is that sometimes, despite feeling successful or fulfilled or happy, or what have you, in some ways, sometimes there's still that naggy, prickly feeling that something is lacking or not right or not enough. I think this is so normal, not just in a creative process, but in all aspects of what it is to grow up and build a life and become a person and and and... Ennui or self perceived inadequacy or the highs and lows will ebb and flow, but what you all have taught me, and so thoroughly, is that the most important things are the little ones, the funny ones and the sentimental ones and the honest ones. These are all things you all have given me this year and for which I'll literally never be able to stop saying thank you for to you all, my dear, dear pocket friends who live in my phone.

I found myself in a very wrong direction last year, then entirely directionless this year. Next year, I think and I hope I'll get it all kind of sort of right, course correct and end up in a good spot. I hope if any of you are at all feeling a little blue like I am, please know you're not alone, and I'm right there with you. I think of you all always and I wish you all nothing but happiness and success and love in the new year 🤍🤍

#vic talks #end of year thoughts

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happilyfeatherafter · 10 months ago

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Happilyfeatherafter’s ficrec Fridays

It's February!! Welcome back to another week of ficrecs. A mix of post-confession therapy, poetry, and glorious AU this week. (I thought I'd not read much because this week has been, quite frankly, a bastard, but apparently this was a lie!)

If you missed last week’s you can find my previous rec lists here for more!

2 February 2024

maybe i like pleasure pain by tothewillofthepeople (@kvothes). After the perfect darkness of the Empty, Cas finds the world a little…overwhelming. Dean tries to help. Post 15x18, Cas is both touch starved and touch sensitive, and the sensory overload of the world can be a bit too much. He craves Dean's touch, but resists asking for it. A really beautifully written, metaphor laden examination of chronic pain, disability, trauma and the physicality of the body and nebulous presence of mind. All wrapped up in an abundance of love and devotion. Absolutely gorgeous.

Prayer to a False God by K_A_Mindin (@katerinaalianovamindin, art by @gaytedlasso for @spnbangbang) It’s been two years stuck in the Empty, where the Shadow showed him his worst mistakes over and over again. Then he's brought back, to Jack and to Dean, and silence continues to rein, the unspoken acknowledgement of the confession lingering in the air...until Cas decides he needs to stop letting silence rule. Alongside the emotional pull of this thread, the D/S dynamics which grant Dean the permission to speak his truths, through prayer, and through physical release, are a joy to behold.

i like your shoelaces (thanks! i stole them from the president) by @you-cant-spell-subtext-without is a brilliantly funny take on Misha's "Dean is a custodian in a fast food restaurant. Castiel is the President of the United States" fic prompt from a convention, told through the narrative hook of a Cinderella story. Delightfully tongue in cheek, and laugh out loud, this is currently a wip but a must read to bring joy to your inbox each update.

FROTUS by kathscradle takes the very same prompt but approaches it in a very well executed slowburn that says ok but seriously what if? My favourite thing about this fic is the importance of family, Cas being the widowed single parent of Jack and Claire, and Dean stepping up in his new role as step-Dad. Add in the slowburn relationship unfolding through long distance hyper-monitored correspondence, and all the national security matters at hand, this longfic gave my The West Wing/Scandal/Destiel brain a great big hug.

birthday candles by rhinestoneangels (almondrose/@pinknatural) is a super cute, ever so charming Dean's birthday ficlet in which Castiel's sister Anna drags him to a birthday party for a friend of hers who he has never met. He googles what to bring to a birthday party and settles on baking cookies...one fire later and fortunately, the firefighter who shows up to save Castiel from himself is very dreamy, and what a coincidence! It's his birthday, too….

I've also fallen down a rabbit warren of destiel and spn poetry, and I really really love this one by @whatladybird and this one by @eyelinerdean, @donestiel's incredible poetry gif edit series and I'm very excited to keep reading more on the @spnpoetryrenaissance blog. Has anyone seen a 2024 prompt list? Asking for reasons.

PS if you'd like to be added to a tag list for my ficrecs going forward please let me know!

#happilyfeatherafter ficrec friday #destiel ficrecs

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lola-andheruniverse · 4 months ago

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Anon who asked me about "sides" in the caryl fandom and which one I place myself on because you believe I "switched sides"/changed my opinions:

I'm not posting your ask because you named people and that's not something I do on my blog or generally agree with. The only instance you'll find me naming or tagging people is in fic recs posts, so that caryl authors who are on Tumblr can read them and be found by readers who'd like to reach out.

If you have a problem with the opinions, feelings and/or behaviors of a particular individual/blog, I ask you to 1) please reach out to them directly so you can express your disagreement or 2) use your block button, so you no longer see content you don't like. I believe that our fandom is big enough to hold every single caryler out there who wants to join in, regardless of their opinions, posts or feelings. People should feel free and safe to post whatever they want, either 'positive' or 'negative'. I have no problem with anyone in the fandom and I respect everyone's opinions, even when I disagree with some stuff I read.

Please, I ask you to not use my ask box to indirectly badmouth, bully or attack any caryler.

That said, the answer to your question is after the cut.

I'm not on either "side" and never have been. I'm just another enthusiastic fan that loves Carol and Daryl. Since joining the Tumblr fandom just before the pandemic (I was a lurker for many years), I've been using my own critical thinking skills and knowledge of AMC's shenanigans to form my own opinions.

I'm confident in TBOC because I believe there are concrete reasons that support how I'm feeling, from Melissa's return, to filming spoilers and rumors, to Tribeca and SDCC. You're free to agree or disagree with my interpretation of these facts, and to feel positive or negative about it.

I also continue to believe that AMC/Gimple hijacked the original caryl spinoff to highlight the richonne spinoff because it follows similar decisions made before to give Rick more screen time at the expense of all the other TWD characters. I believe Melissa had no choice but to opt out of the original spin-off and negotiate new terms to ensure that Carol's (and therefore Caryl's) story was respected and told with integrity. To me, that's why there were things to be sorted out, as she said, and why she lengthily discussed Carol with Zabel and co. even before scripts for the France spinoff were written. She was involved since the beginning, yes, but she only signed on when she got what she wanted. There is no greater supporter of Carol than Melissa and we have known this for years. I'm glad she's back in her own terms. I believe it was a pretty difficult time for her, as she expressed it by basically refusing to promote 11C or the series finale, and by not saying anything about the whole mess on SM, while other cast members/friends such as Laurie Holden and Khary Payton spoke out in her behalf.

I believe AMC tried to make money off just Daryl because he's their original character and it backfired in their faces. They also made a mistake using Norman to save face as he should have been protected from the SM backlash. Norman has never been a reliable narrator and I always take every thing he says with a grain of salt, but I don't think he's intentionally malicious. I appreciate how much he loves Daryl and is considerate of his fans, even when I don't approve of his behavior. I just wish he would keep his frustrating mouth shut. I believe Norman had lots of input in S1 and that he initially thought he could pull it off without Melissa. But there's no Daryl without Carol and no Carol without Daryl. It's crystal clear how much Norman's happy for having Melissa by his side, and how much they love each other and are excited for S2. I'm glad they are reunited, both for them and for us, but I believe everything worked out in the end because Melissa didn't give up on getting what she wanted. I believe she had lots of inputs in S2 and is satisfied and happy with the final result.

So, that's how I believe things have gone these last two years. Again, feel free to agree or disagree with my interpretation of facts. None of us will ever know exactly what happened, but each of us can decide what to believe based on our own judgment of the facts. That's what I do and will continue to do.

In the end, for me, the important thing is that Melissa and Norman are happy and that Carol and Daryl get their hard-earned happy ending. It's everything I ever wanted and I'm going to enjoy it. I hope you enjoy it too.

That's it. Caryl on!

#caryl #caryl positivity #caryl fandom #fandom life

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cha-melodius · 1 year ago

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Oh my goodness, I've just seen your fic festival request post and am excited to sneak in to participate before it closes. I love your writing and your stories so very much!

My prompt suggestion is... firstprince in Edinburgh, Scotland... in particular, the Edinburgh pride parade (if I may be so oddly specific). AU welcome, canon welcome, makeouts welcome, ahem.

Thank you and good luck wrangling everyone's prompts!

(Firstly, I have to say I love your url and your profile pic! Secondly, this is heavier on the Pride and lighter on the Edinburgh as far as the details go, but I hope it delights. Inspired in part by a tweet shared on tumblr; rated M for dick jokes. Happy Bisexual Awareness Week!)

Something To Be Proud Of

(firstprince, 3.3k, M; read it below or on AO3) read all the fandom fest fics

Henry stares at the carbon copy of the email in his inbox and wills time to go backwards. Just a few minutes, that’s all he needs. Enough time to go back and keep autocorrect from transforming whatever he’d typed after ‘he’ in his pronouns after his name into… that.

Thank you so much for all your help. Together we can make this a truly exceptional Edinburgh Pride. Regards, Henry Fox (he/hung Sent from Outlook for iOS.

How had he not seen it before he hit send on an email going out to every volunteer on their mailing list? How had he not noticed?

Maybe no one else would notice either. No one looks at email signatures that closely, right?

~~~~~

Ok, he’s not delusional enough to think that no one noticed. He had, however, naively believed that everyone would recognise it for what it was and politely ignore his gaff. He gets away scot free for a few days, and then, at the end of an email sent by a volunteer that is mostly as expected, he sees:

Best, Alex (he/him) PS: not sure I did the pronouns right. Does ‘Pride’ over here include being proud of your big dick?

It’s a damned good thing that he wasn’t taking a sip of his tea at the time, or he might be wearing it instead. Once he’s finished choking on nothing and perhaps isn’t quite the colour of a tomato (oh, who is he kidding, of course he still is), Henry professionally answers Alex’s questions about the schedule for the day of the march. He pauses before the sign off, wondering if he should acknowledge the flub or pretend it never happened. In the end, he writes:

Regards, Henry (he/him) PS: Your pronouns look correct to me, but they are, of course, your choice.

He only checks the email about ten times before he sends it. Hopefully, that should be the end of it.

~~~~~

It’s not.

Apparently, Alex has more questions. Apparently the law firm he works for is one of this year’s sponsors and is interested in potentially running a free legal clinic associated with the festival. A noble endeavour, which Henry is only too happy to assist with. He makes a mental note to look into logistics with Kate, the event’s chair, and continues reading. Finding out that Alex is apparently mature enough to be a lawyer lulls him into a false sense of security, though. At the tail of the email, he finds:

PS: regardless of the size of your dick, I’m impressed by the balls it takes to not acknowledge the typo. Then again, maybe it wasn’t? PPS: I’m trying out new pronouns. How do you think (daddy/sir) would go over?

Henry does spit his tea all over his phone this time.

He doesn’t email Alex back right away, but that’s because he has to wait to hear back from Kate. It has nothing to do with the fact that the prospect of dragging this interaction out longer is both horrifying and vaguely thrilling. Henry has noticed that he uses Americanised spellings in his text, which seems to fit with his general demeanour. It piques Henry’s curiosity, even though the thought of actually having to face Alex in person still makes him flush automatically. Eventually he gets an email from Kate that includes additional questions for the firm, as well as telling him that he can pass it off to someone in sponsor coordination. He is, after all, just the volunteer coordinator for the march. This need not involve him.

He still emails Alex back with the questions. And:

PS: Although I support your creativity, I am concerned those pronouns may not be appreciated in a professional setting such as, for instance, a court of law. Just a thought. However, I do suspect they might be rather popular at Pride.

~~~~~

They keep on exchanging emails, even though Henry should have sent Alex’s contact info to sponsor coordination ages ago, even though it becomes clear that Alex is not the one who will be ultimately responsible for the clinic either. On every one, there is a postscript in which Alex makes some kind of joke about the size of Henry’s dick.

do you have to get all your pants specially made with extra room in the crotch

do you have to check your dick as luggage when you fly

have you ever used it as a tripod

is your dick in another time zone

do you call your dick Sir Richard because it’s that prominent

In turn, Henry responds as dryly as possible, which only seems to encourage him. Oddly for someone who is volunteering at the event, Alex seems to have a lot of questions about Pride itself, as though this is the first one he’s attending on any continent. They exchange emails almost right up to the day of the march itself, but if they do taper off, Henry is too busy to notice. Coordinating volunteers for something as big as Edinburgh Pride is intense, and the days tick by before he even knows it.

He’s standing off to the side at the volunteer check-in tent on the morning of the march, going over some last minute logistics with one of his staff, when a voice carries over the hubbub, deep and rich with an out-of-place American accent.

“Sorry, but I was hoping… is Henry here?”

Henry straightens up and turns toward the voice only to find perhaps the most stunning man he’s ever seen standing at the front table. Dark, curly hair, a sharp jaw, big brown eyes with the longest eyelashes Henry has ever seen— he’s actually impossibly beautiful. Unbelievable, really. As is the fact that he’s asking for Henry.

“Hello,” Henry says as he walks over to the front. “How can I help you?”

The man’s eyes snap over to him, and he very clearly looks Henry up and down and swears, “Jesus fuck,” under his breath. Then his eyes come back up to Henry’s face, and he swallows. “You’re not Scottish.”

Henry cocks an eyebrow at him. “Neither are you.”

“Yeah, sorry. I just— need to adjust what you sound like in my head,” he says nonsensically. “I’m Alex?”

Oh.

Oh, Christ.

Henry should have known, because how many other Americans could there be volunteering at Edinburgh Pride? That reality does nothing to help him cope with the situation presented before him, though, in which this is the man who’s been teasing him about the size of his dick for the last month.

“I, uh,” he says eloquently as he tries to pull himself together. There are far too many people standing around watching this exchange. “Hello. It’s a pleasure to finally meet you. Did your firm get everything sorted with the clinic?”

“Oh,” Alex says, blinking. “Yeah, thanks. Look, I’m sure you’re busy, but I have something for you?”

It kind of comes out as a question, and he’s scratching the back of his head uncertainly, so even though Henry has no idea what’s coming, he nods. Then Alex reaches into his pocket, fishes out something small and round, and places it on the table between them.

It’s a button. A pronoun button, not unlike the one Henry’s already wearing, but instead it reads: he/hung.

Henry’s eyes snap up to find Alex grinning at him with the kind of mischief that Henry honestly should have expected from him sparkling in his eye. “Wanted to make sure you were prepared,” he says with a little one-shouldered shrug. “I’ll see you around, I guess.”

Then he takes his volunteer t-shirt and saunters off—and Christ those jeans are ridiculously tight and doing everything for his arse—leaving Henry gawping after him. A moment later, one of his regular volunteers, Robin, bustles by, catches sight of the button, and lets out a sound that can only be described as a cackle.

“My god, it’s perfect,” they say. “Did he really make this for you?”

Henry can only sigh, dragging a hand over his face. “It appears so. Robin, can you do me a favour?”

“Make sure you’re working the same stations all day?” they surmise. Henry doesn’t need to look to imagine the knowing grin on their face.

Henry wants to say no. Just because Henry’s already managed to combine the affection engendered by their previous email conversations with Alex’s stunning good looks into a powerfully intoxicating cocktail of a crush—well, that’s on Henry and his poor decision-making.

Instead, he says: “Yes, exactly that.”

~~~~~ ~~~~~

Alex had only signed up to volunteer at Pride on a whim. He’s always complaining that he doesn’t know anyone in Edinburgh outside of his coworkers, and one such coworker—someone that he could safely call a friend—suggested that getting involved in the festival would be a good way to meet people. Alex had tried to explain that he wasn’t actually queer, but she’d just given him an odd look and told him that allies were welcome at Pride too. It had felt a little weird signing up despite her assurances, but also kind of good. He was finally going get out there and have a life beyond his job.

He certainly hadn’t expected to strike up a prolonged email exchange with the volunteer coordinator, Henry. He also doesn’t really know why he kept finding excuses to send him new messages, except for Henry’s responses to Alex’s stupid jokes made Alex imagine him rolling his eyes and trying not to laugh, which only egged Alex on further. It was fun. That’s all.

Nothing about any of this made him prepared to show up to the volunteer check-in tent today and be plunged directly into a sexuality crisis. But that seems to be exactly what’s currently happening now that he’s been confronted by quite possibly the hottest man he’s ever seen. Alex doesn’t even get it because it’s not like he hasn’t been able to objectively appreciate attractive men before, and blond hair and blue eyes have historically never really done it for him. Even if they are combined with swooping cheekbones, and broad shoulders, and obscenely full, pink lips.

All he knows is that as much as this doesn’t make sense, it also suddenly does. Why he’d felt drawn to sign up in the first place. Why he spent the last month reading about the history of Pride in Edinburgh and around the world. Why he’d gone on a deep dive doing research about different sexualities, brushing it off as wanting to be informed before meeting new people.

Why he was so obsessed with Henry’s dick.

Jesus fuck.

He thinks he manages to hold a short conversation. Somehow he even gives Henry the custom button he brought as a joke, smiling the whole time like he’s not moment’s away from dropping to his knees. He flees the table safe in the knowledge that Henry will likely be too busy coordinating stuff all day and Alex probably won’t see him again. That confidence is shattered when, not even an hour later, Henry shows up at the station Alex is supposed to be working. He’s even wearing the joke button, under his regular pronoun button and next to a little rainbow flag pin. Alex is going to die.

“Oh hey,” Alex says in a reasonable facsimile of nonchalance. “Did you need me for something?”

“Not exactly,” Henry replies. “I’ll be working this station too.”

Yeah, Alex is definitely not going to make it through the day.

~~~~~

It actually turns out to be not as bad as he feared, despite how Henry’s volunteer t-shirt is probably a size too small (never mind that in the context of everyone else at Pride he looks downright conservative) and Alex keeps getting caught staring at his shoulders or his back or his waist. Henry keeps on giving him weird looks at the beginning, probably because he’s expecting Alex to be cracking crude jokes. Too bad Alex is way too wound up in his own head to think of anything at all.

They’re pretty busy all day, but they do get a chance to chat occasionally, mostly small talk stuff about jobs and how they both ended up in Edinburgh. Henry is there for grad school, apparently, and has been volunteering for Pride since he moved out from under his grandmother’s restrictive shadow. In turn, Alex tells him about applying for the law job on a whim, desperate to set himself apart from his parents, and how much he likes Edinburgh (despite the weather). As the day stretches on and the streets fill up, Alex feels himself relaxing into his skin again, undeniably enjoying the festivities as well as Henry’s company.

See, the other thing he never, ever expected is how good it feels to be here. All the people around him loudly comfortable in themselves, and the color and glitter and celebration— it’s amazing, but it’s not just that he’s watching other people be happy. There’s a kind of ecstatic joy that bubbles up inside him at the fact that he’s part of it, one that he feels down to his bones. A sense of belonging that he’s never really experienced before, and that, more than anything else, makes him more certain of his newfound revelation.

Straight people probably don’t feel like this at Pride.

At the end of the day, he’s helping pack up the main volunteer tent when he comes across a table full of pins depicting different pride flags. He dimly remembers seeing them when he’d checked in and thinking that none of them applied to him. Now, he stares down at them and bites his lower lip uncertainly.

“There’s a box for those under the table,” Henry tells him from across the tent, misinterpreting his hesitation.

“Oh, yeah, thanks,” Alex says, and Henry’s already turning back to whatever he’s doing when he manages to continue, “Hey, can I— um, can I take one of these?”

Henry stops, his brow creasing as he tips his head slightly. “Of course. That’s what they’re there for.”

“Right, thanks,” Alex says with a tight smile.

He puts his hand out, hesitates, then picks up one with pink, purple, and blue stripes. Stares down at it for another moment before he realizes he’s probably being weird and he’s pretty sure Henry is still watching him. He swallows hard, then pins it to his shirt next to his pronoun button.

No one jumps out to call him out for being an impostor. Henry offers him a careful smile, then turns back to his work like he knows Alex needs a moment to himself. He lets his fingers rub over the surface of the pin, feeling the little enamel ridges, and something settles under his skin, like an itch he hadn’t even been aware of until it was gone.

He feels almost normal by the time Henry walks up to him once they’re finished and everything is packed away in someone’s car.

“Thanks so much for your help today,” Henry says.

“It was my pleasure,” Alex replies, and means it more than he can say. “I’m really glad I decided to sign up.”

“I realize you may very well be tired of my face at this point, but if you don’t already have plans, I was wondering if you’d like to go get a drink?”

Alex would like to make a joke about how it might be literally impossible to get tired of Henry’s face, but at this point he’d probably fuck up and confess his undying love for a guy he just met. “Sounds great,” he says instead, looking around at where a few of the other volunteers are lingering nearby. “Do y’all usually all go out together afterward?”

Henry coughs slightly and glances down at the ground for a few seconds as his cheeks turn faintly pink. “Well yes, a group of them usually do. But I was actually asking if you wanted to go out with me,” he says. “Just the two of us.”

“Oh,” Alex breathes as his stomach decides to do a backflip. “Yeah, I’d like that.”

Spending all day volunteering with Henry was fun. Going on a date with Henry, being the sole focus of his attention, is intoxicating. Alex feels like he could sit here all night listening to Henry talk about his research on queer history, although that’s far from the only thing they talk about. As the night wears on and the pub slowly empties, Alex is buzzing with a few drinks and the euphoria of really clicking with someone, already wondering when would be too soon to ask Henry out again.

Henry shifts slightly so his legs press against Alex’s where they’re tangled together under the table—have been for several hours, actually. He’s playing with the stirrer in his empty glass, and a little teasing smirk sneaks onto his lips as he looks up at Alex.

“So you made me a custom pronoun button but forgot your own?”

“Ah, you know,” Alex replies with a shit-eating grin and a one-shouldered shrug, “thought it would be too distracting, what with how everyone would be hitting on me all day.”

Henry hums thoughtfully, biting back a wider smile. “If you wanted to avoid that, you probably should have chosen some looser trousers.”

“That’s fair. I suppose you had to go for the room in yours.” Alex pauses a beat. “You know, on account of the size of your dick.”

That makes Henry actually laugh and shake his head fondly. “I was waiting all day for that.”

“Sorry to disappoint,” Alex says, chuckling along with him. It does feel like he owes Henry something of an explanation of why he was so weird all day. He looks down and licks his lips. “Can I confess something?”

“Of course,” Henry answers with a small, encouraging smile.

“A friend of mine suggested I volunteer for this because I wanted to meet people. Make new friends. But until today I actually thought I was… mostly straight?” Alex admits, trying not to wince as he stares fixedly into his empty glass. “Being part of this made me realize why I always felt a little like I wasn’t my whole self. So I was… kind of going through it a bit today.” He pauses, then adds, “Also you’re so ridiculously fucking hot that you kind of melted my brain.”

Henry laughs again, but it’s softer this time. Gentle. Alex kind of wants to sink into the sound. Henry’s cheeks are slightly pink as he extends a hand across the table, and Alex doesn’t hesitate before he slides his hand into Henry’s and links their fingers together.

“I’m glad to hear that, Alex,” Henry says. “I mean, the feeling like your whole self part. Not the brain melting part,” he adds, and Alex can’t help but laugh with him.

Henry doesn’t let go of his hand as they walk outside, and once they’re alone on the sidewalk he uses it to pull Alex close. He puts a hand on Alex’s hip and Alex has to tip his head up to look at him, and it’s a lot but he’s also pretty sure he’s never wanted anything more than to feel Henry’s lips pressed against his.

“I have a confession too,” Henry murmurs as he stares down into Alex’s eyes.

“Yeah?”

“I’ve been dreaming of kissing you since the very first moment I saw you.”

Alex lets one corner of his mouth tug upwards. “What’s stopping you, baby?”

“Christ, Alex,” Henry breathes, looking momentarily overwhelmed, but then he’s pressing his lips to Alex’s, and Alex feels his blood sing. It’s brief and chaste and leaves him aching for more, but then Henry looks down at him with heavy lidded eyes and asks, “Given your recent personal revelations, would it be terribly forward of me to ask you back to my place?”

“Ask away, sweetheart,” Alex replies, then he reaches up to touch the side of the ridiculous he/hung button that Henry is still wearing for some reason. “I wanna find out how accurate this button is.”

(It doesn’t take long for him to find out that the answer is: extremely.)

#rwrb #red white and royal blue #firstprince #alex claremont diaz #henry fox mountchristen windsor #rwrb fic #rwrb fanfic #firstprince fic #firstprince fanfic #chamel's fandom fest #my fic

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