#Rhett needed that affirmation

[casperghosty]

I can't get over how Link says "Good Boy" 🫠🥵😳

[stuffandwonder]

I'm several eb eps behind but I just think Rhetts description of GMM being this nice little box (the presentation, the set up) that wraps the real gift that is that their friendship is so sweet and accurate. Just the perfect way to describe it actually.

I think Link was actually quite touched by the fact Rhett was so adamant he wouldn't want to do gmm without Link in any way, even tho he (Link) was talking about it as an option. But it's seemed like it was only because Link didn't really want to consider the idea of a future where he couldn't be with Rhett 🥺. And then he seemed to genuinely appreciate Rhetts advice for how he should approach it.

Links horror and actual physical recoil at Rhett bringing up the idea of a long/slow death made me laugh just because - yeah fucking real and I just knew he'd react like that, boy is so not comfortable considering the idea of losing Rhett and then the idea of having it drawn out. Big nope.

Don't worry Link, if possible, I'm sure Rhett will haunt you (he's so obsessed with you of course he would)

Also Tuesdays with Morrie is a very good rec if you somehow haven't read that book already

[beachbabey]

Rhett sees his bunny in lingerie for the first time

Warnings: allusions to smut

Word Count: 657

You ordered the set online whilst he was away at a rodeo as a welcome home surprise, but you knew he’d be exhausted when he came home and so decided to keep it stowed away for another moment.

Nothing too extravagant, a pale lavender two-piece with a matching garter belt and some white stockings with small, dainty floral designs embroidered onto them, so delicate you doubted you could get them on without ripping the thin material.

It’s a Sunday morning, Rhett, who even on the weekend finds something to do around the house, doesn’t see you scamper to the en suite, sneaking the sheer satin bag in with you, slipping into everything and applying a little lipstick and mascara, pulling your bathrobe over the ensemble and tying the belt so no skin would be visible. 

“Rhett?” You yelled out

“Yeah?”

“Can you come here for a sec?”

You hear an affirming hum in return before the sound of feet padding the wooden floors comes a stop a few feet away from you 

“That time of the month babe? You need me to run to the store?”

“N-no it’s not that” you stutter out, second thinking your plan

What if he was in the middle of something? Is lavender really the best colour for this?? Oh god, what if you don’t actually suit it?

“Are you hurt? Can you open the door for me please?” If you weren’t a ball of nerves you’d roll your eyes, Rhett couldn’t go a day without worrying about something

“No! I’m- I’m not hurt, it’s just- are you busy?” You called timidly from behind the door

“It can wait doll, what do you need?” His tone evened out as soon as you confirmed you were okay.

“Can you….go sit on the bed for me?”

Once you hear his footsteps recede, you slowly open the bathroom door and peek your head out.

Rhett, who has the audacity to look like a sin on a Sunday morning, in his jeans and a thin sweater, sits with his legs slightly spread, his hands clasped and resting in his lap. His eyes trained on you, cocking his head a little to the side to mimic your own

“Hi honey” he coos glowing at the sight of your shy, owlish expression, trying to gently coax you out from behind the doorframe with his soft smile

“Hi, baby….I- Can I show you something?” You asked.

Rhett smiled, nodded and reached out his arms to you, making grabby hands with a boisterous grin appearing. You giggle softly at his silly antics and approach him getting close enough for his hands to cradle your hips and place you in between his legs before your figure freezes up, your anxiety not allowing you to continue.

“Is it under here baby?” He hummed, his thumbs running along your hip bones. You nodded slowly, fiddling nervously with the curls at the back of his head, keeping your head down. He cranes his neck to meet your eyes, gently tugging on the belt, silently asking you for permission, with no resistance from you, he gently loosens the tie and lets the robe fall from your shoulders and down to the floor, all the while you resisted the urge to bolt out of the room 

He gasps softly, eyes zeroing in on your chest shamelessly, you let him slowly push you away to take in all of you in the little pastel number, hands ghosting over the innocent-looking tights, your face starting to burn up in embarrassment before being suddenly pulled down to straddle one of his thighs, he chuckles deeply at the way it makes you squeak in surprise, gripping onto his shoulders as you finally look at him

“You’re so good to me, my pretty little bunny, dressing up all pretty like this, it’s a shame though”

“Why’s that?” You question

 “Now I just want to rip it off of you.”

[jedidiahjunior]

Love languages?

-gifts for Alyssa, words of affirmation and acts of service for John but their changing over time

Do you ever yell at your children?

-“no you should never yell at your children” and then John goes on a tangent about how if God doesn’t yell at people then you shouldnt either and just my guy he drowned most of the earths population with a flood how is that not worse than yelling!!

Do the Bates sisters ever chat and laugh about all the rumors?

-yes

Do y’all need a lot of sleep or do you manage with little?

-They both do well on little sleep and boy that could never be me lmao

How different has it been raising a boy versus the girls?

-Everything is so different and he is so muscular and early with physical development and GIVE ME A FUCKING BREAK THIS IS ALL IN YALLS HEAD HE IS A BABY SHUT THE FUCK UP WITH YOUR CRAZY GENDER ROLLS

Favorite holiday?

-Christmas (same) and their anniversary

Would you rather be hot or cold?

-John: cold

Alyssa: hot

If Alyssa didn’t have such bad sickness (nausea?) in her pregnancies, would you have more children?

-yes! But there are also more health concerns to consider (her heart?)

What’s the story about the pictures in the living room? (The Knoxville, Lake Tahoe and Orlando maps)

-Alyssa was born in Knoxville, John in Orlando and their honeymoon was in Lake Tahoe

Have you painted your house yet?

-No, John doesn’t want to hire someone to do it so it’ll happen when it happens

Why do you think people unnecessarily judge y’all?

-Because people can hide behind a screen people feel like they can be as mean as they want, John thinks it’s the great mystery

How are the grandparents doing?

-Not well, but they don’t want to speak on it for their privacy. Prayers welcome.

Do you get recognized by strangers?

-yes, really often recently

Schampoo?

-Alyssa uses redkin, John uses head and shoulders but steals alyssas sometimes

Dream SUV?

-Ford Expedition

How do you manage bedtimes and naps with 5 kids?

-consistency is key!

How are you coping with 5 children?

-It’s hard, but Rhett having rsv was the hardest part. Things are getting better now

Favorite holiday tradition?

-Big family Saturday breakfast, picking their Christmas tree, matching Christmas pyjamas

Are they going to keep doing abeka homeschooling?

-not sure? They’ve been struggling with abeka recently, the videos aren’t great and Alyssa are struggling with having kids with diffrent needs and at different stages in their education (which sounds like a homeschooling in general problem, not an abeka specific problem….)

Do you prefer online or real life shopping?

-Alyssa loves real life shopping (except groceries), John only likes online shopping

Would you consider a making a podcast/longer video series?

-def not a podcast, but maybe some longer videos talking about homeschooling, parenting etc

Do you ever just need a break from all the stress?

-YES

[ohwynne]

Vampires suck // Emilio & Wynne

PARTIES: Emilio @mortemoppetere & Wynne @ohwynne LOCATION: Wormwoods. TIMING: Early April CONTENT WARNINGS: N/A SUMMARY: Wynne's existential late night walk is interrupted by Emilio hunting some ustras that caught their smell. An unexpected team up follows which leaves the vampires defeated.

It’d been two years since the massacre in Etla, and Emilio was still getting used to hunting alone. It hadn’t been unheard of, back home, to go out on a hunt by yourself — some things didn’t really require a group to take out, after all, and wasting resources by sending multiple hunters on an easy job didn’t make much sense — but backup had always been an option before. He’d had his siblings, his uncle, Juliana, Rhett, Gabriel. His mother, on the days when he thought she might answer if he called. 

That wasn’t the case anymore. In Wicked’s Rest, when Emilio got wind of something that needed killing, there was no one he could trust to help him kill it. But an ustra wandering the woods turning bones to mush wasn’t the kind of thing you could leave alone, and Emilio didn’t particularly feel like trying to meet any other hunters. So… he was alone. Running through the woods like a madman with a knife in one hand and a vial of holy water in the other, cursing under his breath in a string of wild Spanish. He’d come out here for one ustra, which would have been easy enough; three was a little more difficult. 

Christ, this would be a stupid way to die.

It was hard to pay attention to where he was going even with his enhanced night vision, considering he was running for his fucking life on unfamiliar terrain. That was his excuse for barreling into the kid. The force of the impact coupled with his bad leg was almost enough to topple the hunter over, but he managed to stay on his feet through sheer luck. Wild eyes darted to the kid he’d run down, and he squinted at them carefully. “You should get out of here,” he suggested. “Now.” 

—

A silent wood was more haunting than a noisy one, that much Wynne knew, and so there was some comfort in the sounds surrounding them. It was late, too late to be out on one's own perhaps — but they found themselves in need of the constant movement of walking. One foot after the other, that therapeutic and natural beat combined with the crunch of leaves, a hint of moonshine, an owl hooting, some bug crittering. It was as close to peace as they tended to get those days, at least until one of the sounds seemed less natural. Rather beyond it. 

While curious, they had very little interest in fucking around and finding out in this instance. No, Wynne preferred to apply a philosophy of fucking off and living in ignorance from time to time, and so they picked up the pace. In the back of their mind circled the thought of home, of their entity, the impending retribution that had not yet come. There was more rustling, a screech — Wynne picked up their pace, sticking to the path. Another thought popped up: what if they were imagining things again? A mind was so feeble, so easily misguided and when misguided, so easily warped. They had been straying off the beaten path these past months. 

They blamed their frazzled mind on their inability to look ahead, body colliding with another. One heading towards the (possibly-imagined) sounds. As wide eyes met wide eyes, Wynne had a sinking realisation that perhaps there really was something in the woods. “I am working on it,” they nearly exclaimed, tossing a look over their shoulder before looking back at the stranger, “Though maybe you ought to do the same?” 

—

Working on it. Good. There was some relief in that, because while Emilio had known that they were young when he’d first stumbled upon them, further inspection of the figure in front of him now affirmed the fact that they really were just a kid. Probably not much older than twenty. Definitely too young to get their bones turned to mush in the middle of the woods late at night. There was something funny about that line of thinking, coming from him. Emilio had been ready to martyr himself for his cause at twelve, was still eager for it now, but when it came to other people? He looked at them, and all he could think of was Flora. Like all the protective rage he’d felt for her hadn’t died along with her but been transported instead, passed along to anyone who was close enough to take it. This kid shouldn’t be alone in the woods in the middle of the night, but they certainly wouldn’t die here. Emilio wouldn’t let them.

It also made their concern a little… weird. Emilio let out a quiet huff of air that was half a laugh, glancing behind him where he knew the ustras were gaining. He could take them if he had a moment to think of a plan. It was just the thinking that was hard. It had never been the kind of thing he was particularly good at.

“Not really in the cards for me, kid. I don’t take these things out, somebody’s going to die.” Maybe them. “You run. I’ll make sure they don’t follow you. Okay? Go on.”

—

When they’d run from the estate, they’d felt like this. As if there was something breathing down their back, licking at their heels, slithering over the ground in their direction — Wynne had never really known what the entity they and the rest of their people owed their life to, and so it appeared to them in many shapes and sizes. That was what they imagined now, behind them and in front of the other: something that demanded, that devoured if not pleased. And while their instincts always led to obedience and no questions asked, they now looked at the other with wide, quizzical eyes.

“What are you on about?” If this was not imagined, not just their mind playing tricks on them, then there must be an explanation. “What things?” All they knew of placating hungry things was sacrifice, and that too was something they preferred outrunning. Perhaps this was their comeuppance, something demanding that they finally lay down their life as had been intended.

Wynne was tired of inaction, of blind obedience, of fear. “No, what! I’m just supposed to believe you at your word, that this is some murderous thing and let you run right at it?” Martyrdom was another thing they had tired of some time ago.

—

He didn’t have time for this. He’d been working under the assumption that, if the kid was out in the woods in the middle of the night, they knew what was out there. Evidently, it had been the wrong assumption to make. They were lucky, Emilio figured, that he was the one who’d stumbled upon them; someone else might have used that ignorance against them, weaponized it and made it into an advantage. 

But… they weren’t too lucky. A little luckier, and they might have been met with someone who knew how to explain why he was running, someone who could give them a real answer without freaking them out. Emilio didn’t know how to do that. His experience with kids had always been hunter kids. Tiny, deadly things who learned about creatures of the night before they learned to walk. Kids in their twenties who didn’t know what they were running from in the woods at night were far, far out of Emilio’s wheelhouse. 

“Just… Don’t worry about it. It’s nothing. Just go.” He waved a hand at them, as if trying to usher them forward. It was just his luck that they didn’t move. Instead, they looked at him. Or… maybe that wasn’t quite right. It felt more like they looked through him, with how accurately they managed to call him out. And god, he didn’t have time for that, either. “Even if I were, it wouldn’t be for you to worry about. Would it? I’m a stranger. What does it matter if I run at some murderous thing? You worry about yourself, kid.”

—

Wynne had been a little under a decade when their predecessor had stepped onto the Protherian’s altar and met their honorable fate. Blood had dripped onto the earth and mixed with the dried flowers and fruits that lay at its feet. Sacrifice was the highest honor for a living person amongst their people: to offer one's life for the betterment of that of others. A mantra they’d learn to live by in subsequent years, never quite able to forget the look in that boy’s eyes before he’d risen to his fateful task. There was honor in martyring oneself  — there was a point to it, a higher purpose, or so the lessons went. Or so they told them, braiding flowers in their hair. 

Whether it was bullshit or not, Wynne wasn’t sure: but they had turned from that purpose all the same. While still unsure what to do with this, this time they had never thought they’d have — they did know this: sacrifice seemed meaningless. It didn’t rule most people’s lives the way it had theirs and their family. And they all seemed fine. Wynne themself seemed fine, with their heart still beating and nothing having come to collect what they were owed. Yet. Unless this was it.

So to let a stranger run into uncertain death went against newfound instinct and philosophy. And though Wynne wasn’t sure who they were any more, they did know they didn’t want to be a coward again. That there were certain principles solidifying in their mind they wished to cling to. “It’s clearly not nothing, and what is it with your people’s insistence on not caring about those around you?” They all needed a lesson on living more community-minded, but now was hardly the time for such a rant. “Of course it matters! So what is it, out there, and why are we not both running?”

—

They were stubborn. The kind of stubborn that dug its heels into the sand and refused to move until it got whatever it was it wanted, the kind of stubborn that never accepted an answer that wasn’t what it wanted to hear, the kind of stubborn that got people killed and left the world around them a little bit emptier because of it. Stubborn was only ever useful until it wasn’t, was a virtue up until the exact moment it became a vice. And that moment was fast approaching now, hot on the slayer’s heels. He’d led it right to them without meaning to, carved a perfect path through the woods and straight to those heels dug firmly into the sand. 

He couldn’t be responsible for what happened next, couldn’t be the reason this thing found them when it might not have otherwise. Emilio had gotten enough kids killed already; he didn’t need to add another one to the damn list. But how could he get them to go when they were so insistent on staying? His personal brand of stubborn had been waning since the massacre in Mexico. It was so much easier to give in, these days.

But he wanted this kid safe, and that lit something up in his chest. There were parts of him that had been dark for years now, but they still glowed sometimes. Maybe he wasn’t a father in any kind of way that counted anymore, but the instincts still remained. “I am trying,” he ground out, “to take care of the people around me. That’s what I’m trying to do. That’s why I told you to — I don’t have time for this. You’re running because you’re a kid. I’m not running because I’m an adult. How is that, hm? Is that good?”

—

The human instinct to live was strong in Wynne — strong enough to defy what they had been taught all their life, to turn their back on a family, a community, a demon. And yet here they stood, feet rooted into the ground, staring at someone larger, older and presumably much wiser than them (though the bar was low, in that regard), refusing. Instincts went head to head, mixed with a rising panic in their chest and Wynne told themself that they had been selfish before and could do it again. Why care about this stranger, when they had abandoned their family to certain death only months ago?

There was so much they didn’t know and understand about the scene unfolding around them and maybe it would be good to trust that the other knew what he was doing. But Wynne’s chest was already so tight with guilt, these days, and as they heard another screech their stomach only sank. What was left, then, besides truth? If that was even what it could be called, though Wynne felt that it was reality. There were little other explanations, now were there?

“No, not good — see, I think it wants me, whatever it is,” they said, as the sounds grew closer. It was either that or the world was filled with more cruel creatures than the one they had once answered to. They weren’t sure which was preferable. Wynne’s head whipped back once more, then looked at the other. “How do I know it’ll be alright? I don’t —” There was a sharp intake of breath. “Won’t let you just run to your death, no matter how old you are.”

—

I think it wants me. The statement was perplexing, and Emilio furrowed his brow. As far as he knew, ustras were opportunists. They didn’t target anyone specifically, didn’t track people down without reason. They were only chasing him because he’d tried to kill them; it was more self preservation than pursuit, on their part. The idea that they were looking for this kid, specifically, didn’t make much sense to him. It was probably just a bit of confusion on their part, and he knew it, but… They said it with such conviction. With certainty. Like they had some reason to believe it.

Like something, somewhere was after them, even if it wasn’t this. 

Emilio studied them for a moment despite not really having the time, eyes darting over their face as he tried to puzzle out what it was that might be after them. Fae had a tendency to hyperfocus on a single victim sometimes, didn’t they? Was it something like that? Those were always the monsters he felt least capable of dispatching. He’d been fighting the undead all his life, and he’d taken it upon himself to learn more about shapeshifters and beasts when he and Juliana got together, but he’d always left the fae to the wardens. If there was something like that after this kid, he wasn’t sure how much he’d be able to help them.

(And there was never any question, in Emilio’s mind, as to whether or not he would help them. There was a kid, and they needed someone. He didn’t need any more reason than that.)

His train of thought was abruptly cut off by the screech of one of the approaching ustras, and he cursed quietly. “Listen to me,” he said, gripping the kid’s shoulders and lowering himself to meet their eyes with a determined gaze. “These things are not after you. Okay? They’re after me. I still think you should leave. But if you’re not going to, you can help, yes?” He fumbled in his pocket for a moment, pulling out a particularly sharp knife and holding it out with the handle towards them. “They will try to attack you from far away. Don’t let them get you with their tongue, or their spit. Get in close, and use this. Their skin is easy to cut. I just need you to distract them, then get away when I say. Make sure you get away. Fire is the best way to kill them, so… I am going to do that.” The lighter in his pocket wasn’t the best weapon in his arsenal, but if he fashioned a torch out of a few items on the forest floor, the ustras would go up easily enough.

—

Their chest was moving up and down on its own accord, breaths moving faster than was typical. Back at home, when this would happen, they’d press their hands on their collarbones and hum a hymn, breathe in tandem with those present — but home was no more and this was hardly the place. They just looked at the other, and he looked back and it felt for a moment like they stood there like that forever. Not exactly sizing each other up the way predators would, but more like two kinds of prey who responded differently to being cornered. Wynne had fawned and freezed and fled before, and it seemed the other only had one answer. Fight, alone.

Wynne swayed from the impact of his hands on their shoulders, head drooping slightly now that he was meeting them at the same height. There was something steady about it, the way he looked at them and spoke, and yet they still felt unsteady. A gust of air escaped their mouth, the one they’d been holding. Even if he was right, and it wasn’t after them, Wynne was starting to be aware of one thing: they’d rather risk their chances with this stranger, than leg it. Out of both selfishness and selflessness, if such a thing was possible. And while for a moment, they did stare at the knife, they eventually closed their fingers around it. They tried very hard not to think about the moon’s reflection on its blade, how similar it looked to blades wielded before. That had always been to earthly, normal creatures though.

“Okay.” The echo of his question was too late, but it was there. “Okay.” They press the palm of their hand against their chest for a moment, breathing in and out. Whatever was out there was gaining on them, the absence of owls hooting and other night-critters moving more and more absent. Wynne backed away a little, turning around to face the direction the unnatural sounds came from. The knife was held in front of them, clumsily. “What is it, out there?” It was the only question they knew to ask, besides all the other ones dizzying their head — like why he was out there, or how he knew, and if he, by any chance, knew anything about demons, and why they couldn’t just run and get to a place where the door could be barred and Wynne could level their breathing. Maybe they had wasted their opportunity to run, though, through loitering and arguing. 

That much turned out to be true when Wynne saw it, in the distance. Something white and slimy, gaining ground on them. 

—

It wasn’t anything like staring at a mirror, looking at them. Their eyes were wide in a way he didn’t think his had ever been, their chest moving rapidly in a way his did, sometimes, but not in situations like this. Panic, for Emilio, didn’t come when the danger was near. The idea of dying was never the thing that set him off. He knew how to handle things that wanted to kill him, had made peace with the inevitability of it so long ago that he no longer knew what it felt like to not accept the possibility. No, Emilio found unsteady ground in the mundane moments. Buying groceries, walking the dog, having a conversation. Life or death situations made sense to him. It was the situations that were life alone that always managed to throw him terribly off balance. 

They weren’t much like Flora, either, if he was being honest. She’d been so young when she’d died, but already she’d carried some of that weight that all hunters bore. Already she’d known what lived in the shadows. Emilio didn’t know if she’d been afraid of it. That kept him up sometimes, the not knowing. The idea that, when she’d died, she’d died afraid. He couldn’t change it either way now, couldn’t comfort someone who was already gone. But… maybe he could do something for this kid instead. Make their breaths come a little easier, make that look in their eyes a little less haunted even if it was only for this moment, even if he never saw them again. You couldn’t save everyone, but sometimes you could hand them a knife. Sometimes you had to pretend that it was the same thing.

“Okay,” he said again, nodding his head. They took the knife, and he turned back towards the approaching noise. At their question, he grimaced. “Easier to tell you after, I think. Don’t worry about it now. When we’re finished, I can explain.” Knowing what they were fighting wouldn’t do anything for them except for perhaps make them a little more afraid. Knowing you were fighting a monster didn’t really make the fighting any easier. “I’ll tell you anything you want to know, okay? We just have to finish it first.” They just had to survive it first.

The approaching ustras cut off anything else he might have said, and Emilio had to hope that the kid could sufficiently distract them while he fashioned a torch. They were far enough from the water now that they’d already be beginning to dry out, so setting them aflame shouldn’t be too difficult. If he got close enough to them, they’d go up easy. He picked up a stick from the forest floor, ripping the sleeve off his shirt with his teeth and soaking the fabric in some of the alcohol from his flask to make it more flammable, glancing up to see how the kid was faring. 

—

Wynne had known they would die young at the age of ten. That much had been predetermined for them, even before they were born, and for a decade they had accepted that reality. A certain future ahead. It was to be a short but meaningful life, more meaningful than anyone could ever hope to live — and yet here they were, breathing in and out, so awfully alive and so horribly aware of it. Their chest ached with it. Their heart hammered with it. Maybe this, whatever this creature was, was fate catching up with them, but did it matter? The most primal of instincts surged through them: the instinct to live. The refusal to die by some grander design. Half a year ago, it had pushed them towards theft and escape, and today it pushed them to hold a knife a little tighter.

None of that to say that they weren’t afraid and feeling incredibly out of their depth, but adrenaline was making itself known. They gave a nod of their head. “Okay.” There was no time for preparation, no time to wield their knife and consider the best way to use it. Wynne had used a hunter’s knife before, albeit only on smaller creatures, prey animals that needed skinning or draining. There was no time to reconsider. 

The creatures came closer and Wynne recalled the other’s words, attempting to duck out of sight. Get in close, he’d said, and while instincts begged them to run or hide, to throw themself flat against the ground, they pushed themself forward through the cover overgrowth. A yelp of shock slipped past their lips as they got a better look at the creatures – three of them, looking significantly different than the demon they answered to – and it was enough to draw them in. It hadn’t been their intention to do as much, but it did seem to align with what the stranger had asked of them.

A slashing movement with the knife did little except cut some leaves of a bush, and Wynne yelped once more as a big wad of saliva was spit their way. Instinctively, they ducked to the side, rolling over the ground. Crawling on all fours, they moved forward, bringing down the knife in one of their feet — or perhaps paws was the better word. 

—

Was it better, Emilio wondered, to be handed a knife you didn’t know how to use, or to be raised with one in your hand? With Flora, he’d been petrified at the idea of raising her the way he’d been raised, terrified of his daughter ending up anything like him, of her feeling the things he felt. But was this better? To be handed a knife when the fight was too close to train for, to be given the barest instruction without time for anything more? Flora died defenseless after all, unable to do even the bare minimum to protect herself, unable to stall for time until Emilio arrived. If you refused to give a child a knife until they needed it, were you protecting them or dooming them? He didn’t know. He still didn’t know. And he hated himself, just a little, for that.

He kept an eye on them as he prepared his torch, heart pounding in his chest with something that might have been adrenaline and might have been that old fear that he’d never quite gotten rid of. It was clear they weren’t trained, but they weren’t dead yet, either. He just needed them to hold up until…

There. With the torch properly prepped, Emilio flicked his lighter, flames licking the soaked fabric as he rushed forward. “All right, kid, move,” he yelled, motioning for them to get back. He needed them away from the ustras when he set them aflame, otherwise he ran the risk of burning them up along with the monsters. And that was just about the last thing he wanted to do here.

—

There was a crunch beneath their movement, the creature’s foot-or-paw giving way for the knife. They had no time to register it to its full extent, and were only wise enough to pull the weapon back and hold onto it. It wasn’t in Wynne’s nature to attack, but it seemed to be in everyone’s nature to fight to stay alive. They tightened their grip on the weapon once more, but it seemed like another strike was not needed.

What they had, albeit unconsciously, been waiting for was thrown their way: the demand to get out of the way, to let the real adult get to work. Wynne didn’t know how to do most of the things expected of them, let alone fight a creature they had never seen before. They clambered up to their feet and ran, creating distance between themselves and the monsters as the licking flames the other had produced lit the scene. 

In the newly gained light, the creatures were more horrifying and Wynne let out a sound without meaning to. It sounded nearly as animalistic as the things in front of them, but they soon realised one thing: this wasn’t gythraul, unless It had taken a different form and changed itself into three separate entities. This was something else entirely and that made the earth beneath their feet feel shaky. They backed away more, heartbeat rising again, their eyes pulled toward the flames and the person they hoped knew what he was doing. 

—

The kid was quick on their feet, and Emilio took a moment to be grateful for it as he moved in. Almost as soon as the command to move was out of his mouth, it was being followed. Like they’d been waiting on it, like they’d never wanted to fight at all, like he’d put a knife in the hand of a kid who’d never had to hold one like this because that was the only thing he’d ever known how to do. The kid was quick on their feet, but they shouldn’t have had to be. A better hunter wouldn’t have led the fight right to them. Emilio knew that.

But there was no changing that now. All he could do was move forward, was lower that torch to one ustra and let it light the rest up. He was lucky they’d gotten so dried out, lucky they stood close together as they prepared to attack. It made the getting rid of them that much easier, ensured they all went up like a goddamn pile of dry leaves in a summer drought. Flames rose up from the creatures as they screamed, inhuman sounds mingling with the kid’s distressed noise. Emilio swallowed, feeling guilty, somehow, feeling like he’d made a mistake, like he’d broken something in a new way when it was already in pieces. 

After a few moments, the screaming died down. The figures collapsed, one by one, and Emilio moved towards them, stomping out the smaller flames and tossing his jacket over the larger ones until the fire was out. Sweat pricked the back of his neck, but he didn’t know if it was from the heat or the nausea tugging at his gut as he avoided looking at the terrified kid, the one that was backing farther and farther away from him. He’d saved them. Kept them alive in the face of danger that probably wouldn’t have found them to begin with if he hadn’t led it right to them. Did he celebrate that, or mourn it? Was this a win, or another loss to add to the pile? He ached with the fact that he couldn’t tell the difference anymore. 

“It’s all right,” he told the kid, even if he wasn’t really sure it was true. “They’re done now, see? Can’t hurt anybody anymore. You, uh… You did good. With the distraction. You did a good job.”

—

As the flames licked up and up and up, devouring the creatures with no name, Wynne backed away. Trembling fingers held onto the knife as their footsteps moved further into the woods until their shoulders hit a tree. There, they moved to sink down, resting hands on their knees as their mind attempted to play catch-up on what had just occurred. On what it implied. They had known there was more to this world than the rest of the world might prefer to believe, but this hadn’t been in any of their teachings. This opened up a world of terrifying possibilities.

They watched the other get to work methodically, as if he had done this before. How exhausting it was becoming, to constantly feel out of their depth, to always feel like they were on the outside looking into something they didn’t get. But where in most situations Wynne wanted to know, had to know — they weren’t so sure if they wanted to now. Maybe it would have been best if they had just run, had chosen to look away and drown in ignorance once more. And they told themself that they were okay with not knowing. That they could live on without finding out what their actions had led to, back on the estate. But it woke them up in the middle of the night and sometimes they had to hide in the back from the store as doom-scenarios appeared to them. What good had ignorance ever done for them? 

When the stranger addressed them, they became aware of how they were sitting there. Wynne tried to relax, to not seem like they were on the verge of tears. They had been good at this once: keeping composure. It had been expected of them. But they weren’t sure what was expected of them any more, these days. “They’re gone,” they confirmed, staring at the smoke for a moment. They pushed themself up, moving towards the other and extending the knife handle first. There was still something dripping off it. Wynne wasn’t sure if it could be called blood. “What were they?” If ignorance had never done them any favors, why not ask? Even if the answer might unsettle them more. 

They looked over their shoulder, back to the path. At least their sense of navigation still remained. “Can we go?” 

—

The kid looked terrified. Emilio couldn’t imagine how it felt, seeing something like that for the first time. He couldn’t remember the first undead thing he’d seen, couldn’t even clearly remember the first undead thing he’d been expected to fight. His mother had insisted on starting her children off in training so early that there were days where it felt as if Emilio had been born with a stake in his hand, fending off vampires in his crib. To have your eyes opened at this age, and in this way… He didn’t envy them. All those years of ignorance didn’t seem much like bliss when this was how that ignorance ended. 

Unfortunately, he didn’t know how to comfort them, either. Flora had been easy — she’d been so young, and already seen so much. She wasn’t afraid of the monsters under her bed because she’d been taught their names from an early age, even if Emilio had refused to train her the way his mother had trained him. She’d known, from the beginning, that there were people in her life who’d protect her from the things that went bump in the night. She’d known it was what those people were there for. (And Emilio hadn’t. When it counted, he hadn’t protected her at all. He tried not to think about that, even when it was hard to think of anything but.)

Reaching forward, he took the knife from the kid and wiped the blade on his pants before offering it back to them. “You should keep it,” he told them. “You might need it down the line, right?” At the question, he sighed. He had promised to explain things to them, hadn’t he? “They’re called ustras. Most of the time, you find them near water, but these ones were after me. I got into their nest, riled them up. They’d been causing problems in the area. They’re dangerous. Kill people. So… I try to take them out, when I can. That’s what I do.” How much could he tell them without terrifying them further? Where was the line between providing them with the knowledge they might need to protect themself and frightening them so completely that they’d never want to move again? He wished he knew.

A little surprised at the question’s wording — we? He would have thought they’d be looking to get as far away from him as possible. — Emilio hesitated for a moment before nodding. “Yeah,” he said. “Yeah, I’m done. It’s safe.”

—

The world had been so limited, back home. It had felt wide and vast back when they’d been in it, but since their running off they had quickly realized that the world was wider and vaster than they could have ever imagined. It had started with libraries and language, media and internet, the fashion and the attitudes and the individualistic ways of living. But then it continued, the snowball of learning new things continuing to roll and roll and roll. Perhaps Wynne should be used to shock, by now, but their body still shook. They still weren’t sure how to digest this world.

Their curiosity helped, offering answers when people wanted to give them and otherwise pushing them towards research. The other offered an answer, twisting his mouth to speak a word they had never heard before: ustras. Creatures who killed people. Creatures this person killed. Wynne's mind did what it had done so much before: it played catch up. Took the information it was given and tried to make it into something digestible. All this while the other offered them the sharp knife back.

They stared at it for a moment before taking it back. Wynne didn't ask what they might need it for down the line. They just imagined handmade leather wrapped around it, to keep it safe. They missed Osian, who could shape leather into anything useful. "Right," they said, a beat too late. "Thanks." If this is what he did, then maybe — but their mind didn't want to go there. To that area where they began to wonder what the gythraul might have done to their family and loved ones since their escape. Even calling it that – escape – was almost too big an ask. "Just them?" The question did fall out of their mouth in the end, curiosity insatiable. Once, they had been taught that greed of any kind (which included that for information) always came at a price. They tried to form a more fitting response. "Ustras. Us-tras. Okay."

There was some hesitation in the other and Wynne tried not to see themself in it. "Okay." The knife was still in their hand. They didn't want to just stick it in their pocket. "Okay, let's go." They started to walk, back to where they should have never left. "I'm Wynne." That seemed only fair. To offer a name, after all this.

—

The kid took the knife back, wrapped their hand around the handle with only a moment’s hesitation, and Emilio wasn’t sure if that feeling in his stomach was relief or dread. It was better, he thought, that they had something to protect themself in this town. It was better that they had something sharp and deadly, but god, he wished they didn’t have to. He wished they lived in a world where kids like this never had to learn about things like that, wished they lived in a world where his own daughter could have grown to be this age without scars, without training, without dying long before she ever got the chance to be anything at all. 

But that world didn’t exist. This kid had gotten a good twenty years of living without knowing what undead things went bump in the night, and they were lucky it hadn’t killed them. If Emilio hadn’t been here, maybe it would have this time. Because even if he hadn’t unintentionally led the ustras to them, something would have found them in these woods eventually. Something always did. The dozens of missing persons cases that came across his desk destined to end in tragedy were proof enough of that.

“No,” he admitted quietly, glancing back at the ash that was left where the ustras had been, “not just them. I can tell you about all of it, kid, but not tonight. Not here.” There were more things in these woods than what they’d just teamed up to kill, and Emilio was tired. Maybe not physically — it took more than a fight of this magnitude to wear him out, even when he was running on very little sleep — but mentally. Emotionally. Kids always did that to him, always ripped out whatever was left of the thing in his chest and stomped it into the dirt. It wasn’t their fault, of course; it was no one’s fault but Emilio’s. He’d always been a little too soft. His mother had always been quick to point that out.

He hesitated only a moment before falling in step beside them, shoulders a little stiff as if he was carrying something on them, as if he had been for years now. When they offered him their name, he put it away in that back corner of his mind, pausing a moment before replying. “Emilio.” Might as well share it. “I’d say it’s good to meet you, but I think it might have been better if we’d met some other way.”

—

The woods were dark around them and the regular sounds had returned and Wynne was overtaken by a feeling of familiar fatigue. Adrenaline made place for weariness, for the feeling they kept coming back to. How much more of this? This feeling out of their depth, this wondering if this was a better way of living in the first place. And yet their heart hammered with it, their state of aliveness. Death could have come for them today, the way it should have come for them half a year ago and once more they had escaped.

It didn’t make them smile or celebrate, but it made them clutch that knife a little tighter. A blade would have been their undoing and now they had wielded one. They look at the other, at his offer to answer questions even if not tonight. Wynne gave a small nod of their head, swallowing questions of whether he knew of demons. They weren’t sure they wanted answers, anyway, to expose themself in such a way. 

“That’s okay. It’s late.” It had to be, by now. It had been late when Wynne had left home, their legs too restless to rest and their mind running rounds around itself. This had not helped the situation, even if there was a part of them that was sure that if they were to sink down now, they would never get up. They longed for their bedroom, the four walls of it. The privacy to whimper and breathe faster than good for their lungs. They longed for a shower. They longed for — no, they refused to do that. To long for home. Their brother, maybe they’d afford themself that: to long for his friendship and comfort.

Perhaps it was naivety, they did consider that reality, but Wynne decided to trust the other. At least for this walk out of the woods and at least enough to try and find him again, if their curiosity stuck with them. “Likewise. On both fronts.” They checked their phone, pulling up their map. “I’m not too far from here.”

—

There would be no questions tonight and, oddly, Emilio found that he didn’t entirely dread the future in which they would appear. He wasn’t much of a talker — anyone who knew him well could attest to that. He wasn’t entirely comfortable in English, wasn’t even entirely at home in Spanish. He’d been taught action over words, and it was a lesson that stuck. Often times, the latter failed him. How did you explain something you’d understood from the time you knew your own name? How did you teach someone things that had always been inherently true for you? He wasn’t sure he knew. 

And yet, somehow, he thought he might try to figure it out. For this kid, for the next one. He couldn’t save his kid, but he could save someone’s. Maybe if he did enough of that, that ache in his chest might feel a little less unbearable someday. 

(He didn’t believe it, even as the thought occurred to him. Nothing could make this bearable. Nothing.) 

Offering Wynne a small nod, he gestured for them to go ahead. “I’m not, either. I’ll walk you. Make sure nothing else comes up.” He couldn’t promise them tomorrow in a town like this, but… He could promise that he’d do everything he could do to make sure they made it home safe tonight. That he could do.

[expfcultragreen]

I really need to not get caught up in a cycle of emotionally rhett butlering a depressed girl, god hates that

Im not clear on what to do other than learn to oversee myself better because we both wouldnt like to split up and go back to before, when we were much less happy 99% of the time than we are now. Same math. But the disruptions........dont they make it harder to re-enter a state of enchantment? Do they diminish the relationship exponentially more each time? Being honest, does it ever really mend? I dunno how good i am at kintsugi, maybe i have a history of feeling like, these are growth moments and actually theyre the signposts on the outer drain-spirals

I think ive learned slowly--from 12 years of 2 failed primary relationships--not to feel like "this is fine, we're closer now, even"

But where does that really leave me. Was it selfish, is it selfish, to be involved at all if this is happening, and on the other hand, since i am involved and theres no changing that im in her memory--making her memories with her daily--is it selfish to then even imply abandonment if i actually want the opposite affirmed (which again, feels like motive but consciously wasnt)

[sorchathered]

Other than our Bobby?? Hmmmm…Honestly Rhett. I think you’d be good for him with your constant affirmations of self worth 💛

I would love him up so good, he’d never question himself again. Always ready to tell him how kind hearted and loving he is and making sure he’s getting fed well and enough rest. That sad cowboy needs a thick thighed southern girl with some sass and I maintain that fact. ❤️❤️❤️

[sebsxphia]

Hey Seb 💚 I'm sorry to hear that right now is a hella rough patch for you. I'm sending you eons of Rhett snuggles, forehead kisses and positive affirmations. (Also if you need him to fuck you six ways to Sunday he could do that too lol he's a multifaceted man)

I love you and thank you for being an incredible person on this platform.

hello my love! bless you, thank you so much for your kind words, love and support! i love you and thank you, for being the most wonderful soul 🥺💗

also! thank you so much for the rhett snuggles and affection! i’m also receiving the ‘fucking me six ways to sunday’ with open arms. i need him so bad 🥺 we love a multifaced man in this household! 💗

[hederasgarden]

Rhett is super tactile. He can't go long without trying to hold your hand or run your thigh or the back of your neck.

I think he's kind of touch starved so it manifests in him needed physical touch as a means to affirm your closeness to him.

This is spot on. Rhett is super touched staved and likely didn't receive enough love and affection growing up.

[ironcladrhett-archive]

TIMING: a couple weeks before ‘run boy run’. LOCATION: crow’s camp in the woods. PARTIES: @ironcladrhett & @corvidaecrow SUMMARY: Rhett brings Crow some food and they do a lot of internal reflecting because neither of them talk much. CONTENT WARNINGS: mentions/implications of past sibling/parental deaths.

Crow was sitting by his camp, he was bagging food and preparing to take it up into the trees when he heard footsteps coming closer. Normally he’d be wary but he knew who they belonged to so he didn’t bother to look up when the older man came into view from the trees. He had met Rhett a little while ago and was used to him stopping by to drop off food. They exchanged a few words each time but never really had a long conversation. Which worked for Crow. He had never liked talking much anyway. He wasn’t used to small talk. Most the people who knew him had only talked to tell him to do better so his social skills were lacking. 

 Crow stood and hooked one of the bags to the bigger of several trees that held his shelter up off the ground. One he was sure it was secure enough he finally looked over to Rhett. “Old man.” He moved to relieve Rhett of whatever he was carrying. It was hard to get to Crow’s home if you didn’t know the way. 

—

When Rhett had stumbled upon a kid living alone in the woods, of course he’d been curious. Approaching quietly and cautiously as he would when stalking fae, the hunter had watched him for a while before deciding to announce his presence. It’d been tense at first, of course, but something about the young man reminded Rhett of himself some decades ago, and he was quickly endeared to the stranger. 

 In one hand, he carried a large paper bag that had a large bundle of dried and jerked meat, a container with sliced watermelon, cantaloupe, and honeydew, and the requested moon pies, four in total. Emilio’s comment sprang to mind as he passed the care package over, brow furrowing thoughtfully. “You been alright?” A quick glance around the camp would affirm this, but still… “Ain’t exactly safe out here. S’why I ask.”

—

“I’m fine.” Crow always answered the same way when Rhett asked about how he was doing. He missed having regular baths but for the most part was doing pretty well for shaking up in the forest. He pointed to his nest in the trees. “Up high, bears can’t reach.” He knew there were other things than bears out here but really he had no idea what to call them, so everything unknown became bears and the best defense against bears, as far as he knew, was to be up so high they can’t reach you or your food. 

 Crow looked in the bag and his usually unreactive face lit up just a bit at the sight of the moon pies. He was quickly learning he had a sweet tooth, then again he never really had many sweets in the compound. He was also excited for the melon but again his face stayed mostly stony except for a slight raise at the corner of his mouth. “Appreciate it.” He’d have the melon some time tonight. For now it would be kept in a cooler he’d dug into the ground and slapped ice in. He put the jerky in the bag and kept out the moon pies, offering one to Rhett before opening his own. The first time he met him he admittedly tried to roast the older man but now they were chill enough for him to share food. 

—

It came as no surprise that the two of them had found common ground, once Crow had realized Rhett wasn’t a threat. Better off alone (or so they thought), comfortable in their silences… it really was like looking into a mirror sometimes. And while Rhett had eight children of his own, he’d not raised a single one of them. Crow was the same age as at least one of his kids, and perhaps a small part of the warden saw this as an opportunity to fill a hole he’d never wanted to acknowledge existed. Emilio had been a similar sort of compulsion, though they were certainly more like siblings than anything else. Still, the need to protect was a fierce one, and after the third or fourth time Rhett had visited Crow at his camp, the caster was firmly placed in the hunter’s short list of people he’d defend to the death. 

 Watching Crow take his first bite of the moon pie, Rhett grinned. “Y’like it?”

—

Crow took a moment to take in the taste, face blank as always before giving a small nod and continuing to eat the rest. He was glad Rhett always agreed to bring him new foods to try, he hadn’t explained why he hadn’t gotten a chance to try it and thankfully Rhett never asked. He was happy he had gotten out and made it to White Crest, there were so many things he was learning about himself. He learned that he liked funnel cake best, that he enjoyed swimming and still loved playing guitar, that he didn’t like pumpkin spice or those things people called minions. This town was opening his eyes to a lot and he was finally feeling like he was beginning to understand himself.  Like all the little pieces he couldn’t see before were starting to slip into place. He felt less like the Crow the cult had made and more like the Crow he was making. 

 “Anything new?” Crow was asking if anything had happened to Rhett lately, he wasn’t very good at small talk but most people rambled on for him anyway. He found he didn’t mind it as much as he did when his teachers had rambled at him, it also helped that he liked the sound of Rhett’s voice. Something about it was soothing, maybe it was the familiarity the two had built up. 

—

“New? Nahh,” Rhett answered, watching the kid from the corner of his eye. Emilio was probably right—he probably shouldn’t be out here all by himself, but what was the warden to do? He wasn’t going to force the kid to go anywhere, and convincing people of things had never been his strong suit. That required a lot more talking, which was something Rhett tried to keep as minimal as possible. “Best mate’s still a dumbarse, this town’s still fucked up, still haven’t found the fuckin’ lutin that ruined my life.” He laughed, shaking his head and taking a bite of the moon pie Crow had so generously offered. Demons were still running amok, fae were still slipping through his fingers with nary a repercussion… it was all the same as it had ever been, really. Terrible in every conceivable way. But there were moments, he supposed, that made it worthwhile. 

 “Got a spot by the lake, now. You ever wanna go fishin’, drop a line. Maybe we catch something exciting.”

—

“Lutin?” Crow didn’t know that one. Then again he didn’t know most of them. He was starting to think he should try and find the library to see if he can actually start to educate himself on the supernaturals in the town. Crow was used to studying and while he didn’t like it very much he could force himself to do it. Maybe he’d be able to help Rhett with whatever a Lutin was if he did. If Rhett even wanted help. Crow wouldn’t overstep, it wasn’t his way but he also didn’t want Rhett to be bothered by something. He would just have to wait till Rhett asked himself while gathering as much information as possible.

 “Will ask Teagan. Might not like. Protective of the fish.” Crow had had a run in with the fae and at first she wasn’t happy to see him. Something changed though and she eventually seemed to warm up to him even bringing him buckets of water to wash his clothes and self with. He liked her.

—

“Aye. Little bugger, makes ya feel panic n’ anger n’ hysteria when it's near. Can make a whole town rip itself to shreds, if ya give it the chance. Bad things.” Rhett’s expression took on a faraway look as he recalled how his own family had fallen victim to such a thing decades ago. A family of wardens, no less. “Some folks think it’s funny. Too small to be a threat. They’re wrong. Dead wrong.” 

 Pulling himself out of the bad memories, the warden put on a soft smile. It was short lived, of course, dropping away again when Crow mentioned someone who was protective of the fish in the lake. “Oh? Hate to upset her.” But he would love to kill her. “Can go somewhere else.”

—

Crow tried to think if he’d run into anything similar but no. Everything he’d tussled with so far had been much bigger than him and he never really got a sense of fear from them. Then again the lack of fear may be more on his part than the monsters not trying. “Will research. Be more aware.” He didn’t want to tussle with something that would take control over his emotions. He kept them in check for a reason, it was so he didn’t accidentally burn something he wasn’t supposed to. Someone he wasn’t supposed to. He didn’t want those close to him hurt. If it was Rhett in particular he was sure the beard would get burnt first, that would be a tragedy in and of itself. 

 “Okay.” Crow was fine with going elsewhere; it would save him from potentially upsetting Teagan. He didn’t want her to stop giving him cakes because of something like fishing. “She’s nice. Like her. You would too.” Not that he’d ever force them to meet if they didn’t want to. He wasn’t sure how he got so many people caring for him but he was glad. Their affection wasn’t superficial like it was in the cult. They didn’t like him because he was the conduit or one of the top fighters or the son of strong genes. They just liked him for being him. Sure some of them were tense around him at first but they seemed to lighten up quite a bit once he explained himself. He hoped they continued to like him no matter what happened with the cult. No matter what side of him they happened to see. It was strange to want to stay in people’s good graces, he hadn’t worried about it before. 

—

Rhett had doubts he’d like someone who sounded an awful lot like some kind of nymph, but then again, maybe they were just a hippie that was really into fish conservation… still might not like them, if that was the case. Rhett was a man that enjoyed his raw fish. 

 Talking with Crow during these little visits always made Rhett reflect on the upbringing of his own siblings. Crow reminded him of one of his younger brothers—a very no-nonsense fulla, even for as young as he was. Always had a stiff upper lip, but when you could get him to crack a smile… The longer he stayed in this place, the more time he spent investing in other people instead of trying to hunt down every last lutin until he found his lutin, Rhett could see why his parents had settled like they did. And in a lot of ways, these reflections made him regret his decision as a twenty-something to walk out on his partner and child. 

 But, he supposed, if he hadn’t done that, then he might’ve not met Crow, Emilio, Vida, Ari, Teddy, or anyone else he considered a friend. Every thought was bittersweet, so the warden eventually had to push all of them from his mind and stay focused in the present. Stay where it mattered. “Yeah, maybe I would,” he answered quietly, offering Crow a small smile. He could at least try, for the kid’s sake.

[beachbabey]

ENOCH

Priest Rhett telling you to touch yourself in the confessional booth when you tell him about your impure thoughts 🏃‍♀️🏃‍♀️🏃‍♀️🏃‍♀️🏃‍♀️

ROBYN COME BACK HERE THIS INSTANT

the fact that i had to look up bible verses and psalms-

im never forgiving you for this

Playlist: / nwfmb - hozier / without you - lana del ray / little bit - lykke li

word count: 931

“Bless me, Father Abbott, for I have sinned…” 

He catches the shakiness in your voice, the way you mumble his name like that makes him shift on the wooden bench, black slacks beginning to get unbearably tight in the mere seconds you've been here. 

“It’s been…” he cuts you off before you can finish your sentence 

“Two months if I recall correctly? Since your last confession?” he forces a chirpy voice, biting his lip so hard he’s almost drawing blood at the small, breathless chuckle you give him

“Good memory, yes. Thank you, Father Abbott, I-”

“Rhett. You can call me Rhett. If you’d like. It's just you and me in here"

Your cheeks glow bright pink at his words

Father Rhett… 

If only he knew how many times that name left your lips in the middle of the night, back arching off of the damp bedsheets

“I- I have been struggling lately. I’ve been having these, feelings….and urges Father Rhett” The crotch of his pants grow tighter in wicked temptation at your confession. 

“Urges?” He prompts with a clipped tone, scrunching his face up in frustration and balling his hand up to keep it from straying to his zipper. 

“Yes…. well, you see,” You stop yourself, unsure of how much you’re willing to tell the man. Yes, the guilt had been making you lose sleep, swallowing you whole. 

But a part of you enjoyed it. Enjoyed it the way you wanted his fingers to replace yours. How you wanted him to lay you down on his bed, take you all over his church. 

“I’ve tried, Father Abb- Rhett, please believe me, but sometimes, I can’t help but act on them and sometimes I…” he can tell you’re nervous by the way your speech quickens, he can picture you on the other side of that thin plank of wood, rubbing your thighs together, canting your hips forward just enough to get enough relief to continue your confession

“God values, and admires your honesty, as do I, child” His calm, soothing voice eases you into your contrition.

He had to be teasing you, surely. He has to be

He’s seen the way you’d discreetly grind down on your own fingers during congregation, hiding your moans behind hymns and prayers. He’s felt the way your lips wrap around his finger ever so slightly when he placed the bread in your mouth, sticking your tongue out a little more than need be, looking up to him with those big round eyes. Sucking your spit off of the tip of his thumb as he went back up to the altar. 

He touched himself for hours after that day. Leaning against his bedroom wall, looking down at his own hand, pushing his hips forward, fucking into his palm and envisioning your mouth, those big, doe eyes looking up at him as he shoved his cock down your virgin throat. Feeling his pants fully tent as you contemplate your answer. 

“But it happens more often now, Father. And I’m ashamed, I think.”

“We all have shame, dear girl, the Lord knows this, and loves us anyways. Are you ready to say your act of contrition?”. You sigh shakily and give him an affirmative hum, stumbling half-heartedly through the prayer. 

“Good girl” Rhett croons as you finish, and catches the breath that gets lodged in your throat at his praise, he turns his head to look at the carved wood and mesh screen and he catches the silhouette of you from behind the flimsy partition, you have your head bowed. He can see your shoulders rocking back and forth slightly and he knows what you’re doing. And he wants nothing more than to press his lips to the delicate skin of your neck, just behind your ear, helping you make those unholy noises in his church. Defiling the sacrament he took all those years ago. 

“Tell me, Angel. What urges do these feelings provoke?” The alluring way he phrases the question catches you off guard

“I do…. unholy things” Your whimper as you confess, the flush crawling up your ears and down your neck.

“Why don't you tell me a little bit more about that?” You can all but see the smug grin on his lips as he asks you, biting his lip. 

“Like. Like….” You don’t even realise your eyes are closed as your fingers caress your thighs, your lower lip hiding a moan as your fingertips trail up your skirt, curling around the seam of your panties, letting your thumb fall over your throbbing clit, bucking your hips as inconspicuously as possible 

Are you being serious right now?

“Like what you’re doing right now?” 

Your hitches in your throat, your hips stilling as you’re caught. It takes a few seconds for him to speak again. You don't dare move, knowing he can probably see your profile through the screen.

“None of us are without sin” He continues nonchalantly, teasing you even more. You gather up the courage to start humping your hand again, a little harsher this time, even letting out a small gasp, the newfound confidence shooting down into your cunt, making you clench around nothing. 

“I, of all people should know that. Having to resist temptation. Every. Fucking. Sunday.” He groans. And you know he's talking about you, hearing his head softly hit the wall behind him. You hear a zipper and let out a small moan at the realisation that he's now touching himself. Because of you

“So I’m sure we can repent after. Now, let me hear you sin for me Angel”

[food-in-your-mitch]

We definitely wanna hear your analysis of their dreams omg

You asked for it!

So, Rhett’s dream. It’s common knowledge by now that he’s afraid of failure, of not being enough, of not living up to people’s expectations of him. He’s on stage with another man and this guy’s jokes are landing perfectly. The crowd loves him, so of course Rhett has to keep that energy going.

But his joke doesn’t land. Not because it wasn’t funny, because clearly this crowd is enjoying this bit, but because there was a delay on his mic. Something totally out of Rhett’s control that screwed up his delivery. The expectation he set for himself and the expectations that the crowd had of him were much higher than what actually happened.

They just dedicated two episodes of Ear Biscuits to the enneagram, where Rhett very adamantly said that he’s an enneagram 3. And his biggest fear, he claims, is being worthless. Since this is something Rhett believes in so strongly, I’ll take the description of a 3 right from the enneagram institute.

The key motivations of a 3: “Want to be affirmed, to distinguish themselves from others, to have attention, to be admired, and to impress others.”

None of that happened in his dream. He fell flat on his face, his joke didn’t land, he didn’t make anybody laugh. He thought his joke was very funny and he got a few laughs from the people that could hear him, but his wider audience wasn’t reached. He was being outshined. Perhaps a fear that Link is the more well-liked of the duo? Rhett knows that a chunk of this fandom thinks that he’s a jerk, and another chunk doesn’t think he’s very funny.

Rhett having a dream where he goes on stage with another comedian and nobody laughs at his jokes? That’s a fear I’m sure he has with every creative endeavor that he and Link get into. That nobody will find it funny or entertaining or anything. Or they’ll like Link more, and gravitate towards him. Rhett scrutinizes his own performance so often. What could I have done better, what could I have said here to make this joke land, what can I do to better get this character across? He’s always thinking creatively, and thinking about their next project. If that project won’t land, it’s damaging to him.

He mentioned in the dream that he imploded after his joke didn’t work out the way he thought it would. Now if that’s metaphorical or literal imploding, I don’t think that matters. Either way, the failure he experienced in the dream didn’t have a resolution, because he woke up. GMM and his friendship with Link in general are ongoing in Rhett’s life and so that fear of failure and rejection will still be in the back of his mind for a while, until he works that out in therapy.

As for Link’s dream? He just really needs Rhett to whack his peepee.

[serendipitous-mythicality]

It's a late spring evening in Joshua Tree, CA. Rhett and Link are camping after having managed to eke out a much-needed long weekend break. Neither of their wives or any of the kids had wanted to come. Though initially disappointed, Link has come to realize how much he’d needed the time away with just Rhett. Though they see each other consistently, it isn’t the same as earlier years. The time before all the demands and time-constraints that come with running such a big business entity as Mythical Entertainment. It’s been nice to just get back to being Rhett and Link without the capitalized, bolded, and italicized emphasis on their names. RHETT AND LINK. There’s no one to entertain and no roles to play. Something’s been on his mind but Link hasn’t known how to bring it up. To be honest, it’s been knocking around his brain for a while. It has a tendency to sneak out mostly when it’s just the two of them and a stray comment won’t leave him alone, taunting him. Sometimes it sneaks out while filming when he’s feeling sentimental or his guard is down. It’s their first night camping and they’d done a lot of hiking throughout the day. Rhett has been bustling around, getting supper together. Nothing fancy, just a quick chili. Link’s been watching him while quietly nursing the single beer he’d had thus far. Barely half the bottle is gone and it’s starting to get a little too warm for his liking. With a grimace, he puts it on the hood of the truck after one more swallow. Later, he’d think on how he couldn’t even blame the alcohol for the words that had slid, unbidden, from his mouth. Out of the blue, Link asks, “Remember that More where we mentioned making a show about camping with Stevie so she could catch us making out?” Leaning against the side of the doorframe, he absently drums his fingers against the window.

With a quiet curse, Rhett sets the knife to the side after almost slicing into a fingertip. Gathering the minced onions, he throws them into the pot. He takes a moment to wonder why he’s surprised at all after all these years over how in sync they are. He’d been thinking along similar lines. Only he’d been thinking about a comedic piece of fan fiction detailing a first kiss. One between he and Link. Someone had sent it to him anonymously and he’d read it out of curiosity. The writer had a genuine talent using wry humour and he had laughed several times. The actual kiss though had been sweet and heartfelt. He’d abruptly shut the browser and walked away from the computer. Luckily, Barbara had come in for attention shortly after and he’d managed to block it from his mind until now.   Coughing nervously, Rhett flushes as he grunts out an affirmative answer. Quickly mixing the final ingredient into the bubbling mix, he clicks the burner to low before turning to face his best friend. He has been half expecting this conversation for many, many years now. Especially after it had been so flagrantly brought up recently. Had it really been a couple of months already? The public conversation has been like an albatross around their relationship ever since it had happened. It had never continued in private. Link, however, has his head turned away, staring determinedly away from Rhett.

He tries to articulate a phrase that might make sense of what’s been solidifying in his mind. “I don't know why I brought it up on camera that day. I guess I don't understand why people think we…,” he trails off in frustration, not knowing exactly what he wants to say. He continues as he pushes his hair back with a jerky rake of his hand, “I mean, we have wives.” The silence fills the gaps between his stuttered-out words. “I know you don’t want... not in that way…,” he manages before he's cut off when Rhett places a hand on his shoulder. Mouth curling slightly in amusement despite the terror flooding his entire being, he leans in slowly. Watching blue eyes widen, he tilts his head before placing an almost chaste kiss on Link’s mouth. He gently moved his thumb along the side of Link’s jaw as he pulls back a bit. Rhett hesitates a moment, staring at the mouth so close to his, before quickly turning away. As he does, he mumbles, “I've wondered too, bo.”

It hardly counts as it had lasted for mere seconds but the fact that it had happened at all stuns each of them. Neither consider doing anything more, their wives are truly loved and cherished. Their time had passed them by long ago. Right? A dry and chapped rub of lips doesn’t mean anything. It doesn’t. Maybe if he thinks it hard enough it’ll be true, Link thinks almost desperately.

“How about some beans,” Rhett asks as he changes the subject. He fumbles his way back to the pot and begins scooping bowls for each of them.

Neither man mentions the tiny bits of semi-cooked onion. The bowls are emptied on auto-pilot as they stiffly sit in their camp chairs.

Link tells himself he’s fine, they’re fine, as he methodically works his way through his supper. Sneaking a peek at his partner, he wonders….

He wonders.

The taller of the two seems unaffected compared to Link who drops his spoon twice and trips on his way to retrieve the previously unwanted alcohol. Inside, he’s roiling. Eventually, he mentions the different route he’d like to try on the way home at the end of their trip. After a shaky start, the conversation runs a little more smoothly.

After a couple of hours chatting, Link gets up to clean up the dishes. It’s the least he can do, he figures, since Rhett made the meal. Also, it’s a momentary escape so he can try to re-order their relationship to fit in what had just happened.

The congealed mass on top of the burner proves that instead of turning the burner off, Rhett had turned it on high. The wind blowing the other way and the absorption in avoiding their earlier moment had left them oblivious to the fate of the leftovers.

Link jumps as Rhett brushes by him on his way towards the tents.

They’re okay. Nothing’s different.

Why do people want them to kiss anyways?  

Licking his lips, Link looks up to see the other man watching him with thoughtful eyes.

Turning his attention back to the pot, he channels his energy into cleaning it.

Everything’s the same. They’re still good.

[captainsourwolf]

okay imma about to get real soft here and i fully blame @castielspsychnerd and also color a mythical beast.

but we’ve been having these conversations and somehow we always end up hurting ourselves with softness so here i am, spewing out the softness on tumblr.

so anyway. y’all remember that video of link, like it’s kinda early, and they’re going somewhere, and link’s just basically said he’s gonna go wherever rhett goes? yeah so now im all soft thinking about their road trip to california.

like here they are, best friends since first grade, a blood oath and a promise to do great things with each other, an unbreakable bond, and they’re doing something huge. they’re uprooting their entire lives, their families, and traveling across the entire country because things might take off with this whole youtube thing. but they’re doing it together and that’s what matters most.

so they set off on their trip. the truck is packed and there’s nothing but them and the open road for a few days. they can process everything they’re doing, this huge leap they’re taking, what it means for two boys taking an oath to be great one day. they laugh and they talk and they process and they film everything. it’s another chapter in their lives together so of course they’re going to film it.

and like, how fond they must’ve been thinking about when they were just two little kids making tapes together, and two teenagers making music together, and writing a movie together, and doing all these things together, and look at where it’s lead! here they are taking turns driving across the states because that greatness has turned into a career and california can make all their dreams as little boys come true.

and how much did those cameras catch? in the truck, outside the truck, in hotel rooms, when they arrived in california? how much did they have to edit out because it was too personal for youtube? hell the fans already suspect so why not let them see? again, too personal.

was it moments of weakness when they’re stopped for a break and one of them drags the other across that empty seat between them and kisses them, simply because this is big, this is scary, their entire lives have lead to this right here? or was it moments when one of them is sleeping and the other is glancing over often, stupidly happy grin on their face because they can’t believe they’re doing this and how cute do they look with drool on their chin and the sun shining on their face or streetlights lighting up their features?

or was it moments where they’re at a rest stop and link somehow manages to find a way to fit himself in rhett’s lap with the steering wheel digging in his back and rutting against each other till they cum? or that the reason rhett was really speeding was because he was distracted by link’s hand on his crotch? or moments where they’re just sitting in the truck, somewhere in some state, talking soft and low and gentle about what california will be like, how they’re going to set up the studio, how terrified link is and how nervous rhett is?

did they have to cut out moments at hotels forgetting the camera was still on and they spend the entire night fucking and making love and just taking a second to be together without the weight of everything they’re risking on their shoulders?

and the moment they arrive at their destination, when rhett grabs link around the back of the neck and tugs him across the truck and just presses their foreheads together so they can just breathe for a moment and take it all in? because here they are, they’ve made it in more ways than one, they’ve done many a great thing but this is the biggest. link needs those words of affirmation that what they’re doing is going to be fine, they’ll be fine, and rhett, always the one that struggles with sincerity and love, gives him those words.

because like, here they are, they’ve finally made it, they’ve worked their asses off for years already, they’re together. so many things could have gone differently, so many things could’ve gone wrong or right, but would they have ended up here?

[rhinkthreeways]

“Forget it.” (angsty version)

I actually noticed that I’d used this prompt accidentally on last weeks ficlet too! 

Here’s some angsty smut. I wanted to warn you in advance that this one does not have a particularly happy ending. 

---

Rhett was on his back on his bed. There was a pillow tucked under his lower back. His palms were braced against the wall above him and his hips were rolling like ocean waves—a never-ending motion that couldn’t be stopped. 

Link was on his knees between Rhett’s legs. He was thrusting into Rhett with an animalistic need, one hand gripping on Rhett’s waist, the other wrapped around Rhett’s leg that was propped up against Link’s shoulder.

Rhett’s eyes were closed. It was for self-preservation. He didn’t want to remember Link like this. He wanted to remember Link from few months ago, from the night they’d made love. The night when Link had moved inside him like the tide, like the way they’d joined had been inevitable but still too big to comprehend. Rhett wanted to remember that Link. The Link that whispered sweet words to him. The Link that made Rhett come twice and fell asleep right beside him, their limbs tangled together. He wanted to remember his Link—loving and kind and soft and hopeful. Not this one, not the one that had grown a hard shell around his heart. Not the one that was gonna marry someone else.

The room was filled with Link’s heavy breathing and the moans that slip from Rhett’s lips every time Link’s hard cock brushed against his prostate. He was close to coming. So close. Too close.

Not yet.

He didn’t want this to be over. It was too soon.

“Slow down,” Rhett begged through a clenched jaw.

Link was not listening.

“Please, Link.”

“Don’t,” Link grunted. “Don’t say my name when I’m inside you.”

“Please,” Rhett mumbled, staring at the wall. His eyes were blurry. He’d promised himself he wouldn’t cry. The tear squeezing out of the corner of his eye was mocking that empty promise.

“Am I hurting you?” Link huffed, easing just a little bit. Rhett shook his head. It was barely a lie; Link was hurting him, but not in the way he’d meant. Link seemed to believe him though, since he slammed back inside Rhett hard enough to move his body up the bed. They groaned in unison.

“Ah, fuck, you feel so good.” Link’s movements grew more erratic and Rhett knew the signs—he was on the edge of his release.

Rhett kept staring at the wall. His body didn’t care about his inner turmoil, it barreled towards an orgasm as if everything was right in the world. As if it hadn’t been shattered to pieces when he came back from Slovakia.

“Just this once,” Link had said. “I need to feel you one last time.”

And Rhett had agreed, because he’d wanted that too. At least, that’s what he’d thought.

“Oh God, bo! Ah! I’m gonna—”

And suddenly, it was all too much for Rhett. The overwhelming physical sensation of Link stretching him after all this time spent apart was mixing with the gut-wrenching hurt inside him.

“No,” Rhett croaked. “No, stop. I can’t— I need to— Link, stop!”  Rhett was sobbing and pushing Link away, curling himself into a ball of too long limbs and shattered pieces of his heart.

“Rhett, what’s wrong? Did I—?” The panic in Link’s voice cut Rhett like a knife. There was no need to hurt Link like this. Rhett knew he hurt already. He had to be hurting. Just like Rhett was. But Rhett had reached the end of his rope. He couldn’t fake anymore. Couldn’t act that he was fine with it.

“Go. Please, just go. I can’t…”

Link’s arms wrapped around Rhett’s trembling torso, making him tense all over. 

“But, baby—”

Rhett shook Link away and let out a wounded cry. “I am not your baby! Not anymore. Never again. Leave!”

The bed creaked and Rhett heard shuffling and huffs as Link jumped around the room, pulling on clothes.

“Fine. Be that way. See you at the wedding.” The door closed with a slam. And then, all Rhett could do was cry.

—

Ten years later:

A car parked behind a boarded-up grocery store. Two men crammed in a back seat too small for their tall frames. A pleading whimper and a whispered affirmation.

“Need you inside me.”

“Shh, baby. Almost there. I have to— Hey, what are you—?”

“I am not your baby! Don’t you fucking forget it.”

“Calm down, Rhett. It just slipped out.”

“We have rules.”

“I know.”

“I’m not doing this if you can’t follow the rules. You know that.”

“I’m sorry. Can we just forget it? Pretty please. We don’t have much time.”

“Well, can you behave?”

“I can, I promise. Come here. Let me make you feel good.”

The blue of Link’s eyes shone in the low light of the evening. Rhett stared at him, stared at the man he loved and all he wanted to do was scream. Those eyes did things to him. Unexplainable things. 

Sometimes—well, honestly, more often than not —Rhett hated himself for keeping this up. But he’d tried to put a stop to it too many times. He always came back to Link. He couldn’t help himself. Because even if he couldn’t be the one Link was with, he could be the one Link couldn’t live without. And he knew that had to be enough. 

He sighed and moved back to Link’s open arms.

“Fine. Now, shut up and take me.”

[tabloidtoc]

In Touch, March 8

You can buy a copy of this issue for your very own at my eBay store: https://www.ebay.com/str/bradentonbooks

Cover: Kanye West's tell-all will destroy Kim Kardashian

Page 1: Contents

Page 2: Beauty News -- update your makeup bag -- these new beauty buys are destined for heavy rotation -- Lucy Hale

Page 4: Scott Disick debuted a bold new platinum hairdo and even the Lamborghini he was driving couldn't distract fans from noting how completely uncool he looks and while the dad of three is not quite middle-aged it looks likes he's having a midlife crisis and it seems that dating so many young women like his current girlfriend 19-year-old Amelia Gray Hamlin has made 37-year-old Scott start to feel his age and he's overcompensating but he's clearly gone too far

* They Went Blond, Too But Looked Cool -- Brad Pitt, Justin Bieber, Ryan Gosling, Adam Levine, Riz Ahmed, Zac Efron, Jared Leto, Kanye West, Zayn Malik

Page 5: Salma Hayek fights against prejudice of all kinds even when the victims are insanely wealthy -- there is discrimination against rich men, she said of the struggles her husband French businessman Francois-Henri Pinault has faced while maintaining his $43 billion fortune and she said you think because somebody's rich, he might not be a good person, doesn't have values or doesn't deserve it and even Salma gets judged like everybody said she married him for money, but after after 15 years together, she's not even offended

* Number of the Week -- 76,000 is the dollar cost of a pair of Kylie Jenner's new Birkenstock sandals made from Hermes Birkin bags, Man Candy of the Week -- Max Ehrich cooling off in Miami, Clapback of the Week -- Mindy Kaling said she wrote the episode the gif was from when an internet troll used a gif from The Office to express their dislike of her, EXBFF of the Week -- Larsa Pippen on her rift with former friend Kim Kardashian

Page 6: Crib of the Week -- The Weeknd's Hidden Hills hangout, Winners of the Week -- Blake Lively and Ryan Reynolds donate $1 million to Feeding America and Food Banks Canada three months after giving $500,000 to both charities, Loser of the Week -- because of production delays Tom Cruise is forced to scrap plans to film Mission: Impossible 7 and M:I 8 back-to-back

Page 8: Up Close -- Nicole Kidman on Instagram thanked actor and theater artist Kevin Zak for his altered photo of her The Undoing character Grace with lots more hair

Page 9: Zooey Deschanel embraces her DIY side for Valentine's Day decorating balloons with sweet affirmation using her Cricut, Shawn Mendes kissing Camila Cabello's foot because he loves her, Paris Hilton celebrates turning 40 by accepting an enormous emerald-cut diamond engagement ring from beau Carter Reum

Page 10: 23-time Grand Slam champion Serena Williams gets eliminated from the Australian Open semifinals, Tayshia Adams and Zac Clark take a loved-up selfie at the Empire State Building, Emma Roberts celebrates turning 30 at a backyard pool bash

Page 12: Fur Babies -- Kathryn Newton's dog Lady Bird yawning, Miranda Lambert snuggles with one of her dogs, Maude Apatow's cat Dolly conks out in her lap, James Van Der Beek and his dog

Page 14: Jimmy Fallon celebrates his seven years on The Tonight Show at home with his daughters Winnie and Franny

Page 16: Rebel Wilson does her best Cruella De Vil impression for her new TV show Pooch Perfect, Beyonce shows off more than just her new Adidas x IVY PARK collection, Thomas Rhett celebrates daughter Lennon's first birthday along with wife Lauren and daughters Willa and Ada

Page 18: Naked Chelsea Handler covering herself with books while standing in snow, Reese Witherspoon and Jennifer Aniston, Chrissy Teigen has a swollen lip due to an allergic reaction

Page 20: Princess Eugenie and husband Jack Brooksbank share a photo of their newborn son August Philip Hawke Brooksbank, Rihanna striking a seductive pose with her new release The Rihanna Book: Queen Size which retails for $1215.70, Katy Perry flaunts her curves in a purple bathing suit and fiance Orlando Bloom flaunts his muscles during a getaway in Hawaii

Page 22: Kate Gosselin sold her house in Wernersville in Pennsylvania that she bought in 2008 with then-husband Jon Gosselin because she desperately needs cash these days -- the girls Cara and Mady are off to college, she doesn't have a show on the air anymore and her legal bills in her custody war with Jon are through the roof -- to stay afloat she's had to cut back on many perks including her trusted bodyguard Steve Neild -- she's just holding out hope for a new reality show about her and her kids now

Page 23: Brad Pitt has been spotted hanging out in Jennifer Aniston's trailer on the set of her series The Morning Show and things are getting serious again -- he's been at her house on the weekends and they're hooking up -- Jen has set ground rules for her ex including that they can date other people because Jen is also seeing a man she met through her Morning Show co-stars Reese Witherspoon and Mark Duplass so Jen's keeping her options open

* Cheryl Burke teamed up with Kroger to host the Healthy Heart, Happy Mind wellness experience to bring awareness to women's heart health during Heart Health Month

Page 24: Cover Story -- Kanye West's revenge on Kim Kardashian -- Kim and Kanye's marriage is over but the war is just beginning -- the world will be shocked by what Kanye has to say about Kim

Page 26: As Kim's love life falls apart again, her sisters are happier than ever -- Kourtney Kardashian is talking marriage with Travis Barker, Khloe Kardashian is back on track with Tristan Thompson, Kendall Jenner and Devin Booker go public with their love

Page 28: True Crime -- Dubai Princess Latifa Al Maktoum: My family is holding me captive -- three years after she vanished, a billionaire's sheikh's daughter pleads for someone to save her

Page 30: The Bachelor: It's Worse Than Anyone Knows -- Chris Harrison's controversial exit sparks a racial reckoning in Bachelor Nation

Page 32: Meghan Markle to Queen Elizabeth: I'm Never Coming Back -- Meghan closes the door on returning to the U.K. and doesn't regret it one bit -- because of Meghan's decision, the queen may never see Archie again

Page 36: The Big Interview -- Olivia Newton-John and Chloe Lattanzi -- we inspire each other -- the Grease star and her daughter share an unbreakable bond and a lifetime love of music

Page 42: Animal Overload -- My dog looks like Charles Bronson

Page 45: Double Take -- Brie Larson rocks tie-dye at the supermarket in L.A.

Page 46: Horoscope -- Pisces Lupita Nyong'o turned 38 on March 1

Page 48: Last Laughs