#delgato's moodboards

[delopsia]

This man is constantly wondering what the fuck is going on.

[reality-refuge]

@natolesims asked '✿ for any sim(s) you want!'

Deirdre Delgato

"I've got bigger problems than 'what you think of me' to worry about."

[delopsia]

"The outside is telling me it wants me. I wanna stay at home and be with you,"

Lewis Pullman as Colors of the Rainbow Bonus: Moss Green

[delopsia]

Because I'm still on my PBR!Rhett bullshit

[delopsia]

You know something is wrong when you wake to the sound of him in the bathroom at half past six. A full hour after he's supposed to be out the door and off to work.

The front door is ajar, and his boots lay scattered about the floor as if he's kicked them off in his rush back into the house. His phone still sits on the table, and his truck rumbles outside, the engine warm and ready to take on the day. But the cowboy who drives it isn't there.

You know that for certain because you can see his sock-covered foot through the crack in the bathroom door. He's curled himself around the toilet, sweaty cheek resting on his forearm, half-lidded eyes gazing into the water, unsure of whether his stomach is done churning or not.

"Rhett?" Your voice is nothing but a whisper, too loud in this quiet little room. And you'd worry that he didn't hear you if not for the hesitant lift of his gaze. Distant and unfocused, like he's left a portion of himself elsewhere.

It's a wonder that he's managed to dress himself, and even then, he's only been able to do so much. Has squeezed into those too-tight Wranglers but forgot to pick out a buckle to snap onto his belt, and you're fairly certain the t-shirt clinging to him is the same one he wore to bed.

"'m okay," he croaks, tone so gravelly that you hardly believe it's coming from him at all. But his stomach seems to have a different opinion, because he's lurching toward the toilet in a matter of moments.

The only thing you can do is gather his hair into your hands and hold it back. His skin burns with an invisible wildfire, damp with a thin sheen of sweat, and he feels even warmer when you flatten the back of your palm against his forehead.

And yet, your big, dumb cowboy is reaching for his hat that, at some point or another, wound up in the bathtub and tries to place it on his head. It should be muscle memory, and yet, he places it too far forward, entirely covering his eyes.

Pinching the brim, you tilt it back, peering into those barely-there blues, "You're sick, cowboy."

"No 'm not," there's the tiniest shred of insistence in his tone, the most he can manage. God, how did he even get out to his truck like this?

Your head shakes, "you can't go to work like this."

And despite his slow tipping forward, unable to stop himself from collapsing into your arms, he still seems to think that he's fine. He can still make it to work. This will wear off come sunrise.

But the sun is already peeking over the horizon, painting the sky with hues of yellow, orange, and gold. Far too bright for your gloomy cowboy to look at, covering his eyes when it peeks through the blinds. Still insists that he'll grab his truck keys and head out in a few minutes and doesn't believe that he's already got it running until after you return with them in your hand.

"Whaddaya mean?" He's gotten himself to his feet, but he's long since slouched against the wall. Doesn't seem to have realized that he's doing it, either. "I didn't...I..."

It's the tripping over his own feet that finally draws him back to bed. Snuggling beneath the covers, small trash can next to the bedside table, just in case. His nose wrinkles when you feed him some medicine, damn near turns green when you ask if he wants any crackers or tea.

This is the first time you've seen him genuinely sick; in the past, it's only ever been allergies and the slightest bit of food sickness, but somehow, you already know exactly how he's going to act.

Clingy.

He insists on snuggling on top of you, and when his belly grows too uncomfortable for that position, he's on his side, wedged into the gap below your chin. Sleep comes to him in bits and pieces, cut short by nausea and the scratchiness in the back of his throat.

Come noon, his stomach grumbles for something that he's not entirely sure he can keep down. But you wander into the kitchen to make him a bowl of chicken noodle soup, and soon, that scent draws him out. Still looks a little uneasy, as he rests on the couch, quietly watching you work. Eating isn't exactly the most pleasant experience; his body screams at him to eat, but his stomach isn't so keen on the whole idea.

He lays on the couch with his head in your lap until the nausea subsides, then meekly meets your eye and asks if that offer to make tea still stands.

It does.

And as soon as he's had his fill, you're guiding him into the bath before drowsiness can take hold of him. You're initially trying to stay outside the tub, but one way or another, you wind up in there with him, washing the soap from his hair and massaging those bulky shoulders. He does his best to return the favor, running the cloth over your skin, but he's moving so slowly that he might as well not be doing anything at all.

He frowns when he catches himself leaning in for a kiss. Finds this whole 'spreading germs' thing to be cruel and unusual punishment. Brightens when you fold and kiss him anyway. He was certainly contagious yesterday, and with the way you were all over him, there's no way you haven't caught what he's got.

Watching movies on the couch ends in sleeping against one another, and moving yourselves to bed leaves you wide awake and watching videos on your phones.

Come morning, you wake to the damning sensation of a stuffy nose and a churning stomach. Rhett finds you sometime after you've stumbled into the bathroom, kissing your cheek as he tells you that he's already called off work.

Reheating soup comes in the form of leaning against each other in front of the stove, waiting for it to boil. You finish those movies and fall asleep amidst the next one. Washing each other in the shower, swaying back and forth, uncoordinated and clumsy, like it's your first day on Earth.

You know he's feeling better when he tugs you out the front door for a sunset drive under the guise of getting snacks and clearing your heads. Come morning, you'll feel his stubble scratch your cheek as he leaves a kiss there with a whispered, "I love you."

Rhett doesn't get sick very often, but oh, when he does...

[delopsia]

Renovating an old rodeo stadium is easier said than done.

It's the sort of thing that's got Bob's heart sitting in his throat, caught between hope for a new future and overwhelming fear that he left the Navy for a pipedream. You've never seen him and Rhett so exhausted, rising at dawn and staying out until the sun sets. Their feet drag across the floor, bruised and beaten from days upon days of work. Even when your hands join the effort, it's not enough. There's so much to do.

But Rhett is clever; he's convinced his old buddy Archie to come lend a hand in tearing out the overgrowth and situating equipment. Lord knows they need it. With all these damn hawthorn shrubs that have taken over the arena, they'd might as well call this place the Hawthorn Rodeo.

[delopsia]

May your 2024 be just as handsy Do not repost

[delopsia]

"Sad Cowboys and Rock and Roll,"

Lewis Pullman as Colors of the Rainbow Bonus: Ice blue

[delopsia]

For the first time in two decades, Fernwell is home to a rodeo.

Friends old and new have flooded in to help Rhett get this place open, rodeo hands from Wabang and buddies at the ranch, they've all knit together to make it work. The old bucking bull program has resurrected from the grave, and they didn't have broncs at first, but the contracts start filtering in on the third opening weekend. Roping, barrel racing, steer wrestling, food trucks, live entertainment, they've got it all.

Robby's got the brightest smile you've seen in years, delving into the finances and behind-the-scenes work. All those numbers boggle Rhett's mind. The downstairs storage room has become Bob's office, and for the first time in a long time, he's not worried.

It rakes in more than enough to keep your little family going, gifting you with the opportunity to quit your job; you haven't made a decision yet, but it's tempting. There's no need for the extra income these days.

Bobby says you should do what your heart wants; Rhett just kisses you on the cheek and says you'll know when the time comes. Just like he knew, way back when he showed up at your door and kissed you and Bobby for the first time.

Funny how you went from strangers who coincidentally attended the same festival to the happily married owners of a rodeo.

[delopsia]

friends don't share hotel beds and kiss under the

streetlight glow

the bob x reader x rhett fic you voted for. soon.

[delopsia]

Happy Holidays from the Floytts to those of you who celebrate Thanksgiving and those of you who do not 🍂

[delopsia]

A Zeus Rhett moodboard because I'm still clinging to my theory.

[delopsia]

"I woke up to an urban dawn, wrapped up in my lover's arms I feel it in my weary bones, I'm home,"

Lewis Pullman as Colors of the Rainbow Bonus: Brown

[delopsia]

a moodboard for my currently untitled Rhett fic, containing childhood friends to lovers, a broad-spectrum soulmates AU, and Hanahaki Disease 💙

+ a bonus snippet

The back of his knuckles graze up your naked side, guided by the thin path of a decade-old scar. A branding from younger, brighter days; the ones when Cecelia would let you spend weekends on the ranch. Waking up at dawn to help Rhett with his ranch chores because the quicker things got done, the sooner you got to run down and play in the creekbed. 

"Still can't believe that piece of glass marred ya like that," Rhett mutters after a long moment. You can't see into his thick skull, but you've got a feeling that he's got a similar memory flickering through his mind. 

"To be fair, I did fall on it," slipping your arms through the clean shirt, you pull it over your head, and once again, that old scar is out of sight. 

That half-hearted chuckle sends a warmth rushing through your veins. The exact one that shouldn't be there. But he hasn't the slightest clue of the wildfire sitting next to him, back to tapping along on his steering wheel as he drives through the main stretch of town. Past feedstores, tourist shops, dinners, the grocery store, and every other little niche boutique hidden between. 

"Thank you." You hardly recognize that it's you speaking. Hadn't realized it was your voice until the sound of it met your ears.

It's a little too quiet in this truck.

But Rhett just reaches over to shake your shoulder. "Y' don't gotta thank me for shit like that," for a fleeting second, he's got just enough time to look away from the road and offer you a lazy smile. "'s what friends do, ain't it?"

Your chest feels like it's been stuffed with cotton. Meek, you nod, attention suddenly on the floorboard and nothing else—nothing else to say. 

Yeah. That's what friends do. 

He doesn't make mention of it, but you've got the feeling that your SOS text must have interrupted another one of his dates. A pile of rose petals rests at your feet, scattered as if they've been swept off the seat in a hurry to make space. Caked in mud and the rainwater that tracked in from your shoes. Storebought, that much you know for sure.

Roses don't grow in Wabang. 

[delopsia]

Light trickles in through the warped window frames overhead. Thin slivers cascade downward, miniature spotlights revealing everything in its path. There's movement in the center of the room, chains clinking as a slim figure interrupts the delicate light show of the full moon, stumbling left, then right, bound to the center of the room. 

Opening your mouth once more, you call out his name. "Rhett?" 

His head jerks. Boots stomping the dusty floor. Maybe this wasn't such a good idea after all. All it would take is for those steel chains to come off the overhead beam, and you'd be toast, sliced up like tomorrow's breakfast sausage. 

But he already sees you. 

-a snippet from a currently untitled werewolf!Rhett fic-

[delopsia]

"When it feels too painful, I smash my broken heart of gold,"

Lewis Pullman as Colors of the Rainbow Bonus: Gold