#what the fuck happened here

[4thegadiesandlentlemen]

No fucking wayyy‼️‼️they made a whole ass Google doc for zepotha

https://docs.google.com/document/d/1-mhNgnesGqFALbgU7ppB-Wo0_VVvC1qcl1RrdqRrAq4/edit

Honestly, I'm just happy to see goncharov all over again. I genuinely hope this turns out as good as it

I take back everything I fucking said. 500 for a short film? During these times aswell? That's insane!!

Not to mention the comments aren't even on thirst traps. I will genuinely blow my brains out if i see another comment on a random artist's post talking abt some zepotha shit when the video isn't even about it.

Lmfaoo back again after like a year idk why I was so mad but I am keeping this post up because I wanna laugh at myself

[crashing9against9the9walls]

Joost has been DQ'd from Eurovision.

Fucking Unfair!

I hope the rest of the contestants walk out from the competition in support of Joost and for Bambie and Marina to throw an axe on Genocide Barbie's face.

Edit: Also hoping for Olly to finally fucking lose his cool and give Genocide Barbie a piece of his mind!

[spirallingstarcases]

hatsune peteku is real and he wrote srar

[crusaderguy]

Bro what the Jellyfish do to y'all?!

[delopsia]

Wildflowers | Rhett Abbott x Reader

Word Count: 5,400 Cross Posted on AO3 Warnings & Notes: 18+, Mildly dubious consent, ✨sex pollen✨, overstimulation, unprotected sex, dominant AND submissive Rhett, with a side of Rhett crying during sex :))

Rhett wasn't lying when he said that a mysterious patch of wildflowers had sprouted in the west pasture.

Vibrant patches of yellow, red, blue, and purple gathered up in a perfect circle. Royal says it's probably an invasive flower that's blown over from the Tillerson land, but you don't think you've ever seen a flower naturally grow so...neatly before. It's far too meticulous to be seeds that have blown over.

A handful of them sits inside a dainty vase on the windowsill. One of each variant, because you'd commented on how pretty they were but never specified your favorite, and Rhett couldn't miss his opportunity to bring them when he came to fetch the chaps he forgot here. 

"I'm gonna be out there for half of my life pulling those sons of bitches," he'd said as he placed them into your vase, "couldn't cut them to save my life." 

They look like just any other flower, but they've all got inky black centers that turn to dust under your touch. Strangest of all, they don't have a scent, not a singular floral note to be found. Rhett says they smell like cinnamon, but even now, as you dip your nose into them, you're getting absolutely nothing. 

A faint buzz in the sink startles you from your daze. 

Ah, right. 

You're in the middle of cleaning your small collection of bedroom toys, and you've accidentally turned on the small toy, vibrating angrily beneath the soapy water. This one has always been sensitive; you're pretty sure it's the same one that buzzed halfway across the floor this morning when Rhett accidentally knocked their storage box over in his rush to get to work.

You would be more irked about this if you didn't already have it planned to do a deep clean. Some of these need to find their way out of your collection as it is. One of these vibrators doesn't charge anymore; your little size queen fusses about how this specific pink strap is too small, so there's no need for it hanging around either, you suppose. 

Then, of course, there are the half-dozen bullet vibes. Tiny little things, all but one, are the same brand, and they're all different colors. This silver one started out as your personal one, but then, of course, Rhett came along, and with him came a hell of a lot of ventures that the old thing can't keep up with.

He got you this red one as a cheeky surprise one day, but it rolled off and went missing, so you moved on to a black one. That one grew legs and walked away. So then came the pink, white, and finally, a neon yellow that can be seen from a mile away.

Rhett found the red under his bed the other day. The black one was under your dresser, the pink one was in Rhett's old jacket that he hasn't worn since last winter, and the white was simply in his truck.

They all work just fine, but do you really need six of these? Oh, but what if they wander off again...

Shit, there goes that toy again. 

Setting the properly washed silicone atop a towel with its buddies, you reach for the last thing you've got to clean. 

A simple black plug. 

It's Rhett's favorite, curved to press ever so delicately against his prostate and thick enough to shut him up, even on his brattiest of days. Who would have ever thought that Rhett could become so comfortable in this sort of thing? Certainly not you, that's for sure. 

A remote sits off to the side, kept close, so you don't lose it again. 

Just outside your window, Rhett's truck drives by, already slowing down as he makes to recklessly pull into your driveway. Odd, he's not been gone for longer than an hour. 

In the amount of time it takes you to finish cleaning this toy, Rhett has already stepped in through the side door, the hinges squealing as they open and shut. You can hear him all the way from here, the clicking of boots, the shuffling of those leather chaps as his legs brush together with every step.

"Rhett?" 

Silence. Hmm, maybe he forgot something else? But the only thing you can think of him leaving here is the old rodeo t-shirt that's currently draped over your body. 

A stray hand skitters up your bare thigh, seemingly appearing from thin air, making you jump, and you're sure you'd have fallen if it weren't for the warm body that presses so firmly against you. Familiar cologne graces your senses as Rhett's hot hand slides between your thighs, cupping your sex in his palm. 

"Darlin'," his voice gravely as he whispers into your ear, a shiver ripples down your spine.

"Rhett?" Startled dumb by his unannounced appearance, "what're you—"

One wandering finger presses against your entrance, the thin fabric of your panties the only thing stopping him from entering. His hips press further, something hard nudging against the curve of your ass, "—something's in them fuckin' flowers."

Your gaze flutters to the innocent flowers on the windowsill, just as vibrant as they were the last time you saw them. The vase is light in your hand as you bring it closer, looking at them closer. They seem fine, still no scent to be found. 

"Do they not make you feel any different?" You can't figure out why he seems so surprised; why would wildflowers...

That thought is lost as you turn in Rhett's arms, unintentionally brushing the gathering of flowers against his nose. The pale blue of his eyes disappears as they dilate, almost turning black in just a second's time. 

He recoils, shaking his head as if to clear an intrusive thought. 

It all becomes a blur. One moment he's reaching out, yanking that vase from your palm and throwing it toward the sink; the next, your back is hitting the kitchen table, the wood creaking under your weight. 

"So pretty in my fuckin' t-shirt," he growls into your ear, and you've got no strength to stop him from settling between your thighs, hips rolling into you, "I know I just fucked ya this mornin' darling, but God, I need you again."

The kiss that he silences your next words with is feverish, just as much of a whirlwind as the ones brought by the spring storms. You feel drunk, moving so slow while he moves so, so fast, legs struggling to secure around his waist. He's still got those chaps on, the material so slick that you can't get a good grip on him. 

It's not until his thick finger sinks into you that you realize he's reached between your legs again. You weren't ready for it, but your walls yield to him anyway, the digit thrusting in and out of you as it curls, searching. Involuntarily, your body jolts as he finds it, and there's no way you can miss the way his lips quirk up as he continues to rub it. 

"Fuck, you get wet so easily for me," nipping at your ear, "what if I rub that swollen little clit too, hm? Does that feel good, Princess?" 

You don't know if you're reacting to his fingers or his words, but your hips squirm further into his touch regardless. His hot tongue laps at the underside of your jaw as he eases a second finger inside, properly fucking you with his fingers now, in tune with his thumb as it rubs your clit, up and down, repeatedly. 

"Rhett," you plead, "Rhett, what's gotten into you?"

His hand slides out from your panties, and for a fleeting second, you think that maybe he's gotten a grip on himself. Until you feel the thin material sliding down your legs, garment tossed aside. 

You find your answer wrapped in the wild look in his eye, crazed, desperate. The sound of his zipper coming down is so loud in your ears; wow, okay, he's not taking his jeans off either. He grips your hips with his big hands, pulling you closer to the edge of the table and securing your legs up over his hips, right where his jeans end. 

"Such a pretty mess for me," Rhett hisses as he fishes himself out of his jeans. The strap of those old chaps catches against his length as he eases himself out, the material ultimately sinking lower down his hips, settling right atop the base of him.

His cock is so warm that it burns as the plush head of it meets your glistening cunt, rubbing up and down, the lightest of pressure teasing your clit, "fuck, but I don't have time to put a condom on, baby." 

Then he's sliding back down, pressing against your still-stretched entrance until it gives, opening up to take him in. You can already feel yourself growing wetter around him, unnaturally so, dripping like someone's turned on a faucet. He stops just shy of your sweet spot, not even halfway in yet, sending you into an impatient, squirming frenzy. No, no, he's so close to it; why did he stop now?

"Look between your legs, baby girl," it's not a request; it's an order, "watch my cock as it disappears into your tight little pussy."

You don't have much of a choice but to look down, watching almost helplessly as he starts to sink into you again, sinking into you so, so slowly. Held in place by the strong, calloused hands that threaten to leave bruises on your hips, forced to lie there and feel yourself open up around him, inch by excruciatingly slow inch. 

The entire Abbott family is big, you knew that from the moment you saw them for the first time, but damn, you had no idea that could apply here too. Rhett's not as long as he is thick, stretching you so wide around him that you fear you may never be able to take anything smaller. Feels like he's reaching up into your upper belly, pressing into your lungs. It's getting harder and harder to take a proper breath, reduced to nothing but soft, whimpering gasps as you look at him sliding inside. 

"That's right, Princess," Rhett cooes, thumbs stroking circles into your ass, spiraling over and over, "stretchin' out around me so well. Keep breathin' for me; you're almost there." 

His hips come flush to yours with an obscene squelch that makes your face heat up, embarrassment creeping up onto your face. It's just Rhett, but that was such a loud noise. He isn't still for any longer than a few seconds, drawing back halfway, just to sink back into you faster but still too damn slow. 

Again, there's that filthy wet noise as he bottoms out, echoing throughout the room, bouncing off the walls and dancing down the hallway. He's shifting his angle, driving up into that spot that has your cunt quivering around him, punching a small whimper from deep within your throat. 

Rhett's lips quirk up, smiling devilishly as he repeats it again and again, and with each thrust, you're only growing louder, a little wetter around his dick. That filthy noise only grows with your cries; you don't know what you want; you want his cock head to keep hitting that spot, but that noise. Those wet quenches from you tightening around him each time he sinks in. You can feel how red your face is growing; you're so wet that it feels downright shameful.

"Aw, baby, no need to get so shy," lowering himself onto his forearms, bracing his weight on either side of your head, "just means your pussy is getting fucked nice and deep; it feels good, doesn't it?" Just barely, you manage to nod a yes. "Then those are good noises, darlin'; means I'm doin' my job right." 

He finds your lips with his own, hips moving so roughly that he can barely hold the kiss, broken apart by those rhythmic thrusts. He's getting twitchy, unintentionally slams into you harder, pushing you further up the table.

"Oh fuck," he moans into your mouth, "clenchin' so much around me, darlin'."

The parting of his lips grants you the perfect opportunity to meet his tongue with your own, lacing together in the sloppiest of dances, the sound akin to the one he's creating between your quivering legs. 

Too soon, he's leaning back, standing up straight as he starts to properly drill into you, the kitchen table creaking with every heavy thrust. Your hands are scrambling for something to hold onto, struggling for purchase as he bullies his fat cockhead into that spongey little spot. Too much, too much, too much. 

"You're so cute," Rhett hisses as you cling onto the hands that hold your poor hips, "who would have thought such a precious little thing would let a cowboy wreck her pussy, hm?" 

It's hard to tell if it's his words or the way he keeps kissing your sweet spot that makes you start to flutter around him, involuntarily spasming as he brings you closer and closer. Downright punching the breath out of your lungs now, it'll be a miracle if you can stand after he's done ruining you. 

"Fuck 'm gonna cum," he warns, chuckling as your eyes widen, "do you want me to cum in your sweet little cunt, Princess?" 

Words are getting harder to come up with, your brain growing foggier with every crushing thrust of his big hips. It feels so good that the edges of your vision are going white, every sense clouding with Rhett, Rhett Rhett.

"I need you to answer me, baby," he's leaning down, forcing you to look into his darkened eyes, tone lowering  "do you want me to cum inside you?" 

Fuck, yes, yes, okay. Just barely holding onto control over your own body, you nod your head, humming as loudly as you can. Who cares if it's a bitch to clean his cum out of you, you're too close for him to go pulling out now. 

His thrusts are quickening, ruining his rhythm in the most delicious and erratic of ways, "oh fuck, baby; I'm gonna fill you up," eyelashes fluttering as those pretty irises roll into the back of his head, "gonna make such a mess out of you." 

The room is starting to spin, lungs burning for a proper breath, that coil in your belly pulling tighter and tighter; you're so close—

"Rhett!" A cry that's so weak that it's nothing more than a mere whimper, and that's all Rhett needs for his hips to pin yours to the table as he cums inside of you. 

Thick, sticky ropes of white paint your abused, swollen walls. Body trembling like a leaf underneath him as his cum fills you up, have no choice but to feel him pulse deep inside of you. Such a mess, and you didn't

you didn't cum.

Fuck, you're so close, and yet it's not—it's not enough. 

When he's done, Rhett gently slides out of you, blinking rapidly as if surprised by what's just happened, like he's just awoken from a dream. Leaving you with nothing but air to clench around, air that doesn't hit that swollen, throbbing spot inside of your gummy walls.

In the back of your head, some sort of switch flicks on. 

That loosened feeling, the one that's already settling deep into your sore muscles, vanishes in an instant. Boosted with a sudden surge of energy, you sit up. Rhett's backing up, and no, no, that won't do a damn bit. 

"Baby, what—ah!" His head tilts back as your fingers wrap into his hair and pull backward. Pliant in the palm of your hand, putting up no fight as you take the reins from him.

It's not until you get him down on the kitchen floor that he starts to catch on, shaking hand reaching between your legs as you straddle him. 

"No," you hiss, smacking his hands back, "you're going to make me cum just from your cock."

Rhett yelps as you take hold of his still-hard cock, stroking it once, twice, before you line him back up with your dripping cunt. His chest heaving, deep, audible breaths that never seem to give him the air he's craving. 

"Wait, wait, I'm—" he's cut off by his own pitchy moan as you ease him back inside, "sensitive!"

His hips buck, involuntarily pushing himself further into you, and with a resounding thud, his head hits the floor, lips parting with a gasp. The further you take him in, the further his eyes roll into the back of his head, back arching off the ground so prettily that you wish you could take a photo. The way his messy hair fans out in a halo around him, the soft bit of tummy that peeks out from under his flannel. 

As soon as you feel him bottom out, you're planting your hands on his firm chest and lifting yourself back up, impatient, chasing that high that was so rudely ripped from your grasp. Below you, Rhett reaches up to cover his mouth with a sweaty palm, barely muffling his hoarse whimper as you start to ride him. Suddenly shy, afraid of his own filthy sounds.

"Oh, but you were so vocal just a minute ago," your thoughts are tumbling off your tongue before you even realize it, doesn't even feel like your mouth is attached to your body anymore. "Is the big cowboy too shy to moan in front of a lady?"

It's almost easy, reaching up and removing his hand from his mouth, and oh, there we go. There's those soft sounds rippling out of his throat, pitcher than his normal tone. His hand is like velcro; once you've taken hold of it, he doesn't let go, clinging to your wrist with a weakened grip. 

"Fuck, fuck, fuck, too sensitive," breath hitching as you reflexively clench down around him, "baby, baby, please I—"

The jump from a defiant, wild-eyed cowboy to a submissive, whimpering puddle of a man is so drastic that you fear it's going to give you whiplash. And to think that it's you who has made him like this, all by yourself. Not the girls who giggle and wave when he's fresh off a bull, not the nameless veterinarian who just came back into town, no, just you.

His thighs tremble as you work back up to the pace he'd set before, squirming below you, panting through parted lips. You're searching, seeking that still-tingling spot, wriggling above him as you try to find it. There's that sound again; the filthy squelch each time your hips move downward, so full of his cum and your own wetness that you can feel it move with every motion. 

Hand rising, you take hold of his jaw, directing his unfocused gaze toward you, "I know you've got it in you; just hold on."

As if to reinforce your statement, Rhett nods, barely able to produce his little 'mhm' of agreement. You've done this before; he's got it in him. 

Then his hips twitch, and he's hitting the exact spot you've been seeking, pussy tightening like a vice around him, only serves to make him cry out along with you. Slack-jawed, clinging to you the best that his trembling hands will allow. It's like he'll float off into space if he lets go. With the way your head is starting to spin, you fear you may float away as well, just about dizzy from the way he drives directly into that soft spot. 

"Feels good," Rhett babbles, "fuck, that feels so good."

Rhett's properly squirming now. Sounds becoming more and more urgent as you use him for your own pleasure. You reach up, pressing a tentative thumb to his bottom lip. Not missing a beat, he rises, just enough to take your finger into his mouth, tongue swirling around the digit like it's a sweet treat on a summer day. 

"'m gonna cum again," he murmurs around your finger, easily welcoming a second one, "fuck, you're ridin' me so hard."

"Better be careful," you taunt, catching his tongue between your fingers, "I'm not stopping until you get me off."

With the softest whimper, his hips jolt upward, and you can feel the way his cock throbs inside of you as he cums for a second time. Spasming below you, those pretty eyes squeezing shut as it wracks through his body like an earthquake.

True to your word, you keep going.

Long gone is Rhett's ability to stay quiet, whining, reduced to soft babbles of words that you can't make out. With your now wet fingers, you reach between your bodies, fingertips finding your swollen, neglected clit. So sensitive from the lack of attention, just one touch makes your hips stutter, heat pooling between your legs once more.

There's a hiccup below you.

Oh.

"Please," he rattles, voice barely there as tears well in the corners of his eyes, "fuck—fuck, please cum, baby, please—"

Too weak to even hold you anymore, his hands fall onto either side of him, palms to the ceiling as he just takes it. Can't help the broken sobs bubble up with each fall of your hips, his plush head hitting that spongey spot inside your trembling walls. You can feel yourself starting to tighten around him, growing breathless as you feel yourself start to tumble closer and closer.

Rhett's hips jolt up, slamming into you, and that's all it takes. 

Spasming around him, you finally, finally cum. Hips going suddenly still form the force of it, as you flutter and tighten around him. Your lungs are burning, can't quite tell if you've quit breathing or if he's just punched the air out of him. What you do know is that there's a ringing in your ear as you come down from it, so loud that you can't hear anything else.

Weakly, you lift yourself, letting his cock ease out of you, and yikes, he's going to need to have a hell of a time washing these jeans and these poor old chaps. 

As the ringing leaves your ears, you settle into a messy heap next to him, hips too sore to stay wrapped around him any longer than necessary. Has your lower back been killing you this whole time?

Rhett's loud, shaky sob takes you away from your thoughts. 

"'m still fuckin' hard," he whimpers, and oh, you didn't realize how much he was actually crying, "it hurts." 

His cock rests against his stomach just as normal as day, flushed and leaking into the fabric of his clothes. You almost don't believe it until you reach out and ghost your fingers over him. Still hard, but so sensitive that he jumps away from your barely-there touch.

"Rhett..." you don't know what to say; this has never happened before; what in the world are you supposed to do?

Reaching up, you curl your hand around his cheek, watching as he sniffles and leans into it, like a touch-starved puppy. You're trying to wipe away his tears, but each time your thumb strokes one away, another rolls out. He doesn't seem to have any ideas himself, timidly reaching for himself and then jumping as if his own touch has burned him. 

Your eyes dart back to the kitchen sink, then back to him. "...do you want the plug?"

He's quiet. 

Then, slowly offers you an unsure nod of his head. "Please." 

Despite giving you his consent to get up and fetch it from the counter, he starts fussing the moment you stumble up onto your trembling legs. Pitifully reaching out for you because the submissive in him is convinced that one day you're going to leave him all by himself in this fragile headspace. 

"I'm not going anywhere," you promise, lifting the remote for him to see, "I promise."

You need to get the lubricant from the bedroom, and you truly don't know how you're going to do it. The bedroom is carpeted, and that is definitely Rhett's cum you feel dripping down your inner thigh. The last thing you want to deal with is cleaning that out of the carpet but at the same time—

oh.

Nevermind.

It seems Rhett already has you covered because he lifts his hips, fishing around in his back pocket until he produces a few packets of lube. Huh, didn't know he still carried some on him.

"What possesses you to carry lube packets everywhere?" You ask, watching as he fumbles with the thin strap of his chaps; you don't even want to know how wet that material is.

"Expect the unexpected," he mutters, "like mysterious aphrodisiac wildflowers that pop up in your west pasture."

Still going on about the flowers.

Tilting your head, you cast a wayward glance toward the innocent little things. Could it...actually be the flowers? 

It takes a solid four seconds of thought for you to decide that maybe there really is something up with them. In one quick motion, you left the vase and dump the contents out the open window. 

Rhett's kicking off his shoes, grumbling to himself as he fidgets with the jeans that stubbornly stick to his hips. Just a hair too small, the kind that hugs his thighs and ass like it's their only purpose. He's got no real choice but to wear them because the next size up is too long in the legs. 

And you are eternally thankful.

Even as you have to stop and help him pull them off, the chaps coming along with them and landing in a messy pile on the kitchen floor. You can't complain. Not when you get to watch Rhett jump to fit himself into those tight-fitting jeans every morning.

"My ass needs to get smaller," he grumbles. Oh, the jeans seem to have taken his briefs with them. 

Biting back your hundred and thirty reasons why his ass is perfect the way that it is, you settle between his already parted legs, opening up one of the packets. His thighs timidly press against either side of your hips, like you'll slip away again if he doesn't hold onto you. 

The lubricant is already warm, almost hot, as it drizzles around your fingers. One of the perks of being carried around in his pocket, you suppose. There's not a lot in this little packet, but it'll suffice. 

Even from such a simple thing, his entrance flutters as you press the pad of your finger to it, anticipating something that hasn't even come yet. His head bounces with a short nod, nonverbally telling you to hurry up. 

It only takes the slightest of pressure for him to open up around your finger, surprisingly...loose.

"Tried to take care of it at the ranch," he offers, cheeks pink, "wasn't enough to even cum."

Rhett's statement is proven true when he opens up for your second and third fingers without much resistance. In and out, gentle, long thrusts of your fingers that make his legs start to squirm, shuffling back and forth with anticipation. You haven't searched for his prostate yet, simply mesmerized by the way he opens up and takes your fingers, pink rim stretched and clinging to everything you offer him. 

His cock rests flat against his stomach, flushed an angry shade of red as it continues to leak and make a mess of the bottom of his flannel. Your eyes are still trained on it as your fingers crook, and it jumps. 

Rhett's back arches off the ground, a silent, strained noise tearing out of his throat, "ahaa—!"

He's squirming again, hips writhing as you continue to abuse his rubbery prostate. Head tilted to the side, panting, watching with the softest eyes as you do it to him. Innocent even, like he isn't sure what's going on or why, but he's following your lead because he trusts it. 

Too soon, you're pulling your hand back, almost lured back into giving him more when he gasps so pitifully. 

"Hold on, baby," you soothe, opening another packet, "I'm only stopping for a few seconds."

The plug is still somewhat damp from its earlier washing, almost doesn't even need the lube, to begin with, but the last thing you want to do is hurt him. He doesn't skimp out on the lube when you need it, and neither will you. 

When it's properly slicked, you pass it off to his already open hand. It's cute how he clings to that tiny bit of control whenever he's feeling fragile. Reminds you of how he used to fuss about only riding your strap because he was still nervous about giving you complete control down there.

Now he's turned into your pillow princess and gets fussy when his thighs start to burn from riding you. 

He hisses as he works it into himself, and as he busies himself with that, you move to settle down by his side instead. Where you can comfortably reach for his cock, but also run your clean hand through his hair. 

His back arches up once more as it fully slides inside, moaning behind closed lips at the feeling. Then, slowly, he offers up a little hum, and you already know what to do. 

Picking up the remote, you turn it on. 

As if touched by a live wire, his body jerks as the toy audibly buzzes to life, crooked perfectly against his sensitive prostate, "oh fuck." 

"Do you want me to touch you?" To which he nods feverishly. 

He's rock solid and throbbing in your hand, unwavering from his first two orgasms, stubbornly flushed and leaking like he hasn't been touched in months. His hips twitching backward are the only sign of how many times he's cum, running from the feeling. 

"Higher, please, high—ah!" Cut off by his own cry as the vibrating plug jumps up a notch, eyes squeezing shut as he shudders through it. 

When those baby blues open, they're watery again.

"Rhett?" Reaching for his cheek, feeling him needily lean into it.

"I wanna cum," curling toward you, lifting his head to nuzzle directly into your belly, "please, it hurts—I wanna cum again."

Changing the setting one more time, you let him snuggle closer. Cradling the back of his head as your other hand works his sensitive, likely sore cock, swirling around just the way he's always liked. You can almost feel the plug working him, slow pulses that offer just enough attention to his prostate; it's his favorite setting. 

"I've got you," your voice feels too loud compared to his minuscule whimpers and the distant buzz of the toy. 

He's starting to shake again, overwhelmed as tears wet your shirt, holding onto you with what strength he's got left. Hiccuping, making such sounds that you've never heard come from him before. 

With little to no warning, he cums for the third time. He's got nothing to give you, pulsing in your hand but producing little more than precum, breathing hard through his nose. 

Then he goes still. 

"Rhett?" Turning it off, you move to pull away, trying to get a look at his face. "Rhett?" 

Boneless, he wriggles closer, refusing to let you go. Not passed out as you feared. 

It takes him a while to lift his head, peering up at you with swollen, red eyes and the wobbliest smile. "Will you stay with me for a minute?" 

Simultaneously, your heart breaks and melts. So precious, but it makes you so sad to realize that he's still afraid when he's like this.

You don't know how long you spend laying on your own kitchen floor with Rhett quietly resting on top of you. Both sticky messes from your ventures, minds just now starting to catch up to what in the world just happened. The tile needs mopping before things start to dry in places they shouldn't, and both of you need a long bath that will hopefully wash away whatever spell those wildflowers allegedly cast upon Rhett.

"Aphrodisiac flowers, huh?" You ask, stroking his hair, "that's...new."

"Dad's gonna have to find someone else to tear them up," laughing weakly, Rhett tilts his head up to look at you, "my dick might fall off if I get into them again."

Those flowers take root and grow back next Spring right outside your kitchen window. 

[strawblemon]

I didn't buy the new Life is Strange because it wouldn't fit in my monthly budget... but looking at the reviews, it seems I dodged a bullet.

[warriorcats-but-emo]

[kitsunequeen1987]

So I opened Tumblr this morning, and I saw something about shipping drama in The Sun and Moon Show fandom???

Anyone want to explain? I've been doing class all day.

[soufre-de-paris]

no stranger feeling than watching a movie, realizing it absolutely Sucks on every fucking metric possible, going online to find out what people at the time were saying about how much it sucked, just to discover it is the most beloved movie of the franchise and how its blockbuster popularity ushered in a renaissance for the franchise

[silliestgoosever]

WHY AM I SO SILLY!!!

(i caused two joel deaths with sam instead at the same time)

( @krikeymate @dreamersbcll okay was this an organized effort? or did i just cause an angsty scream 6 tumblr disaster with pure coincidence)

[cptnwynnie]

hey guys!! what the fuck!!!

[krysmcscience]

I have some questions about karaoke night, Alex Hirsch. Very Important Questions. Which I will happily scream at a poor hapless baby triangle who can have no answers for me, and possibly also does not have object permanence yet.

Follow-up that is I guess suggestive, but let's be real here, Bill's a fucking triangle:

Dude slipped right into his birthday suit, lmao

this is so stupid :D

Anyway, I don't care what anyone says, this brilliant individual knows what's up - Bill is absolutely way more of a monsterfucker than Ford could or ever will be, full stop.

[tossawary]

This is petty fandom salt, BUT... I've been chewing on this phenomenon that I've been calling "Fandom's Darling". It is related to things like "Author's Darling" and "Mary Sue / Gary Stu" and "Protagonist Halo" and all that jazz, where one character gains a peculiar narrative weight in a story.

"Author's Darling" is when a writer has a favorite character, and the world and all other characters sort of get... warped to put the Darling in the spotlight. It's most noticeable in TV shows with multiple writers, when a character you personally like suddenly has their previous characterization destroyed to make another character look good somehow. Every other character might become weirdly incompetent. The Darling's feelings are treated as The Most Important Feelings in any given situation. The logic of the fictional world seems broken past suspension of disbelief in order to validate this one character's beliefs or skillset or some other fantasy. And so on.

"Fandom's Darling" is what I've been calling the pattern where a fandom essentially crowns a New Protagonist for their fanfiction stories (it's often a side character rather than the original protagonist, but it can also happen to protagonists). This character becomes the self-insert for all sorts of indulgent fantasies, gaining special powers or backstories, and/or becoming the focus of extreme whump, and/or hooking up with all the various hotties, starring in all sorts of tropey AUs, and so on. They're not always an obvious Mary Sue version of themselves, but the character's original personality and interpersonal relationships tend to get warped or dropped completely, and other characters tend to become a little flat around them. I call it "Fandom's Darling" because it's not just one self-indulgent fantasy fic (you do you! Have fun!) with characterization choices that I don't vibe with (I have neither the time nor the desire nor the authority to police anything, I am just venting), but rather a prolific mini-fandom of sorts revolving around this empty doll / fanon version of the chosen vessel character, so it becomes a little unavoidable.

I am salty about this (mildly frustrated) (imagine a soft sigh of disappointment before I just go do something else) because you are FUCKED if you actually liked the canonical version of this character and their interpersonal relationships. It's almost worse than liking an obscure character that no one cares about. There's about a thousand fics starring your fave, but maybe only about a dozen of them are actually rooted in any kind of recognisable canon.

[gayshitanddadjokes]

*looks around* okay the notes have mostly stopped time to put the wet floor signs around the containment breach

despite staff's recent changes, we're... winning??????

[idiotcommander]