#and like my mom has. a plan. a singular plan. and when i asked her what we'd do if it didnt work she just said 'well then we're in trouble' | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

Visit Blog

Explore Tumblr blogs with no restrictions, modern design and the best experience.

Fun Fact

Tumblr’s website traffic is steadily declining.

#and like my mom has. a plan. a singular plan. and when i asked her what we'd do if it didnt work she just said 'well then we're in trouble'

a-dumb-sarcastic-bisexual · 9 months

Text

These Nimona headcanons are dedicated to the people who keep asking me how I come up with them (short answer: I have no fucking clue)

While Ambrosius is the one to keep the house clean Bal is the only reason their schedules are even somewhat put together

This man has multiple calendars one physical calendar in their living room

A digital one for just him that’s dedicated to things that he knows the duo would be bored by

And a digital calendar for the trio themselves which is his pride and fucking joy

His baby a digital miracle and what he genuinely considers to be his magnum opus

Because Ambrosius and Nimona are the hardest people to organize schedules with

Every conversation with them would go something like this “Hey what are you doing next week” “Oh I’m going to work” “Okay do you know what time you have to head in” *shrugs* “Do you know if you have days off” *shrugs again* “do you even know what days you’re going in” *shrugs one last time*

And then Bal would have to walk away because he was really to commit a crime

No one knows how he actually got their schedules

Nimona doesn’t know how Bal scheduled plans for them when he didn’t have their friend's contact info

It scares Ambrosius how Bal’s able to fit is incredibly hectic days in nice neat color coordinated boxes

The duo doesn’t ask questions and they don’t fuck with the schedule

They just follow it cause it’s always right

Which is kind of horrifying

There is one chore in the house that not even the resident clean freak (my baby golden boy) likes

And that’s washing the dishes

Not a singular person in that house will ever do the dishes without complaining even a little bit

They always take turns and it’s always a lose-lose situation

Because even though there’s this feeling of “dodged that bullet today” they’re also a little guilty because they know the person doing it hates it just as much

They bought dish gloves because that slightly helped the problem

But those things tear like it’s no one’s business which is the fucking worst

One time Bal walked into the kitchen to see Ambrosius crying over the dishes

He asked what’s wrong and all he had to say was “glove”

And Bal knew what he meant because Ambrosius swears that having wet rubber rub up against your skin is almost as bad as touching the bare dishes

Every time Ambrosius or Bal have to leave for more than a couple of days the other will joke that they're a single father

Anytime someone checks in on them they’ll say something like “The life of a single parent is hard but fulfilling”

This basically just translates to them missing their spouse so could someone please bring them back as soon as possible

Nimona always jokes they’re a child of divorce when the boys make that joke

The jokes range from “Being a child of divorce is so stressful” to “Good riddance I never liked him anyway”

Mind you those remarks come after Nimona hung off their legs as they walked out the door

One time when Bal went on a solo trip Nimona asked Ambrosius to go to the park with him

He didn’t question it just packed up the car and drove them to the nearest park

And he swears he only took his eyes off Nimona for a minute and when he turned back around he saw a group of sad-looking kids and adults crowding around a kid

And he instantly knew where he went

He watched in horror as Nimona pointed up to the sky and said “Dad!” a mom asked with a sad voice “Is your dad a pilot sweety?” to which Nimona responded with “No but Papa says he’s in the sky somewhere which is why he never visits”

He just scooped her up apologizing while making a run for the car

A lot of parents were very concerned about why the kingdom’s golden boy just snatched a random child they’d never seen before and will never see again

And they genuinely debate on calling the knights while Ambrosius fireman carries this cackling child away

They do and Ambrosius has to have a very awkward conversation with his old coworkers

#nimona 2023 #nimona movie #nimona headcanon #nimona #ballister boldheart #ambrosius goldenloin #ballister x ambrosius #goldenheart #If someone ask why they dont use the dishwasher I'll know they're white #Asian people don't believe in dishwashers #And if I do use the dishwasher it's after I've already washed the dishes #you call it impractical #I call it clean

286 notes · View notes

softpine · 2 months

Note

I'm still thinking about your characters and what their valentines day would look like currently where your story is so can I ask what everyone would be doing? I imagine Austin bringing flowers to Elaine and she loses it. Would Matt text Stevie? Mickaela and Dan pegging. Casper and Coco 👀????? Alisa messing with Jada. Stevie maybes annoying KD asking her what she's doing for v-day

omg i'm sorry my answer is so late 😭 if this were just a normal valentine's day and nothing life-threatening was happening to anyone, then what you said is exactly how everyone would be spending it ;-;

stevie annoying KD on valentine's day is sooooo true oh my god i can only imagine how insufferable she would be. she would bake a bunch of cookies and bring them into work like "here's a cookie for you! and here's a cookie for your...... partner? 🤨 and here's a cookie for your..... child? 👀 and here's a cookie for your..... other child? 🤔 just tell me when to stop. here's a cookie for your... dog? 🧐 here's a cookie for...."

coco is BOOKED for valentine's day. sorry to anyone who wishes they could make plans with her, she goes all out for this!! not even for monetary gain (it's actually a pretty slow day for sw), it's just always been her favorite holiday and she loves the decorations & outfits. although this would be the first time she's been 100% single since she was a teenager, so that would be tough, but that's all the more reason to throw herself into her work. casper is not part of this equation, he's going on a failed tinder date and making his mom sad because she was sure this would be the one sjkfjsd

definitely agree about austin buying elaine flowers, but really all elaine wants is a heartfelt card attached to them 🥺 she also organizes galentine's day (asa counts as an honorary gal) every year 💖

matt would fumble his way into some awkward misunderstanding with stevie, probably involving another goddamn stuffed animal fjskjfsd

jada would literally call off work on valentine's day. she is NOT emotionally prepared for whatever hell alisa would bestow upon her 😭 and since her dad is dating again she'd probably be alone but that's perfectly fine with her. a moment of peace is better than a valentine

finn would do something so sappy for valentine's day if here were here ughhhhh :( he'd have to step it up since he's already given asa flowers a few times and of course the unbeatable gift that was the antlers... the greatest gift asa could give to finn would be to chill the fuck out and not break the universe for one singular day lol

caroline starts getting cynical about love around valentine's day because so many people come into her shop asking for their bf/gfs name tattooed and she has to turn them away because she's not going to be complicit in bad decisions (DON'T ask her what tattoo she had covered up on her back 👿) but then she comes home and beth cooks dinner for her and lights one of their good candles and she believes in love again 😌

and we must not forget mikaela/danny pegging, as if they ever need a reason lmao. they're doing some convoluted roleplay that only they understand, making good use of their repertoire of spirit halloween costumes

#hopefully this answer being so long makes up for it being so late </3 #asks #anonymous #nonsims #brandi answers

24 notes · View notes

bellysoupset · 8 months

Text

Sicily - Part 7

Finally it's Vin's turn! This one gets mildly nsfw towards the end :)

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

"Hydrate," Vince bossed, passing Leo the gatorade bottle and the other man rolled his eyes.

"You're not the boss of me," he scoffed, but took a large gulp regardless.

Vince's birthday had been yesterday and they had originally planned to sing him happy birthday with his whole giant family, the italian part too. However those plans had been delayed by a day since Leo had gotten so horribly sick no one felt in the mood to celebrate until he was back on his feet.

That meant the cakes, yes plural, Wendy had ordered and all the snacks were still in the fridge and by god was Vince salivating over them. He didn't mind the actual date getting changed, after all the whole week had been basically one big celebration of his birthday, but dammit did he mind not eating the cake.

Vince watched Leo finish drinking and then raise his eyebrows, all attitude as he said, "see? I'm fine. I've been fine since yesterday evening, chill out."

"I'm chill," Vin shrugged and indeed he felt that compared to Jonah and Luke, he was very very chill. Jonah was watching Leo like a hawk and Lucas had been distraught when him and Bella had come home the day before yesterday and found Leo bedridden with a fever and a bucket next to his head.

"You're all the opposite of chill," Leo sighed, rubbing his face, "so how should I dress for tonight? Should I break out the singular button up I brought?"

Vince couldn't help but chuckle. He nodded, "yeah and shave, sexy homeless man isn't exactly your look."

"Says you," Leo showed him his tongue like a kid, "Jonah says the stubble is hot."

"Jonah has horrible taste," Vince teased back, then let out a oof when Wendy sped in the room and threw herself on top of him, "jesus, Wen, don't do that!" he cried out, fixing her legs and rubbing the sore spot on his side where her elbows had hit him.

"Sorry, sorry," she said, distracted, sounding excited "you two have to look at this."

She was holding a magazine and she unrolled it. It was a 90s gossip magazine and Vince frowned, glancing at Leo, who looked equally confused.

"The fuck is that?" Leo asked and Wendy shushed him, pointing the cover.

It was a black model in her 30s, with extremely voluminous chocolate hair and striking green eyes, dressed in an emeralds dress that was clearly being blown back by a fashion fan. Vince squinted.

"Is that... Is that Jon's mom?"

Leo immediately perked up, scooting closer and studying her face, "Oh it totally is Jackie!"

Wendy nodded, opening the magazine, "wait for it," she said, flipping quickly through the pages and then opening in the article. There was another editorial picture of Jackie and Wendy flipped another page, then tapped it, grinning like a mad woman, "look at him!"

Little Jonah was sitting in his mom's lap, he couldn't be older than one. He had the cutest little afro and his eyes were more green than the current hazel they were. He was clad in a little shirt and social pants.

"OH MY GOD," Leo squealed, snatching the magazine, "he was the cutest fucking thing."

"Let me see," Vince grabbed the back of Leo's shirt, pulling him closer and opened a wide grin, "can we steal this magazine? Make copies?"

"It gets better," Wendy giggled, turning the pages again. She quickly passed by two different articles and one "what is your season?" quiz. Then reached the gossip column and slowed down, passing over familiar faces that Vince had seen before but couldn't name, until Wendy stopped in one and then pointed at it, "tell me this isn't the best thing ever!"

Leo leaned in to look and then started laughing, "oh my god, I need this to be my laptop's wallpaper."

Little Jonah, in a different outfit, was sitting in a little picnic tablecloth and next to him there was a different little boy. One Vince recognized far too quickly, because Lucas, unlike Jonah, still had a lot of his baby features.

Little Lucas had a mop of brown wavy hair and his eyes were lighter too and he was fighting Jon for his stuffed plushie. Around them Vince recognized Jackie, Luke's mom, two women he had never seen before and he assumed were nannies and a man an extremely sharp outfit and the tackiest blow out hairdo Vin had ever seen.

"Is that my dad?" Jon said, startling all three of them as he walked behind the couch, "what the fuck are you- Give me that."

"That's your dad?" Leo sat on his knees on the couch, trying to snatch the magazine back, but Jon slammed it shut. His cheeks turned darker with a blush.

"You three have no business digging through this old stuff."

"You and little Luke were so cute," Wendy teased him, "what happened with all that cuteness?"

Jonah looked like he wanted for the ground to open up and swallow him, "this is getting shredded" he said darkly and then glared at them, "where did you find this?"

Wendy blushed, "uh... I was just looking around the house...Found this in an office upstairs..."

"My dad's office?" Lucas said, jumping off the last step of the stairs, "the one with the albums on the wall?"

"Yeah, that one..." Wendy's face was red at being caught snooping, "I'm sorry, I was just bored-"

"No, it's fine," Lucas shrugged, while Vince frowned.

"Uhm... Are we not gonna talk about the fact there's a magazine on Jon's sexy mom in your dad's office or...?"

"Shut the fuck up about my mum!" Jonah exclaimed, holding the magazine protectively to his chest, while Wendy gasped and Lucas rolled his eyes,

"Shut up, Vince."

"I'm not saying anything!" He laughed, looking between the two of them, "just that your dad was a serial cheater and Jonah had green eyes as a baby, just like you."

"SHUT UP!" Jonah exclaimed, while Leo let out a wheeze, falling on his back while laughing and exclaiming.

"OH MY GOD!"

It was the fact that Lucas looked absolutely unbothered by the joke that had Vince's laughter dying in his throat. He widened his eyes, ready to exclaim wait, really?! But Livia interrupted him, running in the room and throwing herself on Jon.

"Why aren't you dressed!" she exclaimed, hugging him by the middle "we're going to Vinny's party!"

"Yeah," Jonah smiled to her, then glared at the rest of them, "go get fucking dressed and stop saying Luke's stupid father boned my mum, thanks."

Livia gasped, wrapping her arms around his neck as he picked her up, still holding the magazine.

"Bad word!"

"Oh I'm so sorry, darling, but they're morons, they deserve it," Jonah's voice trailed off as he carried Livia down the hallway with him.

Leo let out a wheezing breath, "oh man, that was too funny," he sighed, wiping the tears from the corner of his eyes and rubbing his side, "my stomach hurts from laughing."

Vince glared at Lucas, "please say that's not possible."

"I don't know and I don't wanna know," Luke shrugged, not looking even a little bit as amused as they were, "he's right, we should start getting dressed if we don't wanna be late to your grandma's house, Vin."

He got up too and Leo gladly took the hand Luke stretched out, both of them going back upstairs. Wendy let out a giggle, falling against Vince's side.

"So, you and I agree they're totally half brothers, right?" she whispered, causing Vince to snort.

"Absolutely," he agreed, grabbing her legs and throwing Wendy up in his arms, getting up too while she let out a squeal, wrapping her arms around his neck and continued to laugh.

Nonna Monacelli's place was fifty minutes away from Luke's summer house, in a tiny town. It wasn't big or fancy like the house they were staying at, but Vince immediately felt like crying the minute he crossed the threshold, his family and friends right behind him.

He remembered every corner of that place. He remembered sleeping over at his nonna so many times that he had his own room - that once used to be his father's. It was his father's side that was from Sicily, his mother's people were from Rome and they didn't talk much.

His nonna was well into her eighties, almost ninety, but she was still very active. She lit up as they entered the house and quickly ushered them to backyard.

Vince hadn't been to a real italian party in so long, but he immediately felt at ease. He watched, with a smile, as his grandmother made a face to the cakes they were carrying.

"I made cake!" she exclaimed in italian, offended, "you don't need store bought!"

Wendy frowned, "what is she saying...?" she asked and Vince grinned.

"I think she's declaring you her mortal nemesis, honey."

"Oh shut up," she scoffed.

It was funny to smack his friends right in the middle of his family that only spoke italian, but Vince needn't have worried. Lucas and Jon both knew enough not to die and his parents were engaged into translating.

Besides, certain things didn't need translation.

None of them needed translation to know the music was for dancing and none of them needed translation to know when to sing happy birthday, in the weirdest chorus Vince had ever heard, of english and italian mixing together.

His grandma, Ludovica, tugged on his earlobe 24 times and then pulled him into a hug, letting out a yell when he pulled her off her feet.

Vince grinned, planting her down and then pointing Wendy, "nonna, this is my grilfriend, Wendy" he said in italian, before quickly translating it in english.

"Tell her she's beautiful," nonna said, studying Wendy, "and to let her hair grow."

"I will-"

"And say thank you for bringing my grandson home."

"Alrigh-"

"And that if she ever orders another cake in my house she'll be kicked out."

Vince laughed, translating the entire thing and Wendy blushed, touching her hair in a self conscious manner, "I'm sorry nonna!"

"She sounds very american," Nonna scoffed, "tell her she needs to learn italian."

"I'm not telling her that," Vince rolled his eyes, kissing his grandma's temple, then flashed Wendy a smile as he said, "I promise I'll eat your cake too, nonna."

"You better," his grandmother huffed, before moving away.

Wendy pouted, looking at him, "So? What did she say?"

"She just told me to eat her cake," Vince translated partially, pulling Wendy by her hand as the music slowed down. He twirled her around. She was wearing a peach drapey dress and it created a circle as she twirled.

Wendy smiled, her hand small and dainty in his and she threw her weight partially back so she could get a good look of his face, "oh no," she pouted in an amused way, "whatever will you do, big guy? You know you can't touc-"

"Well, obviously, I'm gonna eat it," Vince shrugged, snaking an arm around her waist and pulling her closer. Wendy rolled her eyes, still smiling.

"Amore mio," she dragged the words, "you can't even glance that cake's way. It's all milk. That's why I bought a second one."

"And risk breaking my nonna's heart? No chance," he twirled her again and this time Wendy's back pressed against his chest, so he leaned in to whisper in her ear as they swayed from side to side, "besides, my girlfriend is into tummy aches, so I don't think she'd mind."

Wendy's face turned beet red as if he had just whispered her the filthiest thing and she scoffed, looking ahead, "doesn't mean I want you to get one purposefully-"

"No?" Vince said in a quizzical manner, enjoying the fact no one was paying them much mind and nibbling on her earlobe, "what if I kinda enjoy it too?"

"But you don't," Wendy said, forcefully pulling back so she could glare at him, "you can't lie to-"

"I'm not lying," Vince shrugged, "just a little tummy ache is not the end of the world, I want my grandma's cake. It's my birthday goddammit... And belly rubs do sound like an added bonus."

Her pupils were blown in her eyes and he could tell she was struggling to string together a coherent thought. It made his chest ache with pride. That was the kind of distraught, lustful eye contact he only got in the bedroom, it made him terribly smug that he could get her this worked up over only a few words.

"Cat got your tongue, sweetheart?"

She scowled at him, cheek red and then glanced at the cake table, then back at him, "...You can't eat it now," Wendy decided, voice all breathy.

Vince nodded, pulling her closer again and she pressed against him. If he pressed a little closer, he could feel she had the start of a boner, trapped by the shapewear. He smiled, cheek meeting her temple.

"Alright, honey. When can I eat it?"

"When we're almost going home," she whispered, breath hot against his neck, "so you're all mine when it hits."

"Okay," he continued to sway them, "just one slice, I don't want to puke."

"Uhm..." she hummed and he wasn't sure if she wanted him to be sick or not, but Vince decided to call the shots in this one. He didn't want to spend his birthday night praying to the porcelain god.

He glanced over her head, letting out a sigh as Wendy rested her forehead to his shoulder, enjoying the music. He could see Luke and Bell and Leo and Jonah dancing too. Leo looked beyond surprised that Jonah could slow dance like a pro and Bella and Lucas were in their own little world, foreheads pressed together, eyes closed. His father was trying to convince ma to join him in the dancefloor.

"Thank you," Vince whispered in Wendy's ear, "for all this. It's the best gift I ever got."

She let out a huff, turning her face in order to kiss his cheek, "you deserve this, my love."

The party went on for a while still, stretched into the night aided by all the wine.

Vince chuckled as he watched his dad drunkenly intermediate a conversation between Bella and his uncle, flipflopping between english and italian and failing miserably.

"Happy birthday, man," Lucas jumped on his back, squeezing him into a big hug and planting a kiss to his cheek. Vince let out a choked out noise at the sudden weight and they nearly fell, but he managed to hold the man after some stumbling, Lucas giggling the entire time.

"You're killing me!"

"Oh deal with it," Lucas squeezed him again, but let go, in time for Leo to tackle him in a hug.

Vince couldn't help but laugh, all air escaping him as the blonde squeezed him by the middle, Jonah getting dragged by Bella by his wrist as they piled him in a big group hug.

He wheezed for air, "okay okay, let me go!"

"No," Leo mumbled, voice muffled by his shirt and Vince laughed, losing his balance and causing all five of them to fall in the middle of the grass in a pile of limbs.

"You're crushing my arm!" Lucas cried out, giggling still and Vince tried to roll away, only for Leo to cry out at the movement and Bella scream "Jonah you're pulling my hair- Stop-"

"It got caught in my cufflink!"

"What are you doing?" Wendy laughed, walking over and crouching down in order to free Bella's hair from the tangle around Jonah's wrist, only for Lucas to grab her arm and pull her to them.

She fell on top of Leo and Vince with a yell and Jonah cackled, while Bella slapped Wendy's bum since it was right up her face and caused the other girl to let out a squeal and giggle.

Finally they managed to straighten up, still all shaking with wine fueled giggles. Sophia let out a scoff as she passed them by.

"Seems like you're turning four, not twenty four," she said, causing Vince to flip her off, his chest hurting with how happy he was.

"Okay guys, I think my nonna is gonna kick us out any minute now, we should go," Vince said, an hour later, as it was almost 2 AM. Bella nodded, getting up from her seat.

"I drive," she declared, which was wise, seeing as she was the most sober from all of them.

"We're staying," his mother said, waving him off when Vince circled the table to tell them they were leaving.

"Buona notte, mamma," He nodded in understanding, kissing the top of her head and smiling when his father hugged him again. Vince messed Sophia's hair as he passed her by, causing the teenager to hiss and slap his hand away.

"Where should I put her?" Jonah whispered and Vince let out a snort. Livia was completely passed out in his arms, drooling on his shoulder.

"I never pegged you for such a softie," Vince grinned, guiding him back inside the house, "put her in my old room, it's the last door in the hallway."

"You're not leaving without taking cake," nonna scoffed, "you're so skinny, you poor thing. Don't they have food in America?"

She filled a plastic tupperware with all sorts of snacks and another one with cake, out of pettiness not even touching the two beautiful cakes sitting on her table, that already had some slices missing.

They had come in two different cars, but since they had left one for his parents, now they were all squeezed in one. Leo was giggling, sitting up front on the passenger's seat, on Jon's lap, while Wendy was squeezed between Luke and Vince in the backseat, Bella driving.

"C'mere," Vince grabbed Wendy's waist, pulling her to sit across his lap, while Lucas reached in the space between the two front seats in order to grab some of the snacks in the tupperware that Leo was holding.

Wendy uncovered the tupperware with cake, breaking off a piece and holding it up to his mouth and Vince grinned, biting it off. It was what used to be his favorite: dulce de leche and chocolate, squished between two layers of a spongy vanilla batter.

He nibbled at her fingertips, letting out a moan when the flavor exploded in his mouth and eagerly finishing up the slice in four more bites. Wendy bit into the next one herself, nodding with a groan, "yeah, this is really good."

"Let me taste," Lucas said, grabbing his own slice and letting out a hum, licking off his fingers, "Bell did you try the cake?"

Vince was salivating for more, but he firmly dug his metaphorical heels. He didn't want to suffer too much, he just wanted the cuddles and tummy rubs and for Wendy to have that look in her eyes as if she was about to explode in flames.

"Wow," Leo grumbled as the car finally came to a stop and he jumped out, "I didn't realize I was so drunk until now."

Jonah laughed, wrapping an arm around his neck, "c'mere, baby. Let's get you to bed."

Bella was leaning heavily on the car as she undid the straps of her heels and Wendy winked at her, tugging on Vince's hand to pull him inside the house.

She was almost vibrating out of her skin as they entered the bedroom and Vince sat down with a groan, falling flat on his back against the pillows and chuckling, tipsy.

"My face is on fire," Wendy whispered, locking the door and walking to him, "I feel high."

"You kinky deviant," Vin chuckled, but his voice was less breathy. He grabbed her hand, planting it over his stomach, "it's bubbling here."

She could feel it. His stomach was packed full with two slices of the non-lactose cake and other foods, wine mixing everything together. Wendy danced her fingers over his skin, "hurts?"

"Not yet," he struggled with the buttons of his shirt, "I'm all yours."

Wendy let out a little huff as she patted his thigh, "lie against the pillows," she bossed, removing her own heels while he did so and then crawling on the bed. She sat on his lap, undoing his belt and pants and Vince let out a little relieved sigh.

She had seen him more stuffed before, straight up looking pregnant, but today he was looking good enough to eat. His belly was rounding out nicely, poking over his boxers and pushing gently against the buttons of his shirt. Wendy busied herself undoing the buttons one by one, leaning in to plant a kiss at every little inch of exposed skin.

He cupped the back of her head, fingers curling on the wavy hair and Vince combed his fingers through them, guiding her kisses to where his stomach was churning the most, "I can feel it right here."

"Here?" Wendy planted her lips over his skin, then Vince let out a surprised chuckle as she bit him. Teasing and light, not enough to leave a mark, but enough to send a jolt of desire down his body. Vince nodded, his mouth drying up.

As if wanting to join the party, he could feel his tummy finally making sense it had been fed its mortal enemy The Milk, because suddenly there was a loud whine from his midsection, loud enough that Wendy pulled back with a chuckle.

"Oh no, we upset it," she said, her voice deeper.

Vince let out a groan, one he wasn't playing up for her. Suddenly everything didn't feel as good in his belly and he shifted uncomfortably in the bed, "okay, I was promised tummy rubs, honey."

"I know, I know," Wendy nodded, planting both her hands on his stomach, fingers drumming his belly. The lightly bloat was getting worse, not enough that she could see anything, but enough they'd soon take notice of it.

Wendy rubbed her thumbs on each side of his stomach, in deep circular motions and then dragged them up, towards his navel. Vince let out a grunt, squirming and Wendy tried not to show just how much every little noise was turning her on.

"Here," Vin grabbed her hand, wincing and planting it over his belly button, "right there."

She pressed her palm flat in, in a half circle motion, in and out, and Vince pressed a fist to his mouth, letting out a sick belch, "ugh, I shouldn't have done this with my favorite cake," he scoffed at his own silliness and leaned his head back, "keep rubbing."

"It's so gurgly," Wendy whispered, leaning in so she could hear the noises better, licking her lips when there was yet another loud whine from his tummy, "it's amazing this is all from one slice."

"Uhm, amazing," Vin said sarcastically, pushing his own hand against his left side and letting out another airy, weak burp, "it hurts here."

"It's where you had those stitches," Wendy noted, gently rubbing her hand over the area and working up another delicate burp from him, "you're so dainty tonight, Vince."

"I know, right? A gentleman," he grimaced as she moved on his lap and caused the cake to splash in his throat, "ugh, wait, don't squirm so much, you're giving me reflux."

Wendy let out a sigh under her breath, heartbeat in her ears as she nodded and continued to stroke and rub his upset tummy, forcing up a gentle burp here and there.

"I can feel just how turned on you are by this," Vince mumbled a couple minutes later, relaxing a little bit. Wendy blushed.

"It's not like I can control it-" she started to defend herself, only for Vin to pull at the front of her dress and bring her mouth in for a kiss. She let out a little surprised noise, before kissing him back, wrapping her arms around his neck.

He smiled against the kiss, rolling them on the bed and Wendy let out another moan as she felt his stomach press against hers, "you're gonna make it worse," she whispered against his ear, locking her legs around his torso.

Vince let out a scoff, starting to kiss her neck, "as if you mind," he mumbled, pushing the straps of her dress and letting out a little groan as his belly immediately took his words as a challenge. He leaned in, pressing a little sick burp against her chest, while Wendy stroked his hair back.

"You said you don't wanna be sick," she scoffed, pushing his shoulders, "I'm not gonna make you sick. Lie back down."

"Uhm, changed my mind," Vince teased, but he allowed her to push him on his back again and sighed in relief when the movement reduced the nausea, "it was one little slice, this is ridiculous."

"It's fucking hot, that's what it is," Wendy teased, sliding down on the bed so she could press her cheek to his chest, hand resting on his belly, "close your eyes."

"I wanted to fuck," Vince whined and she let out a loud cackle, turning her face to muffle it against his skin.

"You absolute dweeb," she shook with giggles, "you can't even make out without feeling queasy. Hush."

"This is the most convoluted kink ever, honey," Vin sighed, closing his eyes as he felt his stomach churn in a queasy manner, Wendy pressing little kisses over it and still rubbing.

"We just need to get a hang at this, that's all," she whispered, voice thick with lust and then leaned in, kissing him again, "happy birthday, love."

#mywriting #sickfic #tummy rubs #belly kink #stomach ache #upset tummy #vince monacelli #belly ache

42 notes · View notes

hangmansgbaby · 1 year

Text

Meet the Family | 2

Summary: Bradley is nervous about bringing y/n home for the holidays. Not because of his family but because her twin brother, Hangman, is tagging along and he's not sure if this was a good idea anymore. Especially with the big plans he already has.

Pairings: Bradley Bradshaw x reader, Jake Seresin x TwinSister!Reader

Warnings: angst(?), death, I had feels while writing this so all the feels???

Note: this takes place in a universe where Goose got nothing more than a serious concussion from the accident.

Word count: 6.3k

Masterlist

"Jake! Lets go!" Y/n shouts into her shared apartment with her brother.

"Why do I have to come with? Couldn't I just go ahead to mom's and you can meet me there, without the chicken?" Jake groans, trudging down the stairs.

"No because Carole invited you and you already agreed." Y/n sighs, her car keys jingle as she drops her hands to her sides. "And can you please play nice with Bradley this weekend? I really don't want to drag any of y'alls bs arguments to mama's next week."

"Explain to me why were not spending Christmas on the ranch?" Jake asks, grabbing his Stetson hat from its hook.

"Cause Bradley came with us to Mama's for thanksgiving. You're the one who agreed to coming to the Bradshaw's for Christmas before heading down south for new years." Y/n's southern accent lays out stronger as she straightens her own stetson. "If we don't leave now Carole is gonna be pissed that were late. You do not want to be on her bad side."

"Ahhhhh there she is!" Carole screams running out to meet y/n and Jake outside.

"Hi Carole." Y/n laughs as her boyfriend's mom hugs her tightly.

"Jake, I'm so glad you could join us."

"Thank you for inviting me, Mrs. Bradshaw." Jake smiles, tipping his hat.

"Please, call me Carole. Well come on in, I'm just finishing up dinner, the boys should be out back."

"Carole! You didn't have to cook all of this! You would've helped if you had called me."

"Nonsense! Besides Penny came to help." Carole says, leading them into the house. "Jake, would you like a beer?" Carole asks, pouring a glass of wine for y/n, as she always does when she comes over.

"Please, if you don't mind."

"Here you are Hangman." Penny says as she sets the bottle on the counter in front of him.

"Thanks Pen."

"Hey, theres my girl!" Y/n turns around to see Bradley walking inside, his father and uncle following behind him.

"Hey darling." Y/n kisses Bradley. "Did you have fun yesterday?"

Bradley had gone golfing with his father and Maverick, their yearly day before Christmas eve tradition when everyone was around.

"I did, I missed you though." Bradley chuckles, pulling y/n into a deeper kiss only being interrupted by Jake coughing loudly.

"Look I get it, everyone is in love and stuff but I'm alone here so can we dial it back just a smidge?"

"Hey Bagman, you really think we'd leave you hanging?" Bradley laughs at his own sentence which makes Jake groan.

"Yea, why don't you go see your early Christmas present thats in the living room." Y/n smiles as Jake side eyes everyone as he walks past them.

Walking into the thoroughly decorated living room, he spots a singular box neatly wrapped under the tree. Jake cocks a brow at his sister who nods her head quickly, insisting on him opening it. Pulling off the wrapping there is nothing but a singular paper placed in the bottom on the box.

"Turn around :)"

Jake reads the paper and speaks as he turns. Standing behind him is non other than Charlotte James.

"Lottie?"

"Hey there stud." She smiles as Jake pulls her into a hug, lifting her off the ground.

"What are you doing here?"

"You seriously expected us to subject you to a house full of couples for 3 days and not bring Lottie out here for you?" Y/n chuckles.

"Besides, why wouldn't I want to spend Christmas with my favorite aviator?" Lottie laughs out as Jake pulls her into a kiss.

"Hey!" Y/n protests. "You met me first!"

"I love you too y/n/n." Lottie smiles at y/n, her arms still wrapped around Jake's neck, his around her waist.

"Oh just kiss already!" Carole cheers.

Jake laughs as he pulls Lottie back, firmly kissing her and everyone cheers.

"Alright y'all! Dinner is ready!"

"My love." Bradley bows, pulling out y/n's chair. She giggles as she sits down, placing a kiss on his cheek.

"So Lieutenant Seresin how was your test flight this morning?" Goose asks, looking towards Jake you was sat on the opposite side of Carole's seat.

"It went really well, Vice Admiral Bradshaw. I think were gonna hit our goal earlier than expected." Jake answers as Carole and Penny place the different dishes on the table.

"Hey, no work talk! This is a family holiday!" Carole states before turn around to grab the last of the food.

"I'm sorry honey." Goose apologizes. "So Y/n, how was the trip to Texas?"

"It was okay Mr. Bradshaw. Just the usual family holiday drama, but I think we still managed to have a good time. Right boys?" Bradley shakes his head in agreement but Jake stays quiet. "Jake?" Y/n looks across to her twin brother to see him staring at Lottie, who was having a conversation with Maverick. "Jacob!"

"Will you be my girlfriend?!"

Everyone freezes where they're at, Lottie slowly turning around, wide eyed at Jake.

"What?"

"I'm sorry but I couldn't hold it back anymore. I'm in love with you Lottie and I'm sorry it took me so long to say anything but I want to be with you. I don't want to keep having week long flings for the rest of our lives. So Charlotte Amelia James, will you officially be my girlfriend?"

"Yes!" Lottie shouts without any thinking. "Yes, yes yes!"

"Oh this is exciting!" Carole cheers sitting down at the table. "Goose and I are celebrating 40 years! Mav and Penny are getting married in a few months! Jake and Lottie are clearly overdue but finally together! And Bradley and y/n are still so madly in love!" She rattles off as Goose cuts the turkey. "Oh what could make this Christmas any better?!" She cheers.

"Well..." Bradley mumbles.

"Did you say something dear?"

"What? Oh nothing Mom, just clearing my throat."

"Okay," she holds a questioning look before turning to everyone else. "Lets eat!"

"Your mom's cooking is the best." Y/n sighs walking along the beach in Goose and Carole's backyard.

"Yea, its always the best part of being home." Bradley sighs, leading her along their walk.

"Darling?" Y/n pulls him to a stop, turning him to look at her. "Is everything alright?"

"Yea, I'm sorry baby, I'm just feeling a little exhausted." Bradley covers. In reality, he's just super anxious. He has everything planned out perfectly.

Carole's Christmas tradition is that stockings are the last opened in order of oldest to youngest. Perfect for Bradley, by a 5 minute difference, y/n was the youngest of everyone present since Penny's daughter Amelia ended up going to her dad's for the holidays. Buried at the bottom of y/n's stocking was a small velvet ring box, nestled inside is her grandmother's ring.

But Bradley was nervous about popping the question in front of everyone. He loves his family, and he loves her but what he wasn't sure about was if this is what she wanted too.

"Why don't we go back to the house and go to bed? From your descriptions of Christmas day, were going to need our rest." She laughs, pulling Bradley back towards the house.

"Yea... yea lets do that." He stumbles over he words, mindlessly following his girlfriend through the cool night.

"Good morning everyone!" Carole's excitement radiates through the living room where everyone sits, sleepily waiting for her. Y/n leans against the couch sitting on the floor with Bradley sitting right behind her on the couch, a cup of coffee rested in both if their hands. Jake and Lottie are cuddling on the couch next to Bradley. Pete and Penny are seated on the loveseat and Goose is perched in his recliner near the Christmas tree that is now surrounded with presents. "Merry Christmas." She kisses Goose and sits on the arm of his recliner.

"Merry Christmas, honey."

"Bradley, Jake, why don't you two hand out the presents?" Carole suggests.

"Sure mom." Bradley smiles, pressing a kiss to y/n's temple as he sets his coffee down, stepping over her to make his way to the tree.

It takes about 10 minutes for Bradley and Jake to distribute all the gifts accumulated by the 8 of them and by the looks of it, Carole went a little overboard with Jake, Lottie, Y/n and Bradley's gifts, their stacks being taller than anyone else. Y/n slides down to sit in the middle of the floor with Bradley, leaving Jake and Lottie with the couch.

"Alright kids, go for it." Carole claps as they all reach for their first gift, one at a tine reading who its from.

"Okay mine is from Penny!" Y/n smiles pulling the wrapping off to show off the y/n's favorite liquor resting inside the box. "Penny! Where did you get this?"

"I put in a special order just for you, I even have a few bottles on hand at the Hard Deck now." Penny smiles

"I love you so much right now!" Y/n sets the bottle to the side and starts tackling the mound of presents all from Carole.

"Alright. This one's from Mav." Bradley says, tearing the wrapping off he pulls out a pair of ray-ban aviator glasses the same time Y/n and Jake pull out theirs.

"No way, Mav, this is too much." Jake protests.

"Yea, Mav we can't accept these." Y/n pipes in.

"Yes you can!" Pete retorts. "Its actually from Goose, Ice, and Me. We got tired of watching y'all bust your cheep ones every other day."

"Thanks guys, I appreciate it." Bradley nods, setting them back in the box. Y/n and Jake mutter their thank you's, setting them to the side.

Lottie had opened a few gifts that y/n had helped Carole pick out. She even had a few from y/n and Bradley mixed in.

"Okay, Jake why don't you open that one." Y/n smiles. "And B that one right there is from me."

Jake opens his to find a personalized belt buckle with his call sign on it. "Holy shit y/n! How'd you know I was looking at something like this?"

"Coyote showed me. I had been freaking out trying to find you gift he decided to help me out." Y/n turns back to Bradley who opened his. Inside was a brand new watch.

"Baby..."

"Try it on! You had been complaining that yours was bugging out so I took the liberty of getting you a new one." Bradley places the clearly expensive watch on his wrist and smiles at y/n.

"I love you." He pulls y/n into kiss.

"I love you too but thats not your only surprise. Last one requires the bedroom." She whispers in his ear before pulling back to see his wide eyes.

Slowly all the presents dwindled down and Carole stood handing out the stockings.

"Alright Pete, you first."

"Wait Mav's actually the oldest here?" Jake laughs out.

"Thanks Carole." Pete grins ignoring the remarks from the younger pilots in the room.

"I guess old man was the perfect nickname." Y/n busts out laughing.

"Hey! Theres only like 16 days between me and Goose alright?" All of them laugh as he digs through the stocking, thanking Carole at the end as she hands Goose his. Stockings were always a practical gift that Carole did for everyone. Basic necessities that they would need on base or on deployments, plus a few treats so they always moved pretty quickly.

Bradley's hands were shacking as he flicked through his stocking. There were 2 people left before he would be on one knee in front of y/n, her brother, her best friend and his whole family.

"Bradley, dear are you okay?"

Shit, he thinks, mom's noticed now.

"Yea mom, I'm okay."

"You sure, darling? You want some water?" Y/n scoots over to sit directly next to him, rubbing his back.

"I'm okay, baby. Really." He musters a small smile which only slightly puts her mind at ease.

Lottie and Jake both opened theirs and it was finally time for y/n to open her's.

Bradley takes a deep breath when he sees her reach the bottom of the stocking.

"What is... Carole?" Carole just shrugs as y/n opens the small box when suddenly Bradley stands up, making her pause at the sudden movement. "Bradley?" She questions as he puts his hand out, she takes it and he pulls her up to stand.

"Y/n, baby, I love you."

"I love you too." She smiles as he takes the box from her.

"For the last year, I have gone in and out if every jewelry store in ever area I was stationed. Nothing ever seemed perfect enough to go to this perfect girl standing before me. I've been in love with you since that first day I saw you put Hangman in his place, all those years ago at the Academy and I fall more in love with you every single day." Bradley rambles out. "You are the perfect girl and you deserve the perfect ring. And when we were in Texas, the perfect ring was literally just handed to me." He pops open the box, getting down on one knee, y/n gasps at the sight of her grandmother's ring. "5 years 9 months and 8 days we've been together and I don't want that clock to stop ticking. I want to love you forever. So, y/n m/n "y/c/s" Seresin, will you marry me?"

Y/n glances over at everyone in the room. Her eyes resting on her brother, who, with tears in his eyes, nodded, giving his approval to his sister. She smiles, turning back to Bradley. "Yes. God, a million times yes!" Bradley slips the ring on her finger, standing and pulling her into a deep kiss as everyone cheers.

"I love you future Mrs. Bradshaw." He mumbles into the kiss.

"I love you Mr. Bradshaw."

Y/n paced back and forth in the small room. The last 11 months had led her to this one day. Her wedding day. The day she became Mrs. Y/n Seresin-Bradshaw. But as of right now, the pre-wedding jitters were really getting to her.

"Y/n, come on. You gotta take a deep breath." Cass says from the couch y/n's bridesmaids sat at. Cass, Lottie, Phoenix, and Amelia are all seated watching y/n's movements.

"She's gonna wear a hole in the floor." Amelia mutters.

"Lottie, where's Jake?" Cass asks.

"I don't know, I haven't see any of the boys."

"None of them?!" Y/n stops in her tracks. "You haven't see any of the boys?"

"I'm sure they're here. In fact, Amelia and I are going to make sure." Lottie comforts before dragging Amelia out of the room.

"Oh god! What if he got cold feet? What if he changed his mind?" Y/n starts pacing again. "What if he decided I wasn't what he wanted anymore?"

"Oh knock it off y/n. Rooster loves you! He's not going to leave you at the alter." Phoenix says.

"But..."

"No, no more. You need to calm down of you are going to send your self into a panic attack." Cass forces y/n to sit in a chair.

"Hey, y'all ready?" Jake questions walking in. "We gotta... holy shit." He pauses at the sight of his sister. Her white dress flowing perfectly, hair curled into the perfect half up half down hairstyle, her veil pinned delicately into her hair. "Wow sis, you look... you look amazing." He chokes out.

"Oh Jake, please don't cry. You're gonna make me cry." Y/n smiles, walking over to her brother.

"I'm sorry. I just... I can't believe you're about to get married." Jake wipes his eyes.

"He is here, right? I'm not about to walk out to a shit show."

"Oh he's out there and I'm gonna make sure someone gets Rooster crying like a baby when he sees you." Jake days making y/n laugh. "There's that smile."

"Thank you, Jake. For everything."

"Yea yea. Come on, lets get you married."

The instrumental version of "Bless the Broken Road" by Rascal Flatts echos around the open area as one by one the the wedding party walks in. Because there were no young kids in their family, they had to settle for their friends being everything. Payback and Fanboy took seriously to being ring security, Amelia the flower girl. Tyler and Lottie walk together first. Followed by Nat and Coyote. Last were the Maid of Honor and Best Man, Cass and Bob. Finally with a swell in the music Y/n appeared in Bradley's eyesight, crying at the sight of the love of his life.

Her dress flowed perfectly around her, leaving plenty to Bradley's imagination. He spots Jake's smug grin, knowing he had a bet over him crying. After what felt like an eternity to them, Jake and y/n finally reach the end of the aisle.

"Take care of her, or I'll be your worst nightmare." Jake threatens, still smiling.

"I will, man. Thank you." Bradley slaps his shoulder before turning to y/n, their hands interlocked as the officiant, who just so happened to be Maverick, speaks.

If you had asked either one what was being said, they wouldn't be able to answer. Too lost in each others eyes, only straying from each other's gaze at the sound of laughter.

"Bradley, your vows?"

"Oh right." He stumbles a but searching his pockets. "I uhh... okay, I guess I'm gonna wing it." He whispers, causing y/n to laugh. "Y/n, y/c/s, I love you. You never cease to amaze me on a daily and make me fall more in love with you everyday. You are incredible, creative, loving, fun, and one of a kind. You are probably one of the best pilots I have ever met, no offense to everyone in this room." Everyone laughs, 25% of the room being Naval Aviators as well. "You are everything I could have ever wanted in a friend, a girlfriend, and now a wife. You are everything to me and always will be."

Y/n takes a deep breath. "Bradley, darling, my Rooster. You are something else." Everyone laughs as he lets out an exasperated sigh. "You stress me out when your in the air, when he make snarky comments at my brother, and even you stand up to superior officers. But I wouldn't trade you for anything or anyone in the world. You've taught me how to be peaceful amidst my chaotic life. You've been a dream as a friend and boyfriend and I cannot wait to see what more you could possibly do for me as a husband."

"May we have the rings?" Payback brings the bands up to them and both take the opposites band. Repeating what Pete recites, they each place the band on their ring fingers.

"By the power vested in me, by the state of California, I now pronounce you husband and wife. Bradley, you may now kiss the bride."

"Don't have to tell me twice." Bradley pulls y/n close by her hips and turns her into a dip, planting a firm kiss to her lips.

"I love you, Mr. Bradshaw." She mumbles into the kiss.

"I love you, Mrs. Seresin-Bradshaw." He pulls her back up, planting another kiss. "Even if you did hyphenate your name." Y/n laughs at Bradley's comeback.

"If everyone could please direct their attention to the dance floor, it is now time for the newlyweds first dance."

"Speechless" by Dan & Shay begins playing through the speakers. Y/n had slowly gotten into Bradley into country music and he had even insisted on this song for their first dance, claiming it as one of their songs. They danced together like there was no one in the room, loving every moment. When the song ended, they made their way to the head table sitting in the middle of their wedding party.

"Can I have everyone's attention please." Bradley says, standing with a microphone. "On behalf of y/n and myself, I'd like to thank everyone for joining us today. It means the world to us that so many people care about us and were able to join us in celebrating this special day. Each and every person in this room has played a special part in our relationship, whether is was as a supportive friend, parents who convinced one, mainly me, to go after the other, or banned us from dating which only drove us together." Bradley says, looking directly at Jake. "We love each and everyone if you and are so thankful you are here today."

Dinner was served shortly after and soon began the wedding party speeches.

"Hey everyone, I'm Cass, y/n's childhood best friend. I remember the day she called me about Bradley. It was her freshman year at the Academy and her words were, and I quote, 'there is this really hot junior who is like the best at everything!' She gushed about him every time we talked and you could tell from day one she was in love." Y/n's face was flushed red as she hit her face. "Well Y/n, I told you then and I 'll tell you now, he really really, likes you back. To the happy couple." She cheers as every claps.

Bob is the next up, being the best man and all. "Hey everyone, I'm Bob. I met y/n and rooster during a detachment a year and a half ago. You could tell every time they looked at each other that they were in love. Just the way their eyes brightened whenever the other walked into a room. I didn't have the please of seeing their relationship grew from the beginning but I'm glad I get to see them through the beginning of their marriage and whatever comes next for them. To Bradley and y/n."

"Alright, time for best speech everyone, so kick back, relax, and be prepared with tissues." Jake says, taking the microphone from Bob. "I am the older and better looking twin, Jake. I remember growing up y/n always talked about finding her prince charming, he'd be tall, handsome, treat her right, and love her unconditionally. I told her she was delusional, that no guy could be all 4. Well y/n, you did it, you found your prince charming and I am so happy for you." Y/n smiles, tears welling up in her eyes. "Rooster, you are many things, and I could go on and list them, but right now the only thing that matters is that you're the one for my sister and I couldn't ask for anyone better to be with my sister." He toasts to them before making his way to his table, stopping to plant a kiss on his sister's temple. "Love ya sis."

"I love you too." She smiles as a few tears escape, holding her brother in a hug.

"Alright, time for the parents dances, starting with the bride. Joining her in the dance floor will be her brother."

"Brother" by Kodaline plays as Jake leads y/n to the dance floor.

"Thank you, Jakes."

"For what?" He asks, twirling her.

"Everything." She smiles. "Being there when Dad wasn't."

"Hey, I'm always going to be there for you." Jake holds his sister close, in a hug as the song ends.

Bradley leads his mother to the dance floor. "You'll be in my Heart" from Tarzan plays as they dance. Y/n looks on from the table, smiling at the sweet moment between mother and son. She could tell Carole was singing to words to Bradley, just as she did when he was growing up.

Moments after the end if their song, y/n finds herself sat in a chair in the middle of the room. "Danger zone" booming through the speakers and Bradley comes strolling up with his aviators and his green flight suit on, all of his groomsmen and friends standing behind him, aviators on too.

Y/n laughs as Bradley tries to mimic a flight pattern, dropping to his knees in front of his wife. He smiles, pulling his aviators off to hang on the collar of his under shirt before running his hands down y/n's legs over over her dress until he reaches the hem.

He reaches under the skirt, resting his on her ankles, sliding up her legs, she he reaches her knees, he lifts the skirt over his head. His hands slide further up her legs, resting at the tip of her thighs. He plants small open moth kisses on her legs, leading to the garter. He smiles at the delicate lace, pinching the fabric between his teeth. He pulls the grater down her leg and over her foot, all of the men gathered behind Bradley cheering as he re surfaces from her dress. He stands, pulling the small fabric from his mouth, he plants kiss before turning back to his friends, launching the garter into the hair. The boys push each other around until finally someone gets a hold of it. Jake stands from the crowd, garter in hand, smiling. He looks over at Lotte who stands with y/n's bouquet in her hands, having caught it just before the garter toss. Bradley and y/n laugh as Jake's face pales, trying to shive the garter into someone else's hand.

3 years later

y/n sits on the porch swing. She gazes out on the front yard watching 2 year old Nicolas Bradley chase his nearly 1 year old twin siblings Jacob Dean and Carole Marie. She laughs as the twins scream, laughing at their older brother.

Bradley and Jake got sent out for deployment 6 months ago with no guarantee of when they will be home. So while the boys got to bod being bunked together on a boat, Lottie had taken up residence in Y/n and Bradley's guest bedroom to help y/n with the twins. Y/n pulling back from flights was overlooked for the deployment, thankfully. She stepped into an instructor role at Top Gun a month before they decided to start trying for Nick, allowing her to be home more with the kids.

"Y/n! Pizza should be here any minute!" Lottie calls through the open door.

"Alright kids! Time to come inside!" Y/n calls out, standing from the swing.

"But mama!"

"No buts! Time to get cleaned up for dinner before daddy and uncle Jake call us." That perks up Nick's attention. Nick sprints up to the door. This deployment was harder on their eldest son, who had just turned 2 right before they left, the twins only 5 months at the time. "Jace! Carrie! Come on loves!" They crawl their way up the steps of the porch, standing and slowing walking into the house. They took their first steps just over a month ago and have started babbling sentences since the deployment.

Y/n softly smiles every time the twins experience a first, making sure to record every moment and emailing them to Bradley. He's always so excited when he talks to the kids, trying to get the twins to show off their new skills live. He never says it but she can tell it pains him to miss these moments.

Hours pass and theres no word from Bradley or Jake. Its not long before its 45 minutes past the kids bed times and Nick's begging to stay up longer, hoping for the call.

"I'm sorry loves. How about I call Grandpa Goose in the morning and see if you guys can have another sleepover?" Nick perks up at the thought, sprinting to his room. Lottie and Y/n lift the sleepy twins, carrying them to their shared room. Y/n walks across the hall first, tucking Nick into bed. "Good night." She kisses his forehead head as he mumbles in his sleep.

"I'm sorry they didn't call." Lottie says, both closing the children's doors at the same time.

"Probably just didn't get service in time." Y/n brushes her anxiety off. Bradley never missed a chance to call. And the one time he does? The thoughts don't settle well in her.

True to her word, she called Goose and Carole asking them to watch a kids for the weekend, which they gladly accepted, always loving a chance to be with their grandkids.

Y/n paced the living room after the kids left. Still not a word from Bradley, or Jake. Even Goose hadn't heard from his son or Mav.

"Y/n you're going to pace a hole into the floor."

"What if something's wrong? What if something happened? If Admiral cant get answers, it can't be a good thing." Y/n says.

"I'm sure everything is fine. Can you sit down please?" Y/n sighs, sitting in the armchair to the left of the couch, Bradley's chair. Lottie tries to distract her with a movie but y/n just stares at the door, her phone clutched in her hand, and the pillow from the chair being hugged by her. It feels as if hours have passed but it's only been minutes for y/n. Her mind races over every possibility. She had been feeling off since yesterday, like her sixth sense had just been going off and she didn't like it.

Her thoughts are cut off by the doorbell ringing and she freezes, making no movement to go answer the door as Lottie pauses the movie walking over to answer the door.

"Good afternoon Miss James." Y/n hears the familiar voices but their tones keep her from running over.

"Is Lieutenant Commander Seresin-Bradshaw home?" The other voice asks, neither being the voice of her husband or brother.

"Y/n," Lottie mutters out, stepping away from the door. Y/n slowly rises, walking towards the door.

"Please confirm your identity." Mav states, following standard protocol when y/n, opens the door fully. Maverick and Phoenix stand in her doorway in their service dress uniforms.

"Lieutenant Commander Y/n Seresin-Bradshaw."

"Lieutenant Commander, this is Lieutenant Trace, and I am Captain Mitchell-"

"I know who you are, Captain." She interrupts, remaining respectful despite the circumstances. "Just say it."

"On behalf of Fleet Commander Admiral Beau Simpson and the department of the Navy, we regret to inform you that Lieutenant Commander Jacob Seresin was killed in action on the first of October 2024. The Navy extends their deepest condolences to you and your family."

Y/n doesn't move, staring blankly at Mav. She can hear Lottie's gasps at the news, knowing that her best friend is breaking down behind her but y/n couldn't move. Her brother, her twin brother, her best friend above Lottie, was gone. But she can't focus on it for long.

"And... and Brad-"

"I'm right here, baby." Bradley comes barreling through, not able to stand back anymore. He pulls y/n into a hug as she finally lets all of her emotions out. Her cries fall through like screams just as they had 4 years ago on the look out. The couple drops to the ground as y/n's knee's give out, Bradley's own injuries making it difficult to hold her up but his embrace never loosens as she cries. "It's okay baby. I'm right here. Let it all out."

They didn't move for at least 30 minutes as y/n cried. Phoenix had come in and was comforting Lottie.

Lottie. Y/n had completely spaced on her best friend. Her brother's girlfriend who was definitely hurting just as much as she was. She quickly got up, walking over to over to the couch where Phoenix had placed Lottie. Bradley had given a curious look at y/n's suddenly calm demeanor moving to sit in his chair.

"Lottie." Y/n mumbles as she sits on the coffee table in front of her. Lottie had long since stopped crying, just staring blankly at her hands in her lap.

"He's gone," is all she says. "He's really gone."

"I know."

"You know we talked about getting married. Right before he left." Y/n's eyes drop. She did know, she had the ring hidden in her desk drawer upstairs. "He said when he came home, the first thing he was doing was proposing. And now," she sniffs, the tears slowly coming back. "Now we'll never get that."

"B, what happened?" Y/n looks over at her husband. He refuses to meet her gaze. How do you tell your wife, that her brother is dead, giving up his future with the love of his life, because he was saving her husband's life?

"He uh-" Bradley feels like his head is going to explode. His entire body hurts, his injuries are aching and his head is pounding. "We were in the middle of a dog fight. I hadn't seen the incoming missile and he came from above and-" he pauses, every feeling he had been avoiding come bubbling up. "He saved my life using the last round of flares he had. He barely the second missile coming his way." Bradley get quiet the more he talks, tears welling in his eyes.

Phoenix notices and takes over. "He ejected just in time but he hit his head on the canopy."

Y/n gasps looking over at her husband. She heard the stories about Goose's accident and couldn't believe Bradley was holding up so well before, knowing that they lost Jake the way they almost lost his father 40 years ago.

"Darling..."

"Its all my fault." Bradley cracks, everything hitting him all at one.

"No, darling, its not your fault." Y/n moves over to her husband, her hands resting on either side of his face, forcing him to look at her. "You did everything you were supposed to do, so did Jake. Hell," she laughs slightly shocking everyone in the room. "For the second time in his life, Hangman didn't leave his wingman hanging." She starts laughing, dropping to her knees before Bradley. Lottie starts giggling at the thought from her seat.

"Asshole." Lottie lets out, laughing harder.

Mav had finally come inside, Bradley and Jake's bags in hand. His eyes widen at the two girls laughing uncontrollably. He shoots Phoenix a questioning look and she just shrugs, just as confused and she witnessed everything.

"Such an asshole," y/n laughs, holding onto Bradley's knees as she doubles over laughing.

"Mama! Mama! Guess wh—" y/n looks up at Bradley at the sound of her sons voice. "Daddy!"

"Hey buddy!" Bradley stands up, meeting his son halfway, lifting him with groan at the pain in his side. "Where's your brother and sister?"

"Right here." Carole chuckled, little Jacob in her arms, Goose close behind with Carrie.

"Hi mom, dad!" Bradley smiles taking Carrie from his father, giving him a big hug.

"Woah, where's this coming from?" Goose questions, hugging his only child.

"Just glad to see you, Dad." Bradley smiles softly pulling back, his attention immediately going to his daughter, making her giggle.

Carole sets Jace down who immediately runs to his mother, being the perfect little mama's boy that both of her sons became.

"Where's Uncle Jake?" Nick asks. Everyones eyes soften at his innocence. Bradley walks over kneeling down by y/n, Carrie sat in his lap, Jace joining her.

"Sweetheart, you know how we said that sometimes, when people go out to be heroes, well, sometimes things don't go as planned and we lose people we love?" Y/n asks her son. They've had the talk about people dying. The first time was when a few of y/n's friends didn't come back from her last mission. Friends that were big in Nick's life, just like Jake was.

The 2 and a half year old nods, most likely not entirely understanding what she was explaining to him. Y/n struggles to continue, wishing she wasn't having to explain this to him.

"Well buddy, your Uncle Jake was a hero. Probably the bravest your mommy and I have ever seen."

"You're a hero too daddy!" Nick laughs.

"Yea, but nothing like your uncle." Bradley chuckles softly. "Nick, your uncle saved my life, so I could come home."

"But he's coming home too right? He always comes back with you."

"Not this time buddy. No this time he's not coming home."

"Oh." Nick answers. Everyone knew he didn't quite understand, he probably wouldn't for a few years.

The day's leading up to the funeral were hell for the Bradshaw household. Cyclone had made sure to give everyone 2 weeks of leave, a week before and a week after the funeral. Y/n struggled with keeping from working, it being the only thing that kept her from crying every five minutes. The pit in her stomach hadn't gone away since the day she found out and she needed the distraction, locking herself away in her home office all day, working on all the flight patterns the other instructors would need. It kept her busy but it worried Bradley.

He could hear her frustrated sighs each day from behind her locked door. Her quiet cries from the bathroom that weren't so quiet against the stream of water from the shower. Bradley knew it was different type if loss between them. He lost a friend, a coworker, a wingman. She lost her twin, the person she would always have the closest connection with no matter how much she hated it.

Bradley's thoughts are dragged from his wife to the ring of the doorbell. Cursing under his breath because of his napping children he makes his way to the door seeing the last person he expected at his door.

"Where are my grandbabies?"

#top gun #top gun maverick #top gun x reader #bradley bradshaw #bradley rooster bradshaw #bradley rooster x reader #bradley bradshaw x reader #bradley rooster bradshaw x reader #miles teller #rooster #jake seresin #hangman #jake hangman seresin x reader #glen powell #gbaby meet the family #hangmansgbaby

143 notes · View notes

delopsia · 1 year

Text

Flowers In November (1/4) Rhett x Reader

Word Count: 12,705 ��‧₊˚ AO3 Cross-Post ♡⊹˚₊ Flowers In November Masterlist₊˚⊹♡ Warnings: Fem!Reader. Briefly mentioned abusive relationships (not involving reader), improper disposal of a horse's corpse, l-bombs, oral sex, physical and verbal altercations, blood, unprotected sex, inappropriate use of a firearm, lying to a police officer, multiple mentions of food and cooking. Part 2 ♡⊹˚₊

Flowers.

No matter where you go, whether it be the big, bustling concrete city or the vast, unforgiving pastures of your hometown, there have always been flowers—poking out from cracks in the sidewalk, dancing like fairies in unkempt lawns and waving daintily from their pots and planters.

But you think this is the first time you've ever seen something quite like this.

When you'd gone to bed last night, the backyard had been green grass for as far as the eye could see. All was normal, not a singular sign to be found that you would wake up to this.

"I've never seen so many flowers in my life," your mother muses from where she stands in front of the sliding door, "and yet, not a single purple flower to be found."

At first glance, you'd thought they were Autumn leaves, freshly fallen from the old Oaks along the tree line, but those trees shed their leaves weeks ago. Overnight, flowers have decorated every inch of your yard just days before December's start. Coming in all possible variations of red, orange, and yellow.

"Would you mind filling a basket of them for me?" She asks, already reaching for the wicker basket she's just put away, "I reckon we could make a beautiful Autumn wreath out of these."

"Sure," picking flowers sounds like a hell of a lot more fun than packing belongings into cardboard boxes and loading them onto a Uhaul.

You don't think you've actually seen her make a wreath out of live flowers before, but again, you can't argue with such a deal. Not when your shoulders ache from days of hauling everything your family owns from place to place.

It would have been so much easier to hire a moving company.

"Do you want the basket to be completely filled?" You question, just to be sure.

"Please," folding up an old flyer for the local raffle. If you'd guessed three-hundred forty instead of three-hundred ninety, maybe she'd have the leather necklace printed on that paper, "keep an eye out for some purple ones, too."

Can't be too hard, can it?

Sliding your headphones up over your ears, you step outside, basket in tow. For as beautiful as it looks, it sure doesn't feel like it.

Frighteningly chilly wind nips at your neck as you walk across the yard, seeking the perfect spot to settle down in. The more you think about it, the more you realize that this is really, truly, weird.

This many flowers, three days before December starts?

Even the pasture in the front yard is full of them; from the looks of it, so are the lots all around you. An endless sea of flowers with absolutely no business showing up as abruptly as this.

You wonder if they'll come back like this in the spring.

A part of you wishes that you could be here just in case that day comes, wake up to a magical sea of brightly colored flowers marking winter's end. But that won't be happening. Not if the brightly colored for sale sign at the end of the driveway has anything to do with it.

Right by the treeline, you find the old tree stump, still stained from all those times you painted it when you were a kid. It's uncomfortable sitting on, but it's better than sitting directly in the flowers themselves.

Drowning your thoughts with the music from your headphones, you get to work. Picking flowers with the longest stems and placing them neatly in your basket.

This isn't how you pictured your gap semester from college going.

The plan was to come back home and take it easy for a few months, pick up a job waitressing at the local mom-and-pop diner, something simple until you could get over your rapidly worsening burnout. But your mom has her heart set on selling your childhood home and moving closer to the city, and that's a process that has had you working for months.

You never truly realize how many things need to be fixed in a house until someone comes in to appraise it. Replace this, replace that, so you'll finally get an offer worth accepting.

But it doesn't work. You've practically renovated this entire house, and not a soul has made an offer. You don't want to see the house sell, but Lord, is it frustrating, working your ass off, only for it to add up to a whole bunch of nothing.

At the end of the day, many people want to avoid buying a property with a not-so-pleasant history. A handful of times, your mother has mentioned that all this land belonged to a single family. Their daughter, the sole inheritor, disappeared in a storm. Your folks bought this place shortly after the final member of the family passed.

"How's it going?"

The sudden appearance of your mother has you jumping out of your skin, your heart rising into your throat.

"Baskets nearly full," you chirp, sliding your headphones down until they rest around your neck, "not seeing any purple, though."

She hums, reaching down to sift through what you've collected. To be honest, you hardly remember picking half of these. How long have you been out here?

"Well, I hate to interrupt you," she muses, still rummaging through the basket, "but dinner's ready."

Alright, so you've been out here for a little while.

It starts to rain the moment you step inside the house. It feels as if the clouds had been waiting for you to get out of dodge, the storm appearing just as quickly as the flowers had. The wind howls as it whips around the corners of the house, angry and threatening to break through even the tiniest of entryways.

Storms around this part of Wyoming are common. Usually, they don't last any longer than twenty minutes, but it only worsens. The wind only grows louder, buckets upon buckets of rain coming down in thick, white sheets that seem to wrap around the house, blanketing the outside world from view.

You're washing dishes, gazing out the window just in front of the sink, when you notice something bouncing around in the lawn.

"Is that an animal?" Thinking aloud, you lean closer to the glass, squinting. No, animals don't move like that.

Shit.

Swearing, you reach for the towel, dying your hands as you rush toward the door, "I forgot the flowers outside!"

That's what it is. Your mom's favorite wicket basket is bouncing around the lawn, back and forth, being whipped around by the wind like a ball.

Without much thought, you pull the sliding door open, and immediately the cold wind starts to painfully nip at your skin with its frigid teeth. It's only worse as you step outside; the tiny raindrops feel like needles as they batter you, but you can't let that old basket be blown away.

You can hardly see, stumbling blindly as you chase the silhouette of that tumbling basket, but the wind is making a game out of keeping it from you. Whenever you think you've got it, the wind picks up, ripping it away.

But the wind slows a bit, and in a last-ditch effort, you jump on the basket the moment you've seen your chance. Your foot catches on a patch of mud, and your back hits the ground with a painful thump.

But you've got the basket. It's mostly empty now, but you've got it.

All your collected flowers are probably miles down the road by now, blowing into who knows where. So much for making a wreath with them. Swearing under your breath, you push yourself back up, fumbling for purchase on the muddy ground, some kind of leverage to help you onto your feet.

"Huh?"

There, right in front of you, lies a dainty purple flower. Remarkably short, its petals fluttering in the wind. No wonder you hadn't found any.

It should be easy to pluck from the ground, but it's not.

No, the damn thing will not so much as budge from its spot in the ground. You change hands, supposing that one is weaker than the other, but it barely moves. Come on; this can't be that hard. Using both hands, you take hold of the flower's tiny stem and pull.

Just like that, the flower plucks from the ground, leaving a dark hole in its former resting place. Strange.

With the flower safely tucked into the basket, alongside the ones that have survived the wind's torment, you try to get up.

But that hole...it's starting to...grow larger?

You think it's just your mind playing tricks on you, but no, it's—that hole is getting bigger. Beneath you, your legs become nothing but jelly, near useless, as you slip around on the muddy ground, fumbling for footing.

One foot catches traction; you've almost got it, you've almost—

the ground disappears out from under your feet,

and you

fall.

You don't know how long you fall for.

Everything around you is pitch black, a blanket of darkness wrapped around you so tightly that you can barely tell if your eyes are open or closed. The sour bubbling in your bones is the only indication you have that you're moving at all. You've become weightless, fluttering through the air like a discarded feather.

All of a sudden, a strong gust of wind hits you from behind. Now, it feels like you're moving back up, like someone's just flipped this hole upside down.

Where in the world are you? Are you halfway down to the center of the Earth, or are you somewhere else entirely?

A twinge of light appears in the distance.

It's faint, but it's there, and it's growing larger. You can't quite tell if you're moving toward it or if it's moving toward you. But it grows bigger and bigger, rapidly hurtling towards you until all you can see is a blinding light as it engulfs you.

All you see is a dark sky, but then, like a quarter, the world around you flips, and all you see is green as you come crashing down into it with a painful thunk. The impact is strong enough to knock the air from your lungs. It feels like someone's picked you up and thrown you against the ground.

Miraculously, your basket still contains its flowers, the tattered handle clenched in your weak hand. Your only sign that you just popped out of a...

...hole that has seemingly disappeared.

No, no, no, none of this is right. Where are you?

Instead of being once again surrounded by your childhood stomping grounds, all you can see is endless pasture hills. It's dark, still raining, but you can see enough to know that you've never been here before.

The ground squelches below your muddy shoes as you slowly stand. White-hot fire shoots up your right ankle as soon as you put weight on it. It doesn't look broken, but it's hard to tell when every bone in your trembling body aches.

There's movement up on the hill.

A woman. You can't see much of her, but her blonde hair is easy to spot as it flows in the wind, waving like a flag behind her. It seems she's seen you, too, because she's coming toward you.

"Hello?" You call out, shielding your eyes from the rain, "ma'am?"

She yells something back to you. Intelligible, borderline a shriek. No, that doesn't sound like the voice of someone coming to help.

"No, no, no!" She wails, "you don't belong here! You don't belong here!"

You have no time to question it. All you have time for is to turn and run.

Every step hurts. Your feet struggle to maintain traction as you race across the slick ground, left foot sputtering out from beneath you with every stride.

You don't know where you're going. You can't see anything. It's all pitch black and silvery raindrops and green grass, and you can't figure out how close this woman is getting to you. Her voice grows louder and louder with each passing step, chanting incoherently; how you don't belong here; this isn't right.

Lightning strikes the ground, lighting up the world around you.

There's a fence in front of you, the silver gate already halfway open. However, there's a black dot just beyond that. You haven't the slightest clue what it is, but you'll take anything over the woman that's rapidly gaining on you.

Come on, come on, come on, you're almost there.

Something heavy hits you from behind, and for the umpteenth time, you hit the ground with a painful thunk.

"You!" Her voice is so loud that your ears feel like they're going to bleed. Silver glints in the dark as you squirm, legs kicking out as you try to get back up. But she's faster than you, climbing up on top of you as that sharp silver glistens. Your nails find purchase on her scalp, clawing at a raised scar. It doesn't faze her. "You don't belong here!"

Black flickers across your vision, and just as quickly as she'd climbed on top of you, she's knocked off, landing flat on her back. She's still yelling, chanting the same thing over and over, but her voice is drowned out by a deeper one that booms through the dark like thunder.

Your throbbing ankle crumples out from under you as you try to stand, leaving you frantically scooting backward. Away from that girl. Away from whoever was crazy enough to go after her. No, no, no, you've just backed into the fence.

...and the fence steps out from behind you?

It's a horse. Black in color, concealed near perfectly by the blanket of the night. She steps out from behind you, feet dancing dangerously close to your face as she does so, and then she turns and...

It's enough of a sight to make you momentarily power through the pain biting at your nerves. Rising to your feet, you stumble for the open gate, each step feeling like it'll be your last.

That horse has three heads.

The man's calling after you, something that sounds like a rushed 'hey!' but you pay it no heed. Your heart hammers against your chest so loud that it drowns out everything else, beating in perfect synchrony with your racing feet. But that three-headed horse is coming after you, barely visible as she runs you down.

Something thin passes overtop of your head and cinches tight around your waist. The next thing you register is the sharp pull of rope, so strong that it stops you in your tracks.

"Hold on, hold on!" That deep voice shouts; it doesn't sound threatening, but it doesn't stop you from fighting the lasso cast upon you, squirming, pulling at the loop.

Maybe it's the rapid in and out of breath; perhaps it's the fear permanently etched into your expression, but something makes him get down from that monster of a horse. Dropping the rope in favor of kneeling and raising his open palms to the sky.

"'m not gonna hurt you," he breathes, speaking slowly, "a'ight?"

You don't know if you believe that, but as a scream echoes through the night, you realize that you don't have much choice here.

"Who..." your voice dies in your throat, "who are you?"

He's quiet like he's considering, and then, "'m Rhett."

Rhett.

You don't think you've ever met a Rhett before, surely haven't met a Rhett who smiled when you uttered your name.

Whatever moment you've just built up is shattered by the rapidly approaching yelling, the shrill voice of a woman who isn't happy about your presence. Rhett peers over his shoulder, then, turning back to you, "do you trust me?"

"Define trust," you blurt, shaking free of the lasso.

With remarkable speed, he stands and mounts that three-headed mare. "Either you play your cards with a woman wielding a handmade knife," holding out his hand, "or you let me help you."

Well, when he puts it like that.

His hand engulfs yours as you take it. There's some effort required, but he's strong and quickly pulls you up onto the horse with him. It's uncomfortable being crammed up here when this saddle was clearly not meant for two.

"Hold on to me," he tells you, peeking back at you, "don't let go until I tell you to."

Mayhaps it's because you're dripping wet, but as you wrap your arms around his waist, you learn that he's remarkably warm. And as the horse starts to move, he reaches down to tuck his arm alongside yours as if they'll slip away at any given moment. You're lucky that this isn't your first time on a horse.

As the fence line disappears from view, you begin to lose track of where you're going. Everything looks the same; everywhere you look, it's the same. It's starting to feel strangely similar to the lots for sale around your home.

There's no way that this is actually happening right now. This must be some wild, fucked up fever dream you're having. There's no way this horse has three heads, and there's not a damn logical reason behind that hole you just fell through.

Yeah. This is all just a vivid dream.

Rain begins to pick up, wind beats against you like it did before you fell into the hole. It feels a little too familiar as you cling to this strange cowboy, trembling under your wet clothes. But at least he's warm.

It's a while before a dark, rustic little cabin comes into view, looking strangely similar to the abandoned one across the street from your home. It bears the same log walls, cement filling in the gaps left between, but this one has a bite-sized front porch with a little white swing that sways in the wind.

The horse stops just in front of the porch steps, and it's only now that you realize you've just about frozen to Rhett. Muscles and bones stiff with imaginary ice, struggling to detach yourself from him.

As soon as you've let go of him, he's hopping off the horse, spinning around with outstretched arms, "God, you're fuckin' cold," he hisses from the moment he touches your numb hand, "you're lucky you still have these things attached."

Beneath you, your legs feel like sticks, completely numb as you let him guide you up the stairs. The door is partially ajar, easily kicked open with his boot, but the house is warm. Hot, even, feels like the heat that first washes over your face when opening an oven.

A little kitchen sits just to the left of the entryway, but the only thing you can focus on is the crackling fireplace directly in front of you. Rhett walks you right to it and places a thick blanket around your shoulders as you sit on the floor next to the dancing flames.

With two thick fingers, he pinches the sopping wet clothing from your shoulder, chewing on his lip as he visibly thinks. Then, he ventures off through a door on your right.

The fire is hot, and you think you can feel the coldness melting from your skin, but it's hard to warm yourself when you're practically wearing a block of ice.

"These are probably too big for ya," he remarks, remerging from what you assume to be his bedroom, "but it's better than nothing."

There are folded clothes in his arms, what looks like a shirt, a pair of flannel lounge pants, and some plain socks. He sets them on the footstool just behind you, careful not to ruin his near-perfect folding of them. The way he speaks to you makes you feel like you're a pair of old friends, like this isn't the first time you've met.

"If you want to get that mud off," pointing off toward the room he just came from, "there's a shower just around the corner; help yourself to whatever you need in there."

Then, without much else, he heads for the door and mutters something that sounds like an "I'll be back in a minute" before the door shuts behind him.

It takes you approximately half a second to decide that you'll take him up on that offer.

You were right; this is his bedroom. Looks just how you'd imagine any man's bedroom to be, plain navy blue comforter, bedside table devoid of anything but a lamp, a phone stand, and what looks like an obscenely large belt buckle.

Fluffy white towels are on the bathroom sink, neatly arranged into a stack of largest to smallest. You don't think you've ever met a cowboy that was so meticulous with arranging clothes and towels.

Thunder rolls as you step under the water, the lights briefly dimming, but they don't go out. The sound of the shower barely conceals the howling of the wind, angry, daring you to venture out and face its frigid wrath once more.

You think you spend a good fifteen minutes scrubbing the mud out from every crevice of your body. Just as you believe you are finished, you find another patch, caked to your skin like glue, refusing to budge. God, it's even in your eyelashes and behind your ears. A part of you wonders if this three-in-one wash has anything to do with how hard this is to remove.

In the light, you can see that your ankle has swelled up. Not too much to be of concern, but it's a visible difference from the other one, puffy around the joint and sore to the touch. Must have injured it during one of your many falls tonight.

Come to find out, he's given you an option of two shirts, a plain black tee, and a soft, long sleeve pajama flannel that matches the pants he's given you. The shirt you choose engulfs you, the pants a little loose in some places, but they're warm, dry, and not caked with rainwater and mud.

As you lift your dirty clothes up, something hard hits the ground.

Your phone.

Huh. How long has that been in there?

It's got no service; the battery is only at half charge, but aside from that, it hasn't been affected by your escapades in the rain. The time though...how is it eleven thirty at night? It was barely seven just earlier.

Rhett's moseying about the kitchen with a basket of laundry. Perking at the sight of you. "Y'almost look like a different person," he muses, holding the basket out for you to place your soaked clothes. You feel like a different person, to be honest.

"Now, if you don't mind me askin'," making off toward the laundry room, just past the kitchen, "how did a lady like you wind up in our west pasture?"

Well...

"I'm still figuring that out...?" Because you're still processing it all yourself. Surely this is just a horrible dream; maybe you banged your head and hallucinated all of this.

Rhett's head pokes out the laundry room door, eyebrows furrowed, but he doesn't say anything. That look was enough of a statement.

Calling your mother's phone doesn't work. It doesn't ring, only displays your call screen, and does nothing more. The frustration must be evident on your face because Rhett fishes his phone from his pocket, "y'can try mine," he offers, holding it out for you to take, "service is patchy out here."

But you receive the same outcome, except his phone won't even accept the number as valid. The longer you struggle, the closer together Rhett's eyebrows knit, tongue poking around in his bottom lip. On your third try, he comes over, peering over your shoulder.

"You're still missing some digits," he says after a moment.

"No?" Lifting your phone for him to see, "I have all ten."

You don't understand why he's looking at you like that, absolutely perplexed by what you've just said. He squints at your screen, reaching out to tap and expand one of your contacts. Ten digits. But then he opens his contacts, and you see...fifteen.

What the hell?

Hesitantly, your mouth starts to move, "I can tell you how I wound up there," your voice wavering, "but I don't think you're going to believe me."

But Rhett is all ears.

And so, you tell him from the strangeness of the flowers that chose to appear toward the end of November to the flower that opened up a hole to your unceremonious arrival to his west pasture. As you tell it, you realize that you've lost your flower basket somewhere in that field; the one thing you have to back up your statement.

Somewhere during your retelling, you wind up on the couch, sitting across from one another as you recount your tale. Rhett doesn't say a lot, nodding his head every once in a while, like this happens every Tuesday.

"That may explain the strange noise from earlier," he recalls, gaze fixated on the fire as the flames twirl and lick the air.

Lifting your head up from where it was resting against the couch, "there was a noise?"

Again, his head nods, slow, "my brother sent me a video of it, hold—shit."

He recoils with a pained groan, squeezing his eyes shut as he reaches behind himself, rubbing his right shoulder blade. Is that...

The image of that silver blade flickers through the darkness of your mind.

"Did she stab you?" It's more of a statement than a question; it's hard to mistake the red stain on his jacket for much else.

"Maybe," speaking through his teeth.

Still, he doesn't fight you as you reach over, urging him to turn so that you can see it better. It's easily missable, but there's a thin cut through his jacket, maybe four or so inches long, slicing through two layers of clothing and deep into the meat of his shoulder. Most of the bleeding is concealed by a bit of mud caked onto his shirt, you suppose, from a fall.

"This needs to be cleaned," how long has he been quietly putting up with this? "It's going to get infected."

"Nah, it's alright," poorly concealing his wince as he stands up, "not like I can reach it, anyhow."

"Well, I was gonna offer to do it for you," it shoots out of your mouth before you've even had the chance to process what your reply was going to be.

Your words make Rhett stops in his tracks, arms limp at his sides. Quiet, dead silent, actually, to the point that you're just about to retract your words when he looks back at you, "...okay."

He disappears into his bedroom, and through the wall, you can hear him shuffling around in there, searching, sifting through cabinets and drawers. But eventually, he comes back with a wet cloth and a white plastic box, the little red plus sign so faded that it's barely visible. Looks vintage.

It's heavy in your lap, full of all the supplies you could ever need. Bandages, creams, sprays, tweezers, safety pins, a strange assortment of oddly shaped bandaids. Everything you can think of is in here.

Rhett's jacket hitting the floor regains your attention just in time for you to get an eyeful as he removes his shirt.

Good Lord.

Those muscles in his back could go on for days, rippling under his pale skin with every movement, a display sent straight from the heavens above. Are you drooling? You think you might be drooling.

Red soaks his right shoulder, blood dried and stuck to the skin there, and it's just about what you'd pictured the moment you laid eyes on the slice through his jacket. But damn, are you glad it's not a cut on his chest. You don't see much of it, but you catch just enough to know that you'd definitely be distracted.

He sits on the floor, back to you, granting you ample access to his injury. The wet cloth does most of the work as you gently wash away the dried blood, careful of his still-open wound.

A strange sound plays through the air, loud, like a rusty gate creaking open, only deeper, unnatural. The hair on the back of your neck stands on end. "What is that?"

Rhett lifts his phone from his lap, "that's what the sound was." Did that sound come from...you traveling through the hole?

"That sounds like something straight out of a horror movie," your remark earns you a dry chuckle, a slight, easily missable noise that dances around your ears like the sweetest music.

"I was convinced we had a troll on our land again," Rhett barely winces when you touch the antiseptic wipe to his open wound. Still, you can hear the pain in his tone, words becoming tight, higher in pitch. Falls quiet as you clean it properly, removing the mud and a stray piece of grass that wound up there. "Didn't expect to run into a pretty little thing like yourself out there."

Oh.

You have no reason to smile at that, you really don't, but you find your lips twitching upward.

"I—I'm sorry," evidently, your silence is getting to him, "I didn't mean to..."

"You're fine," you can't help the laugh that leaves you; at least he's not being weird about it, "I'm just too focused on your shoulder to think of words right now."

Intentionally vague, leaving him to fill in the blank incorrectly because right now, you're only focusing on how these muscles feel under your hands. What he doesn't know won't hurt him. At least this wound of his doesn't look like it needs stitches, just a bandage.

"Thank you for doin' this," he says, after a while, "I don't think anyone's ever actually..."

"No?" Holding two bandages beside the cut, internally debating which one is big enough. Hm. Seems the one on the right is the better option. "I take it you don't get hurt very often, then."

"Naw, I wind up with a new injury every week," he drawls thickly, "that there is my bad shoulder anyway."

To add to his words, he lifts both arms above his head, and you can see exactly what he's referring to. His right arm looks normal, but his left one fails to go up all the way, falling short by an inch or so.

"How did you do that?" Inquiring while you open up the packaging. His left arm is slower, too, and takes a little more time to drop back down than its companion.

His shoulders shake with a half-hearted sound, nearly making you put a crease in the bandage, "Thought I could make a livin' bein' a bull rider," the bitterness of the memory so thick that you can taste it in the air, "dislocated it in the finals. Went from first, straight to last."

With the bandage applied, he rolls his neck back and forth, cracking the joints, shoulders doing much of the same. From here, you would have never been able to tell that his left shoulder had anything wrong with it. Those muscles twitch and flex all the same, putting on a simple little show that's got you mesmerized.

Unfortunately, it doesn't last long because he soon gets up. Disappearing with his dirty clothes and the bloody cloth, leaving you to pack the first aid kit back up. He isn't gone long, reemerging into the room, pulling the ends of a black tee down over his gently defined belly.

Selfishly, you wish that he only owned two shirts. The one you're wearing and the one that was just ruined.

"Look, I know this ain't...ideal," he mutters, scratching his neck, "but how 'bout you take my bed for the night."

Your mouth opens, protest heavy on your tongue, "I don't...you don't have to give me your—"

"—and my momma taught me never to let a lady sleep on the couch," his voice firm, but his face soft, "I washed the sheets this mornin' if that makes you feel any better."

This argument was over before it even started.

As you rise to your feet, the ache in your swollen ankle blossoms into something sharp, enough to make you wince. It's barely a reaction, a squinting of the eyes at most, but Rhett's already caught it. Eyes already trained on the way you mind your foot.

"No, no, don't you even say a word," effectively killing your protests before they've had a chance to open your mouth; Rhett heads over to his fridge, "I coulda sworn you were limpin' when I found ya."

"I'm not sure what I did to it," you admit, sheepish. You really don't have any recollection of it happening. It hadn't been hurting when you fell through the hole, but adrenaline is a deceiving mistress.

Which could explain why it hurts even worse than it did while you were showering. Putting pressure on it only makes matters worse; nerves feel like they're burning hotter than a blazing wildfire. Still, you make an effort to walk back towards Rhett's bedroom, hopping along to avoid any more usage of it than necessary.

"You sure you ain't part bunny?" Chuckling at the sight of you, Rhett slowly follows after you, armed with an ice pack.

It could be the pain and exhaustion that makes this bed feel so comfortable; even sitting on the mattress feels like a cozy dream. Rhett kneels in front of you as soon as you're off your feet, taking your foot into his large hands. One on the back of your heel, the other gently manipulating it in his grasp.

"Not broken, at least," he observes aloud, "probably hurt it when you fell, and the adrenaline kept you from feeling it until later."

At least his theory is similar to yours.

He's quick to leave you in peace, passing off the ice pack and letting you know that you can find painkillers in the second drawer of the bedside table. Before you know it, he's made off with a pillow, and even from here, you can see his feet propped up on the edge of the couch. Stacked, one on top of the other.

The sheets are warm and soft against your skin, so freshly cleaned that all you can smell is the fresh linen and vague smokiness of the fire. It's almost as good as your bed at home.

Almost.

You're still figuring out if this is all real, if this is really happening, or if it's just a vivid dream. This bed, this place all feels real; even Rhett feels too real to be a figment of your imagination. But a magic hole? And that...woman?

No, that doesn't make a damn bit of sense. None of this does. If these magic holes were natural, they would have been documented long ago. They'd be common knowledge.

But the drowsiness pulling at your eyelids, weighing them down, feels pretty real.

The next time your eyes open, you feel like you've stepped into a new body.

Eyelashes flutter, momentarily blinded by the bright morning sunshine peeking through the blinds. The air is warm enough so that you aren't burning up under this nest of sheets. You don't want to move, your head full of clouds, your body as light as the comforter nestled on top of you.

Your eyes adjust. This isn't your bedroom. This is...Rhett's.

Sitting up, it all comes flooding back to you in the form of watery memories, vague and fuzzy around the edges. The flowers, the hole, the strange woman, the cowboy, and his three-headed horse. There's a peculiar squishy material under the blankets: the ice pack.

No, no, no, this isnt—

your mom's flower basket sits on the floor next to you. Battered, strands of the material stick out, the handle crushed and deformed, but it's the basket. Flowers and all. There aren't many left, but a handful of orange and yellow have survived, accompanied by some flowers you don't recall picking. Three daffodils and a handful of daisies. Rhett must have added these.

On the very top, though, lies that purple flower.

Pale petals with a darker center, with three red stigmas standing proudly. A fourth one has been crushed, lying bent alongside its companions. The little flower that your mom would have loved.

You wonder if time has passed the same for her. Selfishly, you hope your disappearance has stopped time, wherever she is. You can't imagine how worried she'd be, knowing that her daughter disappeared in a horrible storm, leaving little to no trace of where she'd gone. There has to be a way for you to get back...but how?

Considering the horse...maybe Rhett will know. Thinking back, you don't recall a trace of disbelief as you recounted the night's events to him. If the three-headed horse you saw last night was real, surely this place can't be normal.

This time, your ankle doesn't hurt as badly when you put weight on it, but it stings and is still somewhat swollen. It hurts enough to affect your stride, limping toward the bedroom door.

"Rhett?" You croak, voice echoing about the house. No response.

You can properly take in the room with the sunshine creeping through the windows. It bears the same white horizontal wood paneling as the bedroom did. Two long brown couches on either side of the fireplace and a matching, short sofa in between them. The kitchen is tiny and feels more like a hallway than anything.

Barely any decor, aside from a tall cabinet that stands next to the bedroom door, decorated in trophies, awards, and little knick-knacks of all things Western. The golden bull wearing a cowboy hat is your favorite.

"Rhett?" You try again; maybe he didn't hear you the first time.

Nothing. Must be outside. Your shoes sit in the gap between the fridge and the front door. They've seen better days, but they're dry, slipping over your feet like they always have. The door squeaks as you open it, painfully loud compared to the silence leading up to it. It takes a little effort to shut; the door a hair too big for the frame.

There's an old wooden barn off to your left, not far from the house; everywhere you look, you find nothing but rolling green pasture. In the distance lies the same snowcapped mountains that surround your childhood home, identical. Is this the same location?

"Rhett?"

Again, nothing. But at least a bird chirps in response this time.

A little dirt path leads to the barn, worn down from years of walking the same route until the grass has died and refused to return. Beside the barn sits a GMC Sierra, looking a little worse for wear and desperate for a good scrub. So thoroughly covered in dirt that you have to wipe away some of it to see its actual color.

Blue. Like his eyes.

The barn doors are wide open on either side; it feels like a tunnel, dark inside, with light pouring in from the entrances. Horse stables line the room, maybe twelve in total, with a big back room to your right and what appears to be a feed room to your left. Something's rustling around near the doors on the other side. What that could be, you're not sure you want to know.

Three-headed badger?

A portion of you wants to investigate. Maybe it's Rhett or an adorable barn cat that deserves some head pats, but rationality reminds you that you may not like what you find. The rustling growing louder is what makes up your mind.

Not today.

Turning on your heels, you leave. You've had enough life-altering escapades for the foreseeable future. Lord only knows what else you may run into, given your current luck. But walking away from the barn means walking away from your only viable idea of where Rhett could be. Glancing at the endless fields surrounding the house, there's no telling how hard it would be to find the guy.

A strange sound resonates from behind you, metal on metal. The hair on the back of your neck stands straight.

"Make any sudden move, and I'll put a bullet right between your eyes."

That's not Rhett's voice.

"Turn around."

In your chest, your heart hammers so hard that it feels like it'll throw you off your feet as you slowly turn, raising your palms to the sky. Innocent. Mean no harm.

You find yourself in the middle of Rhett's dirt driveway, staring down the barrel of a gun.

"What are you doing here?" Growling, the man steps closer. Words fail you. Stunned stupid by the gun that bumps into your nose. "You here to take Amy too? Huh?"

Stammering, your feet tangling as you try to step back. Who is this guy? Who's Amy? He won't get the gun out of your face. The barrel pressing into your trembling flesh. You step away. He steps closer.

"Answer me, bitch!" He barks, spit hitting your cheeks.

"I—" gulping, "I was looking for Rhett."

The gun doesn't lower.

"Don't you bullshit me, girl," his words drip with so much venom that it makes him tremble, "I'd know if my brother brought one of his bitches home."

Brother.

Your tongue evaporates. Language forgot. Sweat beading on your forehead. Rhett's brother clenches his jaw, breath whistling through his teeth. Fuck, fuck, fuck.

"I—"

"Perry!" Barking so loud that it sounds like it's come down from the heavens above.

The world goes dark.

It takes you a moment to realize that you're looking into the back of a jean jacket with a rip down the right shoulder, exposing the plain white shirt underneath. Even longer for you to catch on to the fast-paced bickering, words hurled back and forth with such malice that they burn your ears.

"How about you quit waving that gun around like it's a fuckin' toy?" Rhett's nose to nose with him, teeth bared.

"This bitch is trespassing on our land and saying she knows you," Perry's stepping back and forth, a caged dog trying to get around him.

Rhett's always a step quicker. "They have a name, Perry," he hisses, "and you'd know that if you were decent enough to ask before you put a gun in their fuckin' face."

The argument is over. Not because of a loss but because Rhett walks away from it. Whatever words Perry has to add to the pot go ignored.

"Y'alright?" He's slow to approach you, allowing you to close the space if you're comfortable. When you do, he reaches out to rub dirt from your nose using his thumb, likely from the gun.

"As alright as I can be, considering the past twenty-four hours," his touch tickles, a welcome sensation to distract from the spasming of your gut.

"Are you really pretending I'm not here right now?" Perry huffs, raising his hands up, gun-free.

Rhett tilts his hat, effectively blocking his brother out, "were you the one callin' my name earlier?"

Nodding, "I can't exactly remember why I was looking for you, though."

You're only just now recognizing that his horse is off to your left, one head idly sniffing at the sparse ground below her feet. It's hard to tell what the other two are doing.

"'ts alright," chuckling, he nods toward the house, "was about to come checkin' on you myself."

If only for a moment, the two of you step back inside. Rhett's fridge is the definition of baren as he rifles through it, but he produces two breakfast rolls, says he made them this morning. They don't taste how you expect them to. At a glance, you figured they must have been some gross concoction of ingredients, but biting into it is like biting into a dream.

"Not as bad as you thought, huh?" Rhett grins around a bite of his, "I saw that look you gave me."

Has it always been this warm in here? "Only because I don't know if the food here is different." Lie.

Glancing up from his phone, "is it?"

You pause. Now that you think about it..." it's better," you conclude, and with that, you finish it.

"Good," his chest rising and falling with a silent laugh, "don't tell my mom I stole her recipe."

Rhett doesn't have the answers you're looking for, but he suspects that his father will know something. Based on the way he phrases it, it sounds like strange things happen all the time here. What kind of place is this? The cowboys where you come from would not be as calm as Rhett is.

"Takes too long to drive," Rhett explains as he walks you to his horse, "Isabel won't mind a second passenger, though."

Isabel.

Despite her unearthly appearance, the horse isn't as scary as you expect her to be. She happily accepts the pets you offer her, leaning into your touch like any other horse. In fact, everything about her is absolutely normal, aside from the head situation and her massive size.

You've ridden horses enough times to know how to get on their backs, but Isabel is so tall that you need Rhett's assistance. It's a miracle that you fit up there last night, all things considered. Once you're up there, though, it's alright. Especially not when you're graced with the opportunity to wrap your arms around Rhett. Snuggled close, your head tucked below the brim of his cowboy hat, perfectly blocking the sun from your eyes.

You learn that there are four pastures. Rhett lives in the north, Perry in the south, and their parents reside in the south pasture. He says nothing about the east one.

There's something shiny moving in the pasture as you ride through it. Too far for you to tell what it is; its location is only given away by the way the sun glints off of it. You struggle to piece it together as you ride directly toward it.

But then it clicks. "What the hell is that?"

While you can't hear it, you feel him laugh, vibrating against your skin, "you ain't got cows where you come from?"

"Of course, we have cows, genius," you retort, "but we don't have cows with shiny gold horns!"

You can't believe what you're looking at. A herd of maybe forty cows, black in color, bearing long, golden horns. At first glance at those horns, you'd thought they were longhorns, but they're much too fuzzy. The animal equivalent of cotton balls.

The words that left your mouth are enough to make Rhett look over his shoulder, eyeing you, "no?"

What kind of world is this?

A good portion of you expects to see miniature elephants next, somewhat disappointed when you don't see them. The only other animal you pass is a singular bison relaxing in the west pasture. Just beyond lies a marvelous, towering mansion. The close you get, the bigger it becomes until you can no longer comprehend if this is a house or a stadium.

"Good lord, Rhett," choking the words out, "are you sure this is a house?"

His hand squeezes one of your arms like he's trying to make sure you're still there, "still decipherin' that myself, actually."

An older woman is sitting on the front porch, a stablehand at her side who wordlessly takes Isabel off to a paddock next to the house. For the longest time, she doesn't speak. Not when she leads you inside, not when she has to pry an adventurous kitten from your pant leg, not even when Rhett asks if she's alright.

The inside of the house is just as ridiculous as the outside. Towering white walls, vaulted ceilings, glistening chandeliers, and sculptures that cost a pretty penny. A variety of kittens scamper about, tiny, too young to be taken away from momma just yet. Paintings of cowboys and horses hang along many of the walls, accompanied by pictures of Perry with a blonde woman and an equally blonde daughter.

But try as you might, you can't find any pictures of Rhett. Even when his mother leads you into the living room, you fail to come up with anything. No embarrassing school pictures, no baby photos, no nothing.

"Rhett," her voice firm, quiet, like she's afraid of being overheard, "what have I told you about bringing women home?"

Rhett begins to speak, but an older man steps into the room before he can get the first syllable out. Dark, graying hair, an equally colored beard, and a hat nearly identical to Rhett's. This must be dear old dad.

"Rhett, can I speak to you alone?" he says, smiling, but it fails to make the statement sound any less cold.

For a moment, Rhett hesitates, gaze flickering between you and his parents, until you nod and motion for him to go ahead. Then, albeit reluctant, he leaves the room without a sound.

Friendly family.

"Listen, honey," his momma begins, "I know this isn't what you want to hear, but..."

Tilting your head to the side. "But...?" Where is she going with this?

She sighs, loud, exasperated, "I know you must like my son. He's a good man. Exactly who I raised him to be."

You have no idea what she's trying to tell you, but you force a smile, pretending that you do. Sure hope Rhett is gone for a while.

"But he's a bit of a casanova; he's darn near slept with every young woman in this town," oh, that was...not what you expected her to say, "I just want you to know that before you go and get your heart broke."

With that said, she scoops up a gray kitten from the floor and leaves the room.

You feel like you've just been slapped.

What the hell just happened?

It's probably a minute or two, but you must sit there for an hour, staring at a picture frame containing a pressed flower as you try to comprehend her words. Does she think you're Rhett's girlfriend? Did Rhett not tell her how you got here? You wish you were here all for a pretty cowboy, but you're not.

Just as quickly as they'd left, Rhett and his father return. You're thankful that Rhett sits next to you again. Even though you don't know him very well, the familiarity is much welcomed after the uncomfortable experience you just had. His dad carries a large book, the binding so old and tattered that it barely holds together.

"So, Rhett tells me that you...came out of a magic hole in my pasture last night?" His father inquires after a minute.

"Picked a flower, a hole opened up, and now I'm here," you get the feeling that you're going to become sick of recounting this.

For the longest time, he stares at you as if you've grown three heads yourself. Gaze hard, but his eyes wide with unspoken recognition. Then, carefully, he begins to flip through the book's pages. You squint, trying to read the pages, but you're too far away.

"Strange things happen on this land all the time," Rhett elaborates, "our family has been documenting it for generations. If it's happened, it's in that book."

Explains the age.

You don't like how long his father looks through it. Flipping through it once, twice, gradually becoming faster with time. Rhett looks at you. You look at him.

You're still looking at each other when his dad says, "Books got nothin'."

Your expression drops. A million and one worries flicker through your psyche. Rhett's jaw tightens, the muscles flexing under the effort. "You sure?"

"Of course I'm sure," his dad's voice raises, "what, do you not believe me?"

"Couple of months ago, Perry said a hole just like that appeared on his land and swallowed up half his kelpies," Rhett chides, leaning forward, "now, according to him, you handled it and got them back."

So this has happened before.

Abruptly, his father stands, the book falling to the floor with a resounding thunk, "how many times have I told you to stay out of Perry's bullshit?" He howls, going from zero to one hundred in the blink of an eye.

Not backing down from the fight, Rhett stands and steps off to the side, away from the couches. Leading the argument away from where you're sitting. "You only say that shit when it's convenient to you," hissing, an octave deeper, "but you involve me in his business when you want me to do his work for him."

"Because it is your job as a younger sibling to cover for him while he's grieving!" Words shouted so loud that they echo, bouncing down the towering hallways of the house, shaking the paintings and the house's very foundation.

Rhett scoffs, incredulous, "it's been nine months, pops. Nine months."

As if on cue, they both yelp, stumbling away and rubbing their ears. Rhett's mom stands between them. "That's enough!" She bellows, a completely different woman from before, "Rhett, I think it's time for you to leave."

You wish you had your phone; you could definitely use the twisting of the ear technique in future ventures.

Rhett barely waits for you to catch up to him on your way out of the hose. Winding through hallways, past rooms that you know you've passed but have no memory of, everything looks the same, but it's all different spaces. He holds the door open for you, though.

"Did my mom give you a...talk while I was gone?" He inquires as you step past him out onto the porch.

Nodding your head yes, "she practically told me you were the town whore, if that's what you're asking about."

That seems to be the statement that he's looking for because his eyes roll. "She keeps telling that to every woman I so much as glance at," shutting the door behind himself, albeit a bit too hard, "I haven't slept with anyone since I was twenty-three."

"And how old are you now...?" Please don't be a hundred years old, please don't be a hundred years old, please don't be a hundred years old.

"Twenty-six," tilting his hat downward.

Oh. Well, that's a lot more palatable than what you were afraid of.

"Wow, a whole three years without sex," melodramatic as you can manage, "how have you ever survived?"

"It's easy when you don't get nothin' out of it," you can't tell if that's bitterness or jealousy leaking through his tone, drenching it.

"Get nothing out of it?" You parrot as if it'll help you decipher what he means.

"Nope."

So much for elaborating.

On your ride home, it starts to rain.

It's hard to do much of anything. Even with the weather, Rhett still has work to do, leaving you alone in this strange, unfamiliar house. Without a working phone and hardly anything to distract you from the situation. There's a television above the fireplace, but the remote is nowhere to be found.

Chores are your only escape for a while. Washing the few dishes left in the sink, making the bed, and sweeping the floors until it's pristine, without a single flaw. But even then, it's difficult to silence your thoughts. You think about your mom, your disappearance, all over again. If time passes, the same for her, and if she saw what happened.

Your head is torn between hope and horror. If Rhett told the truth about the hole, you can find a way home. His father doesn't seem keen on helping, though. What if Rhett's wrong? And wait, what happened to that girl last night? And his brother, what's up with him?

Oh, what if there's another variant of you here, and what if she's why Perry was so hostile towards you?

This is getting out of hand.

Your only option to stop your racing mind is to make a game out of organizing the shoe rack that sits by the front door. It's a disaster; shoes piled onto its shelves with little to no care. Once you're done with it, though, it's picture-perfect. Boots, dress shoes, and sandals are carefully arranged into appropriate sections, ranging from tallest to smallest.

Come to find out, the remote was also in that mess.

You don't even realize it's a remote at first. Rather than being built vertically like the remotes where you come from, it's horizontal, like a keyboard. Fitting somewhat strangely into your hand, but it turns the television on just fine.

At least Rhett has a few streaming services, all with familiar logos but different names. Prime Pictures, Hoop, and something named...Kibble. But who would have thought that this world had the same shows and movies? There are so many things to rewatch. Are they going to be the same? Different?

It's too easy for one movie to become two, and soon you lose track of how many you've started.

"Where the hell did you find the remote?"

Words as sudden as a thunderclap send your heart into your throat.

Rhett. Dripping from head to toe with rain water, cheeks covered in a thin sheen of dirt.

"Over in the shoe rack," nodding toward the door, "not sure if I want to know why, either."

He turns, casting a long glance toward his newly organized shoes, then a sheepish grin works across his face, "I uh..." rubbing his chin, "I tend to reorganize the house when I'm drunk."

You laugh. His face blossoms into a bright cherry red. Unable to form many words all of a sudden, he fishes out his phone, telling you to order any pizza you'd like while he takes a shower.

Pizza boxes are circular here.

"The fuck you mean they're square?" Rhett sputters, so shocked by your words that he has to put his slice down.

"They just...are?" You think it's got something to do with cost-effectiveness, but you're unsure. "I'm being serious; we don't have round pizza boxes where I come from."

With how he looks at you, you're not sure he believes you.

"I need to see one to believe it," that sounds like intrigue laced around his tone.

"Well, if we can figure out how to reopen the hole," you say, leaning forward, "then I can show you all the square pizza boxes in the world." And...you know, go home.

"Deal," Rhett grins like a cat, "we need to look around the west pasture and figure out where you came out at, anyway. Mash two potatoes with one fork."

Mash two potatoes with one fork. That's different.

An aggressive slam of the front door wakes you around three in the morning. The sound startles you awake, and as you sleepily call out for Rhett, you get no response. He's not on the couch, his blanket and pillow lying in a messy heap on the floor.

You expect him to be mulling around the house when you wake up around eight. Or to at least be within the vicinity of the place. Nine o'clock is the time you've set to go and visit the west pasture because his father tends to have visitors that will get in the way if you wait until any later.

That time comes and goes with no sign of him.

You shower, hunt down a vase to place your slowly wilting flowers inside, reheat some pizza, and still, nothing. This was his time suggestion; he was the one that insisted that you go early, and now the blue-eyed bastard is late to it.

If he doesn't want to come to you, fine. You'll go to him.

The land around his home is vast and unwelcoming to those unfamiliar. His property is that it's mostly flat. You noticed it yesterday when you were riding on the back of Isabela. It's nearly impossible to lose the house if you keep its silhouette within your view.

"Rhett?" You call out, "Rhett!"

No dice.

He's not in the barn, and his truck isn't here. Asshole must have left. Not like you're stuck here against your will or anything.

Isabela knickers at you as you walk past, a harmonious synchrony of three, her own little choir over in the pasture.

"Hi, Isabela," reaching out to scratch her foreheads, "you wouldn't happen to know where your owner went, would you?" You don't know why you expect a horse to respond to you, even a three-headed one.

She looks behind herself, her ears pricking like she hears something. Is that..?

"What is he doing?" Isabela can't talk, but you're pretty sure she understood every word you said because that's Rhett's truck out in the middle of the field. In hindsight, the fresh tire tracks leading toward the gate should have been enough of a clue.

It's a longer walk than you thought it would be, but still, Rhett fails to see you coming. He's got a shovel, throwing dirt into a bottomless hole in the ground. A tarp lies in the bed of his truck, audibly rustling in the morning breeze. It's covering something, but you can't quite decipher what.

"Did you forget you had something planned for nine o'clock?"

He jumps, swearing expletives under his breath, "Jesus, how long you been fuckin' standin' there?"

"Just got here," biting your bottom lip, "you're two hours late to the plans you made because you wanted to do...this?"

"Somethin' came up last night," grunting, he lifts the shovel again, spilling dirt into the hole.

Very descriptive, Rhett. Very descriptive.

"Something?" Isabela nudges you from behind, politely demanding that you give her more pets.

The shovel hits the ground with a soft sound as he marches to his tailgate. Grabbing the edge of the tarp, he yanks it upward. Revealing two severed legs, but not to a person; no, they belong to a horse. Or, they used to belong to one, anyway.

"I don't..." looking back at the shovel, then back to the house, "I don't understand."

"Perry drove home drunker than shit last night," he elaborates, tucking the tarp back down, "moron went off the side of the road and hit one of the neighbor's horses."

You're still not computing this. "So you're hiding parts of it on your property...?" So bewildered that it simmers in your speech.

"The horse is a retired racehorse worth a couple million, at least." Rhett hisses like his neighbors can hear him from here, "if they find out Perry did it, they'll sue us and take the whole ranch."

Exciting. You hope you won't be here when the law comes knocking. "Well, can we look for the hole after you're done?"

"Probably fixin' to be out here all afternoon," he says as he lifts the shovel with his foot.

"Tomorrow?"

"Probably be busy all that day, too."

Helpful. So helpful that you can feel your blood bubble in your veins, red hot, "so when can we look, huh?" It's not even like you can go by yourself. You don't even know which direction the west pasture is in, never mind how to get there on foot.

"God, fuck, I don't know, Monday?" Throwing his hands up, Rhett drops the shovel for a second time, "look, I know you're wantin' to go home, but I have to run this ranch all by my damn self. I don't have time, woman."

You're speechless. What does he expect you to do? Lay around without a care in the world until he feels like helping? Not like you've been uprooted from your entire life and everything you've ever built!

"Alright, alright," deadpanning, your feet move, turning back for the house. Then, under your breath, "with how you talk to women, you probably had to pay all those girls to sleep with you."

A shadow casts over you. "You wanna say that again?"

"I think you heard me well enough the first time," you smile, tight-lipped.

He takes a step forward. You take a step back. The cold metal of the truck presses against your skin.

"I don't think you know what you're talking about," he says, voice lower than you've ever heard.

"What, you gonna prove me wrong?" You shouldn't be taunting him when you're backed into a corner like this. But for some reason, you still do. "Call one of them up for a testimony?"

The bastard laughs, "oh, honey," his hand coming down to plant itself next to your head, "you don't need no damn testimony when I'm standin' right here in front of ya."

Your eyebrows raise. He can't possibly be suggesting..."I thought you didn't like sex?"

"Not usually, no," his head drops down as he speaks, looking you dead in the eye, "but there ain't nothin' better than watchin' a pretty woman fall apart on my tongue."

You're unsure how you feel about the heat that sparks between your legs as he sinks to his knees, never breaking eye contact with you. Here you are. In the middle of this pasture, with a cowboy on his knees...for you.

One of his hands caresses your hip, thumb teasing the brim of your—no, his sweatpants. You shouldn't be doing this. You just met this guy for crying out loud!

Logic doesn't stop your hips from twitching forward into his touch.

That's all he needs to hook his thick fingers into the waistband, "no panties, hm?"

"I didn't exactly have the luxury to pack," there's more you want to say, but it's hard to when he pulls the material down until it pools around your ankles. Cold air nips at your previously covered skin, only warmed by the hot breath that fans against you.

Rhett's hands trail up the inside of your thighs, callouses tickling the sensitive skin there. It's been so long since the last time that his simple touch alone makes you start to drip. His hands continue to rise until his fingers comfortably dip between your folds, running from your entrance to your clit.

"Cute." Before you can even process what he's just said, Rhett leans forward and—

oh.

His tongue is so unbelievably hot as it presses against you, spreading you open around him. Then, one slow, flat, broad stroke of his tongue dragging from your entrance to your clit, circling it lazily. The motion pushes his hat into your belly, and as he drops back to tease your hole once more, it ultimately falls off. Leaving nothing but messy hair, perfect for you to tangle your fingers into.

And you do just that.

"That's it," he coos, voice vibrating against your swollen clit, "pull on my hair while I eat this perfect little pussy of yours."

One little tug, and he moans directly into you, laving over your clit in sloppy figure eights, and that, that. It has no right to feel as good as it does, making your hips start to writhe.

"So squirmy," big hands settle upon your hips, forcing them to stay still as he works you, rapid, quick little licks that wrench a cry right out of your throat. Fuck, fuck, fuck, this guy knows what he's doing. "Still think I had to pay them, girls?"

You don't recall closing your eyes, but when you find the strength to open them, you see those blue eyes peering back up at you. He smiles at the sight of you, flits his tongue against you a little harder, the tip pointed just at the right angle.

Chest heaving, you tug on his hair a little harder; your legs are starting to shake from it all, "fuck," the tone of your own voice foreign to you, "Rhett."

"God, you make my name sound like it's a fuckin' sin," growling, he pulls you close toward him, giving you no chance of escaping the onslaught of his wicked tongue on your pussy.

The sensation of him sucking on your clit makes you jolt with pleasure, heat pooling between your thighs while he keeps fluttering his tongue over it. You're whimpering out into the open air, helpless as he downright devours you like a starved man, and you're his last meal. It's been so long since the last time you felt the subtle nudge of your gut tightening that it's almost foreign.

"R-Rhett—" struggling to formulate words, "'m close."

"I know," grinning, he doesn't stop what he's doing, loudly slurping at your cunt, "come on, darlin', cum on my tongue for me."

You barely feel it coming on.

All it takes is one more suck against your clit, and you're spiraling toward the edge with no guardrail to catch you. Too much, too fast. You yank on his hair so hard that Rhett moans around your clit, a beautifully pitchy noise that sends your eyes rolling into the back of your head. Like a tidal wave, your orgasm washes over you. Convulsing as he licks you through it, straddling the border of too much and just enough. Lungs burning, head spinning.

Just as quickly as it had bubbled up, it fades away, leaving you a panting, trembling mess, all for him to see.

"Damn," his scruffy cheek is pressed against your hip, lazily smiling up at you like a cat who got the cream, "you're out of this world."

You could hit him.

His chin is so drenched that it's downright glistening in the sunshine, thin lips swollen, so completely, utterly relaxed against you. A totally different man from the one a few minutes ago.

"You know," carefully running your fingers through his hair, combing out the mess you've made of him, "I can't tell who this benefitted more."

He laughs, cheeks starting to turn pink, "consider it a mutual trade-off." The end of his sentence distorts around a sleepy yawn, "'m sorry, I tend to be a real ass when I'm tired."

The way he's peering up at you is awakening something. An uncanny urge to take him back to the house and look after him until he's well-rested and that lively spark has returned to his eyes. But, for the life of you, you can't understand why.

What the hell did you just do.

Taking your silence as a reply, he opens his mouth again, "whaddya say we try and make a quick trip to that pasture?"

Yeah. Yeah, that sounds like a plan.

You're lucky he offers to drive you back up to the house because your legs tremor so much that you can hardly walk straight. Rhett's quick to notice it, winking at you as you stumble past him and toward the front door.

Curse orgasms and their need to fill your bladder with half the water in the Pacific ocean.

By the time you step back outside, a little more stable on your feet, Rhett's already got Isabel ready to go. She's standing next to the small porch steps, and with the added leverage, it's much easier to climb up.

"If you can't figure out how to get you home," he chuckles as you squeeze in behind him, "we're gonna have to find you a horse."

"You gonna go hit one too?" It shoots out of your mouth before you can stop it.

Lucky for you, Rhett laughs some more, "somethin' like that, yeah."

Back to the pasture again, bypassing Rhett's little stash of evidence. Should you be concerned about that horse's owners coming knocking? Probably. Are you?

Not really.

Maybe you would be if you thought about it more, but it's hard to linger on it when fluffy cows appear in the distance. With their long black fur and glistening horns, something straight out of an art piece.

"Are their horns actually gold?" You inquire. It looks damn close to real gold to you.

"Yes, ma'am," Isabela slows as you grow closer to the herd, stopping just shy of them.

One of the cows is feeling friendly, approaching you like an old friend. She's close enough for you to touch, but as you reach out, she looks at you kind of...funny, making your hand freeze midair.

"You can pet her," demonstrating, Rhett reaches out, scratching his nails against her cheek.

You're not too sure about that one. She sure doesn't seem to like it when you brush your nails over her forehead, absolutely fixated on you, as if you've just offended her to the core. Yeah, no, you probably shouldn't...

A careful hand curls around the back of your own. Slow, Rhett guides your hand to pet her forehead, up and down, in the same fashion you would pet a dog you've met. She's so unbelievably soft.

"Are all cows this soft?" You've never felt anything quite like it. Silky, a little velvety, even.

"Nah, not all of 'em," he lets go of your hand, gives her golden horn a little tap, "these right here? Solid gold, not hollow."

Their horns are entirely and utterly mindboggling, perfectly smooth and cool to the touch, not at all like you'd expect a horn to feel. How strange.

"Do you raise them for their gold or their meat?" A part of you isn't ready for the potential answer.

Rhett chews on his bottom lip, "both." He gives the cow one last head pat before Isabela starts to move again, "the gold pays for most of the expenses 'round here."

So gold is still considered valuable here. Interesting.

"But just between you and me," he continues, "lately, I've been lyin' sayin' nobody's in the gold market no more."

You have to cling to him a little tighter now that Isabela is starting to move quicker; with every step, you fear you may fall. "How come?"

"They think they're entitled to it," he reaches down, grazing his fingertips along your arms, where they're looped around his waist, "always askin' me to slaughter my cows before their time so that they can buy stupid shit."

A memory flickers into the forefront of your head. "Is that how your parents could afford that giant house?"

"You catch on quick."

The gate to the west pasture is just up ahead. While it's hard to say, you think this is where you first met Rhett. Barely even a few days ago, and yet, it feels like a distant memory, fuzzy in your head. You can almost feel the way that lasso cinched around you, catching you with such little effort.

After you go through the gate, it takes a lot of work to come up with much of anything. You know you were close to the fence that borders the end of the west pasture, but the land looks so different during the day than it does at night.

"I've got nothing," you frown, "it all looks the same."

Rhett hums. A deep sound that vibrates through your arms and up into your chest, leaving you feeling all tingly after he stops. "Y'know, I think you landed a little further down."

"How would you...?" Unless... "Rhett, were you there when I came out of that hole?"

"Sorta." You can't see his face, but the tips of his ears tint a pretty shade of ruby red, "I watched the hole open and headed off to let my dad know," he peeks over his shoulder at you, "but then I heard Autumn start screamin' and I turned back 'round."

Autumn. So that's what that woman's name was.

Up ahead, there's a patch of dead grass. Perfectly circular, maybe ten feet in diameter, brown in color, a stark contrast to the green surrounding it. Isabela stops short of it and refuses to move any closer, even as Rhett asks her to continue. Seems you'll be going on foot.

You're unsure why you feel nervous about walking closer to the patch of grass. Ideally, if it reopened under your feet, you would wind up back at home, and all of this would be over. So why are you feeling like this?

Rhett audibly sucks in a breath as you step into the circle. Like he's expecting it to swallow you up at any given moment.

No, no, no, there should be something here. A sign, a clue, something, anything. The realization of there being absolutely fucking nothing is suffocating. Brings your heart rate up until it beats in your ears like a drum. You look and look, kicking the ground as if that will force it to open.

Nothing. Nothing happens, and the only things out of the ordinary are the few remaining flowers strewn about the grass.

"If it can open up once, it can open up again," Rhett tells you, holding out his hand to help you back up, "we'll figure this out, one way or another."

You're beginning to wonder if that's truly the case.

Rhett hums the entire way back. Some slow little tune that he doesn't have a name for. It's not much, but it's enough to distract you from the sour taste this trip has left in the back of your mouth. At least for a little while.

Something possesses you to stick around while he untacks Isabela, petting her as he busies himself with unclipping various things you don't know the name for. You're thankful she enjoys all the attention because it's the only thing keeping your hands from shaking.

For the first time, it hits you. The realization that you could be stuck here for the rest of your life. There's a very good possibility that you're never getting home. That you'll never see your mom again, your friends, your old life. They'll never know what happened to you.

"You're gonna spoil that horse," you've almost forgotten that Rhett was in here with you.

"Probably," you wish you could come up with more to say, but you can hardly think up another word.

Rhett has already caught on to your mood. Doesn't say anything else, instead communicating without words. He tells you he's ready to turn Isabela out by placing his hand between your shoulder blades and giving you the slightest nudges to get you going in the right direction. Does it again when he's done with that, wordlessly telling you to head for the house.

As you step inside, you can't help but feel like something is...off, but you don't know what it is.

"Y'alright?" It's now that you realize you've stopped dead on the threshold, leaving Rhett no choice but to idle on the porch. You start to turn, but along the way, your eyes catch a glimpse of the vase sitting on the counter.

"Someone's been in here."

Behind you, Rhett stiffens, gently taking hold of your waist and pulling you back onto the porch. Eyes wide, flickering between you and the wide open door, "what do you mean?"

"When I left," gulping, "my flowers were sitting in that vase on the counter."

It's empty.

All it takes is one long gaze into the house before Rhett reaches for the door, slamming it shut. Your mouth opens, but he's quicker, "we're goin' into town to get a doorknob that actually locks."

Part 2 ♡⊹˚₊

#flowers in november #rhett abbott x y/n #rhett abbott smut #rhett abbott x reader #rhett abbott #rhett abbott x you #rhett abbott imagine #outer range fic #outer range #outer range amazon #oneshot #ao3fic #ao3 oneshot #rhett abbott fanfiction #rhett abbott fic #x reader #self insert #reader self insert #rhett abbott outer range

93 notes · View notes

canarymemories · 2 months

Text

hi finally compiling the thread i made the other day on twt abt the first chapter of recital so. welcome to me having far too much to say about my big bang fic skgh

chapter titling is similar to symphony (leo day fic) but instead of music terms, it's ballet terms. i'm nowhere near as used to ballet terms as i am w music terms so they won't have a deeper meaning (at least not on purpose lmao) like some of the symphony chapter titles do, but that's part of why there's nine chapters

a small aside: there is a specific structure i have in mind for the fic. there will be three arcs (if u want to call them that), the first three chapters is the first arc and then there will be an intermission chapter (up to this point is as far as i've confidently planned out so past this point, i can't guarantee anything but. nine chapters is the goal adkgsh). so then chapter 4 and 5 are arc two followed up by another intermission, then the final arc will be chapters 8 and 9. the plan is to stay mostly canon compliant until i don't agree w akira (or kinosei aslkhg), so i'll pretty much be sticking to the canon timeline

please listen to the playlist akdhg most of the songs do correspond to specific things/chapters so it's tied to the story itself plus i've listened to it too many times so. please tell me i'm so right about it 😔 the song i used in the summary of the first chapter is more of a chapter 2 song but i felt like it fit for the first chapter so adkgh (i have. So Many songs for checkmate so. can't wait for that one lmao) (chapter 1 songs are the first four in the playlist, the 5th one could go either way between ch 1 and 2) once more is posted, then i might actually sit here and go on abt why each of these songs is specifically here

writing choices 🎉 the one i want to talk about so so so so bad is the using nicknames in the narration bc if you've read literally anything else i've posted, you'd see that i don't do that, but bc recital is so close to izumi as the narrator, and this chapter is focused on his childhood, i thought it was fitting. there are a few instances of this changing throughout the chapter, such as makoto going from yuukun to makoto in the one flashback section and then staying as makoto when izumi is older, naru eventually changes to arashi.

and the one i really want to bring up,,, izumi's parents are always referred to as mama and papa but there is one singular instance where that's changed and that's during the argument at the end of the chapter.

and then she's referred to as mama again a few paragraphs later and this just goes into the point that i think izumi has a very complicated relationship with his parents. on one hand, they don't support him as an idol and have quite literally told him to his face that he's not successful enough to make it on his own as a model (next door), have treated him more like a doll than their child and they couldn't be bothered to actually ask him what he was interested in, but he still cares about them. he gets offended on their behalf more than once (in ! era at least), but it's just,, complicated. i feel like i can't really properly explain my thoughts here but i have Thoughts. but this is where the vaguely toxic parenting warning comes in from this chapter because the thing is, i don't think his parents were planning for him to feel the way he does about their parenting, they do love him and they do want to have him succeed just. maybe not for the right reasons, yk? ofc that doesn't justify their treatment of him or anything like that, there's just more to it than outright toxic parenting hence why it's subtle here.

what's a little less subtle is izumi's mom living vicariously through him, it's a bit more obvious with the modeling bit than the dance classes but idk it makes sense to me for her to have done them as a child too

baby modelgumi,,, they get their own point here bc i think those might've been my favorite bits to write and genuinely, the baby arashi bit is my favorite part of the whole chapter. they're just so alsdkgh oeugh cute i want to squeeze them in my hands 🥺🥺🥺. my note for this on my list of things to talk about is literally "baby modelgumi :pleading:" they hold a special place in my head and i hope in urs too

i was going to list stories reference but i might wait until i have more done and posted for that (plus i can't remember what story it is that arashi mentions izumi pushed her mouth into a smile as kids) but. portrait and canary hall mentions 🎉🎉

the argument. it's implied a few times in ! that izumi's parents don't really agree with him being an idol (leo says izumi was having isses at home around checkmate/war era). given that they put so much time and effort into having izumi model, i suppose that wouldn't be too surprising, but i think it's important to have some kind of breaking point like the argument scene bc in next door, izumi talks about how his parents treated him growing up and that just makes me think that he probably didn't have much say in his own life and there's just something about being an idol being his first big decision that idk hits a little different and there is more to an extent on this concept in the next chapter in comparing himself to leo and just kind of being like ,, huh...

last thing, so aside from the ending of the beginning section of the chapter, i feel so smart about the ending line of this chapter bc mama's pancakes come up in portrait and there's even a baby izumi homescreen line about it and it's meant to serve as an apology rather than her actually apologizing but i feel like u could take it a few ways but akhg felt so smart when i came up w the ending of the chapter. and i felt the same way when i thought of the first chapter ending and u guys will not like me for that one btu aksdgh <33

baby's first friendship next time 🎉🎉🎉🎉

#recitcal rambling #i have. a little too much to say about this thing i fear #it's a little scary seeing it written out like this rather than a twt thread where things are more spaced out like aklsdhg #this is actually a slightly condensed version from what i posted there 😔#anyway. see u all again when the next recital chapter drops

8 notes · View notes

croctus · 13 days

Note

how would you improve each datable NPC in Stardew Valley?

i was bewildered for a moment before i remembered i was talking shit about them on this blog previously haha! let me see. i think most of them i have issues with just act 10 years younger than they are- so there are a few ways this can be changed?

also keep in mind i adore stardew and really do like these characters even just as they are, im just a hater lol

judging hard-

Alex

i honestly think this guy could be GREATLY improved if he were actively taking care of his grandparents. maybe we see him out walking with them, on the roof doing repairs before a rainy day, running errands for them or cooking for them, etc. boy spends half his time staring at his dog in a household of two elderly disabled folks who could use him. even a teenager could take notice and offer to help.

Abigail

shes one of the most childish unfortunately lmao. i think one of the most glaring is she goes extremely hard in an easter egg hunt against two preschoolers- maybe if she instead tried to help one of them win but got a little competitive about it, thatd be cute? idk. additionally she could work part time at the store, or at the guild, or clint's, it'd fit her character.

Sam

i get the player interactivity elements but what kind of goober goes through all the work to put a band together but doesnt know what genre they wanna play, unless theyre just a teen interested in the aesthetic of a band. it comes across sorta inauthentic. boy rolls his eyes and grumbles when his mom asks him to help clean a fish, too. cmon man, youre grown.

Sebastian

both sam and seb suffer from the same 'gawwd stay out of my room MOOOM' sort of vibes- maybe if they had an apartment together but still regularly visited their parents for dinner theyd come across as a little more grown (not to say that like, living with parents is inherently childish but how they interact with their folks comes across that way). he also really shouldn't be taking his angst out on his opinion of his half sister, and maybe if he had a little more of a solid adult go-plan than 'im gonna run away to the city' hed seem more mature.

could b better-

Shane

i dont want to be harsh on this guy but he sort of backslides after marriage hardcore. depression isnt a singular uphill climb but at least he could show hes still working on it- the occasional mention of a talk with a therapist, or cleaning up a little after himself, etc. maybe trying to eat a little better when living on a farm lol.

Penny

shes fine, other than the scene w/ george: pushing his wheelchair without asking and then HE apologizes/the scene fames this action as a good thing and you lose points with her if you point out it's rude. sometimes in trying to help people, you dont always do the right thing for them - that would be a little more nuanced for her.

im just picky-

Elliott + Harvey

theyre fine? maybe itd be fun if elliott went on some book tours or somesuch in the winter regularly after marriage, and harvey joined a plane hobbyist group or smth. they have a lot of personality but an issue a lot of these characters have is they just sort of putter out after marriage

Leah + Haley

this game has a lot of redheads lol. leah is fine though, and haley is cute. like other npcs id just want them to find their own independent success with their artistic skills- maybe letters come in the mail occasionally to them congratulating them on photos/sculptures making it into magazines, etc, to show they still have their own things going on

Emily + Maru

they're fine, i just like older/fanmade versions of their sprites more lol

#long post #ramble ramble #thank you for asking!!!#pls do not take my opinions seriously

5 notes · View notes

the-dragon-twin-demons · 3 months

Text

Notes of warning/importance

I have a slight headcannon for some lore here. The circles are giant domed cities connected to one another via tubes with plenty of ventilation to keep out the mists from what I call the badlands. These mists corrupt almost all who enter by first slowly but noticably draining a demons sentience turning them into beasts of burden with one mission and one mission only...Feed. of course it also slowly corrupts the form until it's a complete feral form of itself. The only beings so far known to resist the mists were Lucifer and Lilith aside from the dragon twins. I also suck at art like my blog description says so I used avatar makers to make the pictures here and I'll just use an image of deathwing from world of Warcraft/blizzard entertainment for Bahamut 's dragon form and an ancient silver dragon from DND/wizards of the coast for tiamaht's until I can better form arts of the dragon modes better myself.

Roleplay rules&info

Minors DNI

Bahamut is straight and Tiamaht, Ruby, and Lillian are lesbian both dragons are polyamorous and imps are monogamous

Shitposting questions are not allowed so no "ur mom gae" kinda stuff.

If absolutely necessary I will deactivate anon asks but I don't want to for now and will change this bit of text if I had to.

Be respectful of others and me as a person out of character because in character is one thing, lots of folk in hell are pricks. People have their own lives and luxuries to live and experience and don't deserve to be rushed or disrespected when you don't even know the person in the slightest.

Sexual asks I must mention be kept to an all time low or just not at all but there are characters like angel even if they're not other men or other angel dusts and I can't stop them but in most cases I won't be answering them

Character intros

These are the twin dragons of hell Bahamut (left), Keeper of Knowledge was manifested billions of ages ago when Hell was a singular realm and not split into the 7 circles that we have now in modern day. According to many legends of him (and to confirm them) he IS Hell's oldest living encyclopedia and a master strategist. He has the wit, but not the power, to far exceed any modernly known demon...including the Radio Demon himself. But if he were put into a fight of raw power against say, angel dust, the spirder'd be burned to a crisp. He believes in Charlie's ambitious nature but as a Primordial Daemon, Bahamut is bound to Hell and can never be redeemed despite his efforts and has made peace with that. (Physical notes not said: he's 5'10, he's not lacking for anyone he's with and though I didn't find a good one he does have a longer tail to sell the dragon aspect further)

His sister Tiamaht, Protectorate or Relics(right) was a demon born before Hell was divided into the 7 circles we know now. She, like her brother, is an extremely loyal demon. She is the strength to her brother's strategy yet is far more nomadic than him. Of course she's not all that into planning without Bahamut there. Unlike Bahamut though she uses ice magic instead of flame magic. In person lately she is very tomboyish and kind of a dick but openly admits as such but follows up with "people need people to be blunt sometimes and it's not easy but if I'm the one who has to in situations I'm then I'll make sure I tell it how it is" (physical details not told yet: shes 5'3, they may not be bif but her partners love em, also has a tail she uses to teasingly spank partners.)

And below this text are the dragon forms

Other OCs

Name: Ruby Bakers, Age: 1845, Gender: post op MtF (bc apparently males have thick white stripes and that's how to differentiate and I just thought it was a humans gender dimorphism thing which made me pick these horns before I knew), Orientation: technically lesbian now but she's attracted to women. Job: Helluva Post delivery woman

(Both Ruby and Lillian were made using this ⬇️)

Name: Lillian Servont (pronounced like servant but it's Ser-vahnt), age 1576, gender: cis female, orientation: poly lesbian, job: personal assistant/secretary to the first overlord to accept her application (will edit this post to change that) so that she can run a business specifically meant to send people on that path.

#hazbin hotel #roleplay #my ocs #pinned intro

2 notes · View notes

flockofdoves · 3 months

Text

im going fucking cuckoo bananas. why is it so hard to fill my schedule to be a full time student for my last semester when i am infamously the type of person who wants to learn about everything ever and jumps at any opportunity to take random classes

have really really really wanted to take advanced spanish grammar for so long but every fucking semester i have a necessary class during that time (due to the epidemic of every class in the world being in late morning on tuesday/thursday) and this semester my One Singular Class I Absolutely Need To Graduate is at that time

so then i was like. oh well. i'll take italian 1 instead since my grandfather has been trying to plan one last trip to where his family is from and if i get to go it will be good to practice italian in a formal context

but then that trip fell through and i just really really want to improve my spanish so i emailed a class for heritage speakers to see if it would be appropriate for me and the professor got back to me and said i was welcome to come to the first class and try it out

and so today i went to the spanish for heritage speakers class and it made me so so excited to be immersed in spanish again and going over the content of the course, with the exception of how i don't really need much writing help since when i was learning all the basics of how to read and write i did that as much in spanish as i did english, all the grammar topics were exactly what i needed and the idea of a class where everyone talks at a high level and theres no english but you still get into the basics of explaining different grammar topics is so so refreshing!!!

and at the end of class the professor was like your spanish is at a high enough level for this class so if you want to take it then see you monday! and it got me so excited

and then the italian class was just really extremely basic. i understand basically anything said to me in italian and know a decent amount of vocab i just have trouble speaking but throughout my life i have at least studied basics like past and present tense and articles and stuff. so my goals were to learn more grammar and make my pronunciation better (i always pronounce everything so spanish and dont have a good sense for what words have which e or o sound)

but this professor was like yeah basically this whole course is just present tense and well learn the sinple past tense right at the end. but i already know that!!! and also unfortunately she has a noticeable american accent while speaking so thats not much help for improving my accent either

so i was like well whatever that makes my decision easy ill drop italian and take the spanish class. but still just in case i asked her about if i could take an italian placement test (was nervous about that originally because the next level up was during my necessary class again) and she was like yeah ive never had to do that before but i can figure that out for next week. which is a little nervewracking bc add/drop ends on wednesday. but whatever i was excited about taking spanish now

but then when i got home today i saw an email from the spanish professor (technically a grad student) like ‘i talked to my colleagues and even if your spanish level is high enough since you are not a heritage speaker here are some classes better suited for you [classes where you write huge essays in spanish which i do not have the time or desire for rn]’

and that was upsetting because i just really most of anything wanted to take a spanish class but then i was feeling a bit better because it turned out there was a new section added of the italian 2 class that fit my schedule and looking through that classes textbook it seemed the exact mix of easy but not boring because ill still actually be learning stuff that i needed. and i even called my mom (who used to be an italian language professor) and read the textbook units and she agreed it seemed exactly right for me

so i went to start writing an email to that professor to be proactive even before taking the placement test but in the fucking half hour since i had last checked the page rhat section of the class filled up with no waitlist

so i looked through the entire search of classes in a certain block of time not on tuesday thursday for my giant university and literally rhe only thing that seemed both manageable and interesting was an intro to japanese class. and i was excited like wow! how did i miss this when i was first searching for classes! only to click on it and remember i did see it and the reason it wasnt on my backup class list was because it doesnt allow seniors to take it

#so like i guess maybe just sending a desperate begging email to the italian 2 professor lol #cpost

3 notes · View notes

aitavoting · 11 months

Text

AITA for not wanting to be a part of my moms wedding?

This really feels so stupid to me, but here we go.

I have always sort of been the black sheep of my family. As a result I now live a reasonable distance away so I can choose when to interact, which means I’m usually the last to receive important plans or information.

So about two weeks ago my mom called me and told me her and her long term boyfriend had decided to get married. This is essentially how it went.

Mom- “So x and I decided to get married.” Me- “What do you mean decided, was there a proposal?” Mom- “no, we just had a conversation about it.” Me- “haha okay that’s a bit strange, but congratulations! I’m happy for you!” Mom- “see this is why I didn’t tell you, you’re so weird about things, etc”

So after that I didn’t really ask about the wedding again because I didn’t feel like dealing with her being set off over nothing. My cousin is the wedding planner though, so she’s been calling me giving updates and venting about the process. She told me I was to be a bridesmaid which I said sure to. They sent me two dresses to choose from, which i did.

Then Last night my cousin calls me saying my mom has decided to change the dress. She sent me the new one and it was just… hideous. Not to mention it was more expensive than the one we’d already chosen. So I told her I didn’t necessarily like it, and asked what had changed. She got frustrated with me asking and just said “call your mom”. So I did, and told her the same thing and asked what was wrong with the first dress?

And I was bombarded. She ranted about how this is her wedding, and she’s tired of everyone having an opinion. I said I didn’t understand why I was being yelled at, it seemed like everyone else in the bridal party had gotten to have an opinion and I’d only voiced one. She responded with “see this is why I didn’t tell you, this is why I just want to go to the courthouse, etc”. So I said fine, if I can’t have one SINGULAR OPINION on something I have to pay for, just take me out of the bridal party, I’ll be a guest.

Now my cousin is saying that was extremely selfish of me, and it doesn’t matter how ugly I think the dress is I just need to put it on for a day. But for me it’s about the principle, I’m tired of being treated like a second class citizen in my own family.

[view this story on tumblr]

Feel free to make your opinion be heard in the comments/reblogs but keep it respectful. For detailed information please read the guidelines for commenting. Violations will lead to your comment being deleted and you potentially being blocked.

#aita #am i the asshole #reddit #polls #poll

8 notes · View notes

drabbles-of-writing · 2 years

Text

So I’m making a Hunter cosplay. Shocker, I know, who could’ve seen that coming? The writer who has entire AU’s dedicated around this kid and the Golden Guards? Surely he never thought about making a cosplay, of course not.

Here’s the situation. I’ve ordered a white cloak from Amazon, because unfortunately Etsy is extremely expensive, but it’s the only thing I got on Amazon. Did I order it a little late? Sure, most definitely, but the point is that I ordered it before Halloween. I currently have a hand-made DIY cloak me and my dad cut and stitched together with some white shirts he’s not using anymore, which is probably the most Hunter thing I’ve done in my life, but the DIY-cloak was only meant to be used yesterday, and today I was supposed to use the actual cloak for an event I’m going to. Because the cloak was supposed to arrive yesterday.

It did not arrive yesterday. I was confused, because we were told it would arrive on Friday. It’s almost nine PM on a Friday night, and no package. Confused, I go to my dad watching TV with my mom, and ask him to check if the package got delayed. Annoying, but I still had the hand-made cloak, so I’d just have to wait a little longer.

Amazon says the package was delivered. We squint at it. I go outside. I check the boxes of other packages we received yesterday, as if somehow there was an unopened box among them we just left on the front porch. I wonder if someone took a box inside and stashed it somewhere and forgot about it.

My dad tells me to come back inside. He knows what happened. At this point I’m thinking, well, maybe we accidentally sent it to the wrong address. We’ve sent packages to friends before, all except one who lived within an hour of us, so that’d just be an amusing accident. Maybe Amazon automatically shipped the package to whoever we’d delivered to last, and we just didn’t think to check.

We look at the address. We stare. My dad looks at me. I am about ready to lose my entire shit.

The package went to my high school.

A singular, twenty dollar white cloak, was sent to my high school’s mail. It is currently sitting in my high school’s mail. It has been sitting there since it first arrived. It had likely arrived as I was already leaving school that very day.

Many questions come to mind. First of all, we have never, in our entire lives, sent a package directly to my high school. Not once. I didn’t even know you could just do that, send a random package to a random high school. Why, in fucks name, did Amazon automatically send a white cloak to my school. How did neither me, nor my dad, who were present for the ordering of this cloak, not notice that the address was different. It is clearly not our address. It’s not even close.

I’m pissed off. Mainly just at the circumstances, because really, what the hell is my life. Who does this. Who orders a white cloak much later than they should have and ends up sending it to their high school. Am I going to have some guys with cameras hiding behind the bushes filming this sitcom I’ve found myself in.

I go back upstairs. I open my computer. In the most regretful email I’ve ever made, I tell my counsellor of my mistake. I ask her if I could pretty please come by and pick up my accidental gift sometime tomorrow.

I remember that it’s Friday. It’s late at night. Nobody on staff is answering any emails or calls over the weekend. I agree with this, it’s a good plan, I support not doing any work when you’re not on the clock. However, right now, it’s making me worried. Because there is a random package this school did not ask for sitting in their mail.

I call the main office. They are also not answering, because of course they aren’t. I call the registrar office for...some reason. I was hoping that maybe she would pick up the phone. Why would she answer when my counsellor and main office wouldn’t? I have no idea.

So now I am here. With one email in my counsellors inbox, two voice mails for the main office and the registrar attendee, and a singular cloak sitting in their physical mail. Which will likely not see the light of day until Monday, maybe not even Tuesday.

I’ve had some weird things happen to me before. I’ve been part of and witnessed some bizarre situations in my, frankly, pretty short life on this planet. This isn’t even the weirdest. It is, however, pretty damn baffling. Maybe even in the top ten “how did that even happen in the first place” situations.

With all that said. Have a happy Halloween, everyone. Make sure to double check where you’re sending orders, and if you have even an inkling of an idea to order something you really want, either order it then, or set reminders to order it within the next 24 hours. Because then you will forget for days on end, and then you will order it late, and then you’ll somehow miss that the address changed to something entirely different despite you never touching it.

But aside from that, the cosplay is actually coming together pretty well. So, y’know, I’ve got that going for me.

#drabble post #cosplay #story #the owl house #I GUESS?#fml #long post #text post #hunter cosplay #what do i even. tag this with.#story time #ok to reblog

34 notes · View notes

urboymutual · 2 years

Note

unfollowed you again because i wanted to ask about your favorite buddie headcanons please good sir i'm starving

hiiiiii seeing u refollow me like 🔎 ahh goat has come to ask me a question heheh

but ok literally ive been marinating on this ask for the whole day bc like my buddie thoughts r soooo messy and im def gonna forget a few hcs but

im sorry to give into heteronormativity bullshit or whatever but i WOULD LOVE for buck to take eddies last name i know most ppl like to hyphenate bc gay rights and stuff but mr. and mr. diaz PLEASE

also speaking of that, more of an eddie hc but i like the idea they go to LA pride every year and like eddie gives out "free dad hugs" bc i saw this one latina mother giving out free mom hugs and it brokeee me like sobbing on my hands and knees 😭 but also id love for them to be affectionate (they'd def be more lowkey about it bc eddie's more of a . "silent keep it in" type) and just like queer latine kid at pride being like "wow so love does exist for people like us?" and eddie just looks at buck with a soft smile like "yeah."

expanding a little bit on the diaz last name thing tho like i read this one fic where buck wore a jersey (cant remember what sport) with eddie's last name on it and it was sooooo 😳😵‍💫 idk just sharing clothes is so cute and i think they would basically have like One singular wardrobe bc they just mix their clothes so much

ALSO WHEN THEY MOVE IN TOGETHER THEY BUY A LIKE BROKEN DOWN HOUSE AND REBUILD IT TOGETHER BC POWER OF GAY LOVE AND THEY JUST 😭😭🫶🫶 also idk if this is a popular opinion or not but i think they would have more kids not necessarily like adopting or even surrogacy but maybe like how hen and karen foster kids bc like they work so WELL together as fathers and it be so nice for chris to have a little sibling 😭 (also latino urge to have a big family)

i really really like the hc that like they are literally in love with each other and everyones aware but THEY DONT KNOW IT. like obviousness to the max like buck discovers that he's been hiding in the closet for too long or smthin true happiness stuff and hes like "Let me date men now" and they all throw him a coming out party and like him and eddie have plans r something and hes like "oh sorry eddie :( i have a date with. Glen (idk) rain check?" and eddies like "yeah thats chill..." but later "hmm my tummy hurts when i think about buck going on dates with men oh my god am i homophobic?!?!?" (that one reddit post straight guy thinks hes being homophobic to his gay roommate... turns out hes in love with him) but like eddie mistaking his jealousy for homophobia basically . and idk i want them to be two oblivious motherfuckers until someone knocks some sense into them. (idk whether im pro one of them gets in danger and the other confesses their love or it's literally Mundane thing like buck teaching chris a task and eddies watching them and gets an "oh shit" ephinany )

also for their wedding im stuck between maddie being buck's best man or walking him down the aisle but also bobby walking him down the aisle 😭😭 chris would be THEE ring bearer (probably a little grumpy abt it as a preteen) and jee would be such a cute flower girl 😭😭 idk but i do know eddie's tia and abuela are stealing the wedding table center pieces! (flashbacks to hispanic weddings and parties ive been to where my moms made me steal the table centerpieces 😭 that shit was so embarrassing) also carla is DEF invited to the wedding luv her <33 also they'd probably do padrinos and madrinas stuff (basically someone is the madrinas of the cake and is in charge of the cake and stuff its a mexican wedding/party (?) thing bc they do it for quinceañeras too)

HC. They r gay

#i might add to this later #but these r my thoughts hope u enjoy..#(also i am going to write a buddie fic soon stay tuned..)

19 notes · View notes

silversims · 11 months

Note

I love the Crystals’ story and have read the whole thing twice now! Do you have any tips on sticking with a BPR over time? I’ve tried a few times to get started but always stall out around the second or third generation.

Oh, I've got....a few. >3 Oh, nonny. Nonny nonny nonny. You know not the beast you have unleashed asking a writer for her process. Let us begin.

Firstly, ask yourself what sort of story do you want to tell. One of the most important questions a writer can ask themselves is: what story am I trying/do I want to tell. In the case of a BPR, this can be boiled down to do you want to follow the rules, use them as guidelines, or throw them all out the window at the start. Each of these are valid responses, but will color your experience going forward.

Second, and most crucially, once you have your direction you're going to need to outline. In the case of any long form fiction, an outline, even the most basic, will be your salvation. Sit with your story idea for a while, ask yourself how do I get from Point A to Point Z, and figure that out before you start capping. For Gen 1 this'll be things like, do you want White to end up with Pink or Purple? Both? Neither, somehow? Which child will be the Heir going into Gen 2? If you're following the ruleset, how will you work them into the story? What is your overarching story going to be? (Crystal has the Shade, for example, Star Wars had stopping the Empire, Kingdom Hearts had stopping Xehanort, etc. etc.)

But Silver, I hear you saying, that's not organic writing! No. It's not. It's called having an outline because a huge, huge problem I see with Simblrs, and writers of all manner of long form fanfic, is called pantsing. It means having no real idea of where you're going, how you're going to get there, and how to tie any of your myriad singular scene ideas together...which often leads to frustration and a lack of content, and if you have already started posting content, you will run out the clock and become more frustrated that you have nothing to post. Playing will become unfun. You will stall out. That's normal! But if we're trying to prevent that, you need to know where you're going.

To that end, you also have to know where you will end. Do this for Gen 1, 2, 3, and on. At this stage it doesn't matter if you think you can get to those other gens, just come up with something so you have waypoints, signposts, until you've got a basic A to Z plan for every gen. You now have starts and ends, and all together these make a map. It may very well change and evolve as you dig into it, but you have a map and a plan. We're getting somewhere!

Step three is, once you have your map, dig in a bit and make a much more detailed outline. For each Gen, make a scene list with the basic ideas for each scene; when/where is it taking place and what is happening within? You don't have to dialogue it all out now, though if inspiration comes PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE write it down, but this is just the scene list. Dialogue comes later!

For example, I sort my gens by Phase; Toddler, Child, Teen, YA+. Gen 6's Toddler phase starts a little something like this:

(Summer 1) 1 - Morning - Casa Crystal; prepping to visit the cousin. toddler softness and laughter.

2 - Morning - Casa Pep; arriving, meeting the cousins, dramatic argument with Pep re: nicknames and bullying over things that cannot change.

3 - Day - Casa Crystal; back home, speaking about the incident at Pep's, why can't people just be nice, toddler cuddles with a Mom

4 - Evening - Casa Crystal; SPOUSE ARRIVES in running away fashion somebody catch that toddler where is your mother child--

And so on and so forth, my actual outline is a little more detailed I'm trying to avoid spoilering anyone you get the picture I'm sure. Point is, have an outline for your gens. Sit with your scenes, sketch them out, figure what poses you have to work with to tell the story you want to tell, and write it all down! Again, this may very well change on you and take a few hard left turns--I've rewritten Gen 6 five times before I got to where I'm happy with it AND can actually get it done without pulling my hair out in the limited time I have to have the game open, so don't be afraid to to start your gen outline over if that's what's needed. There are always new documents.

Fourthly, and this is important too, do not treat Sims 4 like a game, treat it like an advanced 3D modeling program.

By that I mean, unless you're recording gameplay for video/streaming, do not try to play the game as a game. Depending on your pack situation TS4 can be a laggy, buggy mess that not even mods can really fix anymore (fucking high school years) and for us Berry Simmers in particular, all that extra CC can make the game start to chug in the day to day gameplay, causing even more frustration, so just...don't play it! Follow your outline like a director; shoot your scene and then onto the next. Like, Phase Toddler of Gen 6 takes place over Summer 1, 2, and 3. I did not have my game open for 3 simdays, I only had it open for one. Jumping from lot to lot and making HEAVY use of the Family Management system, I shot every Morning scene in the morning light, every Day scene in the daylight, and every Night scene once the sun had set in-game. I will admit that this does leave my Screenshots folder a mess of out-of-chrono-order scenes, but it's still a lot better than trying to use it as a GAME. (EA. EA fix. your. shit.)

Last of the big stuff: Don't start posting until you have a full Gen ready in your drafts and queue if you're going to be using Tumblr. Having the thing running mostly in the background, providing consistent content for X number of months, can also help with those feelings of wanting to provide content, and buy YOU time to make the next gen without feeling pressured to constantly be uploading new stuff. That is a big help.

And now a (not so) quick Lightning Round to finish us off!

Mute the game and play with music/netflix/youtube/whatever on instead; nothing grates faster than simlish repeated ad nauseum and the less you hear the better.

Don't be afraid to take inspo from other properties. Cadence and Forest were heavily based on Cortana and the Master Chief from Halo (yes, that Halo) and the Guardian Council is heavily based off of characters from The Legend of Spyro. Ori himself and everything he stands for only came about because I refused to let Ori-the-character go after beating his games. Basically don't be afraid to have your favorites live a new life in your stories and fill out the cast.

Never underestimate the power of music. If you're having trouble with scenes, a montage set to fitting tunes can help timeskip through the trouble spots.

On that note: Timeskips. Don't be afraid to use them! Phase Tod of CG6 is only 12 scenes before we skip to Phase Child, and Phase Infant/Toddler of CG7 is being skipped entirely. Do not be afraid to do the same/similar if sections are giving you trouble or you just want to get to a certain spot. It's your story, do what feels right to you!

Don't be afraid of the rewrite! If things aren't working, or if an idea you once loved has become not loved, or if it's too frustrating in practice and you're not enjoying it, rewrite it! The entire point of storytelling should be to enjoy it, so if something doesn't spark joy? Toss it with prejudice.

I say this respectfully, and with the kindest of intentions, STAY THE FUCK OUT OF SOCIAL MEDIA DRAMA. Ignore places like simsecret, don't get into he said/she said arguments, and don't start airing dirty laundry unless you want to risk someone hitting you with it. Knuckle down, brain on the outline, and tell your story!

and now finally Lastly, all of this is just advice. At the end of the day, your stories are yours to tell. How you tell them, what you do to tell them, that's all up to you. Do what feels right; tag for the hard and dark shit, yes, and warn where appropriate, but tell the stories you want to tell and never let anyone, not me or any other simblr or anyone, tell you you can't make a story a certain way. Life is too short to let others dictate your creativity, Nonny. Keep the dreams alive however you can.

OKAY, now I'm done. xD Welp, that turned into a real novel now didn't it? Hopefully this was of use to you, Nonny, and to anyone else reading along! Thank you for reading my whopper of a tale TWICE now, and I hope you enjoy what is to come~ It's gonna be goooood. >3

#asks #I will say it one more time: OUTLINE OUTLINE OUTLINE OUTLINE OUTLINE OUTLINE OUTLINE OUT FUCKING LINE #know where you are going before you set off down the road #best piece of advice i've ever received or given as a writer tbh

5 notes · View notes

cakesexuality · 2 years

Note

do you have any goal you want to accomplish by the end of the summer?

I didn't really have any goals in mind before receiving this Ask, but now you've got me thinking!!

I need to work on my sewing because I have a few projects in mind right now and a lot of materials taking up space!! I also wanna get through those projects so I can work up to making clothes for adult humans... we went to Fabricland yesterday and my mom offered to buy me a dress form since they were 50% off but I said no since I'm at the stage of making small crafty things, although that would maybe be motivation to start making bigger, more complex things, especially since I lowkey offered to make stuff for a local queen a little while back

We only went into Fabricland for A zipper!! I got a new heating pad a couple months ago and it's bigger than the one I already had but I hate the covers that come with them, so I made a new cover only to realise that out of ALL the zippers I have in my stash, none would be appropriate for the project, so I needed a SINGULAR pink, plastic, 12-inch zipper to be able to close the cover... now I've got one and can finally check that off my list very soon!! I know that the zipper is a different pink than the spots in the fabric, but I figured I'd rather have the wrong pink or the wrong blue and have it look like a style choice than to get the wrong white and have it look like a mistake

While we were there, I went to look at the quilting cottons, because I was hoping they'd have this purple and pink medical print since I already have some but it's so cute that I'm scared to use it, and then I stumbled upon this sprinkle print which I went for because a) I love things with a sprinkle design because it reminds me of cakes and cupcakes, and b) just earlier that day, I'd been watching a video of Crystal Methyd opening her mail and she got gloves with a similar print, so it felt meant to be. (Fabricland has a lot of photorealistic food prints in their quilting cottons and I live for it. Get you some photorealistic potatoes on your quilt.) The medical print was $27/metre and the sprinkle print was $29/metre so I only got a little bit of each 🥲 but I plan on making scrunchies and masks with them.

I also found this Barbie panel yesterday. I don't know what it's meant for since it only has the two designs on it, but I figured I'd make it into a tote bag, and I'm now realising it could be for a throw pillow. This was on clearance, so luckily it was only $5/panel. (There were more Barbie fabrics, but they weren't on sale and cost $35/metre, forget about it lol)

While I was getting those cut, my mom wandered off and found this fabric in a remnants bin. The label says it's made of unknown material, but it feels like a lighter version of canvas and is one of those home decor fabrics, so she wants me to make it into curtains for the kitchen. The photo is me holding it up like that to compare to the wall colour. My mom said something about "finding a pattern" and I didn't really know what she meant until a while after, when I realised she meant a pattern to cut and sew from, but... they're curtains... the pattern is a rectangle...

And since I mentioned Barbie earlier, I've had this fabric at home for probably 3 years now, and I bought it for making into a skirt but haven't gotten any fabrics to go with it so I can do the lining, waistband, etc. I tend to mumble to myself about the project in question while I get my fabrics cut, so when I got this one cut, I must've said something about the length down the leg or something, because the employee asked if I was making a child's dress and I had to tell her it was a skirt for myself lol

My great-aunt went into a nursing home a few months ago and she was a very crafty lady up until she stopped being able to do so (like, I've inherited what seems to be an Anne of Green Gables costume she made herself for teaching elementary school), so I've ended up with a lot of her sewing stuff as her sister, my mom, and their cousins have been working to clear out my great-aunt's belongings. Some of it is half-finished projects, some of it is leftover materials, and some of it is materials that are completely unused. We came across a dinosaur plushie that is nearly done, all she needed to do was close the seams, attach the limbs to the body, and add a face, so I wanna do that!! There's also these train engine buttons still in the complete set and my cousin works with trains, so I don't know whether to make something for him or for his young son, but maybe a lunch bag or something.

🧵 ✨ Lots of things to do ✨ 🧵

2 notes · View notes

wouldnt-it-be-hilarious-if-i · 2 years

Text

currently listening to: river by Leon bridges

ive been thinking about when my oma died a few years ago.

we were at her wake, and my cousin was crying her eyes out. she hadn't helped take care of oma the way i had. sure she'd offer to give my mom and i breaks. and she'd make plans with us where we'd get a weekend to ourselves, free of diaper changes and spoon feeding and telling oma her husband had died sometime in 2004 every few minutes, only to just never show up. she brought a singular craft she made once for oma. she put it on the wall in the dining room but oma never looked at it bc she couldn't walk or really leave her chair most of the time, so it wasn't in her line of sight. something my cousin would have known if she'd been there more.

anyway, she was crying. And she told me that she really regretted not doing more. she told me that she regretted it bc she asked her side of the family about it and they said she deserved to experience life. let somebody else deal with it.

ive been thinking about how as they were saying that, and she was finishing college and coming to town to meet with friends and drink craft beer, i was watching my friends instagram stories of them twerking at dances and drinking and doing all the traditions our weird lil liberal arts college has to offer.

my cousin looked at me v carefully as she told me this little tidbit about her family. bc i think she was waiting for me to yell at her or be angry with her or something. maybe an angry quip would have made her feel better. so she knew she had received punishment for something she knew was cruel but did anyway. it very much felt like i was the priest she was confessing her sins to.

i won't lie. ive never liked her for that reason. for always being the one who takes and takes, but rarely gives. for talking down to me for being younger and taking pride in the fact that she's not like other girls or other millennials, and for forgetting about me when i wasn't cool to her anymore when we were kids. i won't lie and say i didn't want to choke her for that to me while my oma was barely in the ground yet.

i remember staring real hard at the floorboard of the car, and clenching my fists so hard and thinking that she clearly wasn't raised with shame the way i was bc id eat glass before saying something like that out loud. id square dance on nails before publicly admitting that i gave up the last years i had left with my oma bc i wanted to drink craft beer with my friends and forage on farms. but even more so, i don't think id ever have the nerve to look my cousin in the eye and say something like that knowing that bc i wanted to experience life, she had to miss out on the same thing, and be mentally and verbally abused by everyone around her in the process. she must not have been raised with the same shame as me bc i would have kept my mouth shut on that and just ate my fucking food.

i can't blame her for wanting to experience life. but i think about how much i gave up for her to experience what ill never get back, and how she continuously made promises she wouldn't keep and never called on christmas or mother's day and didn't even visit when she was in town unless we begged her to, and i really do wish i had slammed her hair into the car door. (for legal reasons, that's a joke)

i kept my voice level and i nodded toward my cousin, and i said i was sorry she felt that way. and she stared at me. and i stared back very quietly bc if i opened my mouth another time i would have started shouting until she cried.

i told her it was okay. bc at that point, what was the point in telling her that id like to shove her fucking foot beneath the wheel and back over it for living life to the fullest at my expense? was that going to roll back the trauma of having an old nurse yell at me, spy on me, and then tell the neighbors lies about how much of a selfish princess i was? was that going to fix the dilapidated house oma left behind that nobody wanted to help pay for but everyone wanted to decide what to do with? was that going to fix the sleep paralysis i periodically got as a result of being called every week by family members looking to scream at me for how i was doing my job while they sat comfortably in their wingback chairs and eating cheap tv dinners?

no, it would not.

so what was the point in fighting a battle that had already ended?

i think about this moment a lot and how when i was fifteen i sat on my hands when my mother tried to tell me that my sister was just looking out for me when she told me gay people ruin the sanctity of marriage or how i felt so bad for making a girl who fucked me over a hundred times by continuously lying to me cry when she tried to apologize for what she did (i asked her if she thought if i threw my fork far enough, she'd get the hint to go fetch it like a dog and leave me the fuck alone) or how my dad used to ignore me for weeks on end if i stood up for myself and how my mother would beg me to just apologize and my brother would beg me to just not argue back so he wouldn't get so mad and how i was taught that standing up for yourself is tantamount to sin

i think about how often i stop and reword things to spare others feelings or warn them to make sure they know when i may struggle with this or how often i bite my tongue and sit on my hands or how I'd scream strings of course words into my pillows as a kid when i was angry

i think a lot about how my parents justified my dad threatening me with a thick leather belt the day my nephew and i decided to pour all my things out onto the floor of my bedroom to see if we could cover the floor with my stuff. we were four and six, and i remember being cornered against a wall, hugging him close an sobbing that we were sorry until my dad threw the belt down and shouted at us to clean it up in an hour or he'd give us a reason to cry.

i think about these memories often and i think about how they shaped me into a person who doesn't say a word when she is hurting. i think about how these experiences created a girl who just sets her things down calmly, walks out the back door and never returns. who would rather disappear than defend herself. who has nightmares about her tongue swelling up for days when she wants so badly to defend herself, but can't.

i don't have enough years of insurance left for the amount of therapy i need to fix this about myself.

1 note · View note

Last Seen Blogs

prosperdemeter2

friendly neighborhood allison

bumpkinspice0

I Don’t Have daddy Issues. Stop Asking.

katt-astrophiic

Huh-wuhh!?? 0_o

deltagod77

Delta

micah-weber

micah cole weber