⋆｡‧˚ʚ . ɞ˚‧｡⋆ welcome to the mess that is lewmagoo ⋆｡‧˚ʚ . ɞ˚‧｡⋆
PSA: don’t tag me in fandom drama or send asks about lewis pullman’s personal life. this blog is a safe space. i refuse to participate in gossip or in dogpiling other fandom members.
Spending my birthday curled up watching remarkably bright creatures and eating ice cream (because I wanted to, not for some sad reason) anyways this feels very Cameron coded, idk why but I feel like he prefers ice cream to cake and like a quite night in
happy birthday angel! this sounds like my kind of birthday treat, a lew movie and some ice cream. definitely cameron coded, he’s an ice cream guy for sure. what do we think his favorite flavor is? i feel like rocky road is fitting. or maybe he likes chocolate ice cream with banana slices (my personal fave, hehe). curling up with ice cream and a movie or show is his favorite way to spend time with you. he loves the domesticity of it. how natural it feels for you to be curled up against him like this, soft and safe and totally his. he doesn’t need an elaborate date night. all he needs is you, like this 💜
6 non selfies from your camera roll. thank you for the tag my dear @springseventeen 💜
as you can see i have a theme…either i take pics of food or animals. left to right is a random neighborhood kitty, nora who belongs to my nanny family, and a new friend named howie!
I appreciate your more nuanced take. I hadn’t thought about those aspects before so it does sort of put things into a different perspective. I still think the twitter stans are doing too much but I also agree that things do get blown out of proportion a lot and made out to be more than they are.
i do agree that there is some over the top behavior happening for sure. lines do get crossed when they shouldn’t. but at the same time, this isn’t the first fandom with these issues, and it certainly won’t be the last. in fact, lew stans are pretty calm compared to other fandoms. it could always be worse. but if it gets to the point where someone is posting downright lies (or at least not fact checking their sources before saying something), or bullying and harassing another fan because they don’t like how they’re acting, then that’s also bad behavior that should actually be called out. both sides of the argument have taken things to the extreme. i’m just trying to find middle ground here.
Just imagining trying to teach Cameron how to paddle board. It’s overcast and gray, you’re wearing one of those skin-tight wetsuits, and you’re standing right behind him. He starts to wobble and you carefully inch closer, pressing yourself against his broad back and sliding your hands around his waist. “Remember your core, Cam,” you press your hands into his abdomen, fingers tracing over lines of muscle. “All the way.” Your hands go lower and his body tenses as he stabilizes himself on the board. “There you go,” you whisper, hands resting at his hips as he guides the two of you forward slowly.
He’s dying to move, dying to adjust his rock hard cock that’s very obviously bulging against his wetsuit, but he knows that if he does, he’ll have you both in the water. So he keeps paddling, trying to focus on the lesson despite the fact that your hands are spreading heat across his skin and your breath against the back of his neck sends shivers down his spine. He concentrates on the way you feel behind him and imagines how you’ll feel once you’re back on land and bent over in front of him.
The twt fans are so disturbing, going to multiple Atta Boy shows and behaving the way they do. I wonder how much longer the band will be able to do this with how weird and parasocial people are.
okay, because i received an ask about it, i’m going to say something.
i think things have been majorly blown out of proportion. yes, some fans do cross boundaries, i get that. but some are just a little overbearing and that’s it. many of them are young and while that isn’t an excuse, i think back to how i behaved in fandom spaces in my early 20s and i was also that way. again, not an excuse, but it’s just the way things are and i don’t foresee that ever changing. people act how they act, no amount of callout posts will change that. the issue is, i’m seeing a lot of hearsay and accusations that are not backed up with proof. just because you see something doesn’t mean it’s true. and that’s what i think happened with the discord, either people made jokes or comments that others perceived as “parasocial” or they took the comments seriously when they actually weren’t that serious. therefore, things got a bit overblown. i think it comes from a place of protectiveness toward lew and the band, which is a noble intention for sure, but the thing is…they’re fine. in fact i think that we are more concerned than the band themselves are. they know people are going to approach them. otherwise they wouldn’t hang out in the area before shows and eat dinner outside where they are fully visible. but i digress.
that being said, i have seen a lot of gatekeeping behavior in regard to the band, complaining that people are only there for lewis. and no doubt that many people are there for him specifically, but if they are, so what? the band is still receiving support, people are still paying for tickets. so what’s the problem? i will be fully honest when i say the only reason i know the band exists is because of lew. and that is the case for many others, so i’m not sure why this holier than thou mindset is being touted when the reality is most of us wouldn’t know atta boy existed if we weren’t into lew. personally i believe the band knows that lew is part of the attraction. but that’s a different point altogether.
i also want to say that being excited about meeting lewis isn’t a bad thing, but i’ve noticed that people are villainizing these young fangirls for just wanting to meet the guy they adore. to my knowledge no one threatened lew, no one tried to hurt him. he gets awkward fan interactions all the time, i’m sure he’s used to it. if he was truly uncomfortable he would stop doing it. he’s a big boy who can handle some discomfort, it won’t kill him. besides…people are generally very respectful, the vast majority are not weird to his face. there’s only a few weirdos at each show and he seems to handle them very gracefully.
i will say that the behavior i’ve seen online has freaked me out much worse than fans being awkward to him in person. callouts, cyberstalking, outright lies (about lewis himself and about other fans), badmouthing other fans to the gossip blog…it’s all just as bad, if not worse, as the behavior they’re hellbent on calling out. when we start infighting and pointing fingers, it fractures fandoms and pits people against each other. i renounce that behavior and will not participate in dogpiling or badmouthing other fandom members who are just a little overly excited to meet their favorite blorbo.
Thinking about Rhett carrying you to bed after you’ve fallen asleep on the couch waiting for him to come home from a week-long circuit
Pairing: Rhett Abbott x Fem!Reader!
Author's note: Just wanted to make a little fluff piece because I've been stressing out all week about my practical lab simulation that's happening today. Writing this really took the edge off, and I hope y'all enjoy <3
The television had gone quiet sometime after midnight, its stale blue light still flickering across the living room without a sound. The cable box had shut itself off hours earlier, leaving nothing but a blank, glowing rectangle that cut through the dark.
Rhett noticed it the second he eased the front door open. The hallway stretched ahead of him in near-total darkness, the whole house holding that particular hollow quiet of a place already turned in for the night. Only the television’s leftover light reached this far. Then he saw your slippers abandoned near the edge of the rug–something that should’ve been with you in the bedroom–and finally his eyes settled on the uneven stack of quilts on the couch, with one of your arms hanging limply off the side.
You had fallen asleep curled on your side in a tight ball beneath them with your cheek pressed hard into the cushion instead of the pillow that had slipped halfway off the edge. The shirt you were wearing was his. He knew it by the frayed edges at the sleeves, the ones he had always picked at when he was thinking–removing the stray threads until they unspooled.
The sight of you in it undid every ache that had been riding him since the last chute.
He was exhausted, his body spent from a full week of travel and competition that hadn’t let up once. Arena dust sat thick under his fingernails, and a deep bruise along his ribs had been spreading with every mile of the drive home. His wrist was throbbing steadily inside the brace he had put on before leaving the arena, and the long hours behind the wheel had settled into the muscles of his lower back until they screamed for a mattress to lay down on.
But looking at you made it all recede, even as he toed off his boots and crossed the living room toward the couch.
A mug waited on the coffee table beside your phone–tea that had gone cold hours ago–and three messages from him still glowed unanswered on the screen when he tapped it awake.
Headed home.
Running a little late, lot’s of traffic tonight, think there’s an accident.
Don’t wait up, Sweetheart. I’ll see you in the morning.
Rhett lowered his head, a tired smile pulling faintly at one corner of his mouth.
“You never listen to me,” He murmured, lifting his hat off his head and setting it carefully beside the mug. Even through the pain he crouched beside the couch, as the floorboards under his boots giving a loud, familiar creak. He sucked in a sharp breath and held still, his eyes snapping at you for any sign that he disturbed your sleep. But you only shifted deeper into the cushion, your face turning further into the plushness of it.
Up close he could see the faint crease pressed into your cheek from the pressure, and the soft furrow that lingered between your brows, like some part of you had kept worrying about him long after sleep had taken you.
Rhett let out a quiet sigh and reached for you slowly, curling his dirt-dusted fingers so the backs of his knuckles could brush along the cool skin of your temple. He eased your hair away from your face so he could see you better–so he could take in the sight he had missed the most this week. His skin was rough, calloused in spots where callouses shouldn’t have been, but his touch was painfully gentle–the way it always was with you.
“Hey, darlin’,” He whispered, watching as your eyelids fluttered at the sound of his voice, even though they remained closed. Rhett dragged his knuckles slowly across your forehead, before bringing his hand down to cup the side of your face–his large palm dwarfing the size of it. You tilted into the warmth without waking–as if you were a sunflower and he was the sun–nuzzling closer like you had been waiting for this contact. He could feel his heart seize at that moment, stopping in the caverns of his chest at the way you responded to him regardless of your alertness.
He had spent the last seven days getting thrown around under bright arena lights, sleeping on narrow motel beds that never held enough heat, eating alone with the television running just to fill the silence. Every night without fail he would call you from a parking lot or those cheap rooms, pretending the sound of your voice was enough to make the distance bearable for him, but it had never been. Because nothing compared to walking into this house and finding you waiting for him like this–even if it was against his wishes.
“Should be in bed,” He said, though there wasn’t any real scolding in the comment. You made a quiet sound, a small hum, and your outstretched hand shifted until your fingers brushed his bicep beneath the soft cotton of his button-up. As if you were testing to see if what you were feeling was real, your touch slid down the length of his arm, closing loosely around the hard plastic of his wrist brace–though your fingers couldn’t touch.
“Rhett?” Your voice was thick with sleep, and he could hear the confusion lacing the edges of it, and his throat tightened at the relief he could sense beneath it.
“Yeah, baby,” He answered, stroking the soft skin under your eye with his thumb, “It’s me.” He confirmed. Your eyes opened only halfway, peeking out through your lashes, and for a long moment you just looked at him, completely dazed, as though you needed to make sure you weren’t still dreaming. Then your mouth curved into a small smile.
“You’re home.” He nodded once, his hair falling out of it’s slicked back form while doing so.
“I’m home.” You hummed at that, as your eyes slipped shut again, but your fingers began to absentmindedly rub along the thick plastic of the brace, like you were trying to keep yourself from falling back to sleep.
“Took you forever.” You murmured.
“I know…”
“I tried to stay awake…Wanted to see you…” The words came out drowsily and soft as you made futile attempts to fight against the exhaustion that was plaguing you. Rhett smirked and leaned in, pressing his chapped lips to your forehead. He stayed there long enough to breathe you in–the faint scent of your honey shampoo and all the other hair products you piled on after a shower, mixing with the spicy, pine and woody cologne that he owned, all of it mixed with the unmistakable warmth of home, of comfort, of love.
“You’re seein’ me now,” He replied, easing back just enough to look down at you, noticing that your eyes were still closed.
“Barely.” You muttered, and a soft laugh escaped him.
“Well it would help if you would open your eyes, but I can tell you’re too tired for that…So let’s get you to bed, sleepin’ beauty.” He stood carefully, gathering the quilts tighter around you so nothing would fall as he was walking, tucking the fabric in until you were fully cocooned. Once he was satisfied with his work he slipped one arm beneath your knees and the other around your back, then lifted you off the couch slowly, making sure he wasn’t triggering the ache that was still pulsing in his back. Even with him keeping all his injuries in mind, his muscles and bruises still protested, but he ignored every one of them as he drew you close, feeling the heat of your body soaking straight through the fabric that separated the two of you.
Immediately, you curled into him, your cheek pressing against the hard muscle of his chest as you nuzzled closer into him, and without thought, Rhett’s arms tightened around you.
“Did you win?” You asked, the words muffling against the fabric of his shirt.
“Stayed on.” He answered as he began to walk.
“Wasn’t my question.” You shot back, and a small smirk tugged at his mouth at the quiet jab.
“Yeah…Yeah I won.” He said, glancing down to caught the soft smile that touched your lips.
“Knew you would.”
The certainty in your voice made his heart clench. You had never doubted him–not once, not through any of the long sessions of training or the hard falls that you had beared witness to. You had watched him win enough buckles that he made most of these circuits look easy from the outside. But that never stopped the worry in you. The wrist brace along was proof enough that the work he put in took its toll, and you couldn’t yet see what was waiting for you under his clothes. But that would be tomorrow’s problem–you would nurse him back to health when he allowed you. Tonight you just wanted him–his presence, his body, his arms, everything.
Rhett carried you down the hallway with careful steps–mindful of how narrow it was–keeping you tucked securely against him so you didn’t accidentally knock against the walls. The navigation of the dark house was only amplified by the soft creak of the floorboard under your combined weights, and halfway to the bedroom your fingers found the greasy strands of his hair, tangling into them.
“Missed you,” You murmured, and Rhett’s jaw flexed at that, as he tilted his face down to rub his chin against the top of your head.
“Missed you too…So damn much.”
There were things he had never learned to say easily, even after five years of being together. He could take a hard fall without making a sound. He could carry every expectation his family stacked on his shoulders without complaint. Tenderness, though, still sometimes caught behind his teeth like it was too fragile to risk letting out those feelings. But with you half-asleep and warm in his arms, the words came easier.
“Hated wakin’ up without you,” He said quietly, “And I definitely hated comin’ back to an empty motel room.” Your hand slipped from his hair and smoothed slowly down the side of his neck, resting your fingertips over the steady thunder of his pulse.
“You don’t have to now.” Rhett closed his eyes for a brief second and let out a long breath.
“No…I don’t.”
He crossed the threshold into the bedroom, angling carefully around the hefty basket that was stacked high with neatly folded laundry and the sharp edge of the dresser. When he reached the bed he pulled the covers back with one hand without ever letting you go, before lowering you onto the plushness softness of the sheets, putting in more care than he used for almost anything else in his life. But the second his arms started to ease away you made a small, protesting sound.
“I’m right here baby.” He promised, as he began to unravel you from the quilts, tossing them haphazardly on the floor, before crouching down to pull off your socks one at a time. HIs thumb rubbed slowly over the faint indentations each elastic had left around your ankles, kissing the marks, and nuzzling against them, feeling the way your muscles jumped at that. When he was finished he drew the duvet up to your chin and tucked you in, smoothing it around you.
Your eyes opened again the moment he was levelled with you, and he watched concern pull across your face–your brows drawing together, and your mouth parting slightly on a breath. You hadn’t seen the bruise blooming along his jaw when he had been crouched beside the couch, but now that you were in a room that had enough light–from the moon that peeked through the curtains–you were able to identify the purple shadow that stood out beneath the stubble. Your hand came out from under the covers and your fingertips traced the edge of it, watching as Rhett’s eyes closed at the contact and feeling him leaning into the touch even though the sharp pinch of pain made him flinch.
“You’re hurt,” You whispered, your voice cracking a little on the discovery. You wondered how this happened, but deep down inside you didn’t really want to know, especially when you weren’t there when it happened. He looked at you through his lashes, his blue eyes catching the light.
“Just sore…It’s nothin’ to worry about.” He replied, turning his head to press a kiss into your palm before easing back. If the exhaustion hadn’t already settled so deep in your bone you might’ve sat up and followed him–wrapped your arms around his neck to pull him back down so you could hold him. But as it was right now, the attempt died before it even started and you only managed another soft whine.
“Come back…” Rhett let out a short huff of a laugh and shook his head at you.
“Baby, I need a shower.” You mirrored him in those moments, shaking your head against the pillow.
“Tomorrow.” His brows lifted at that.
“Y/N, I smell like a stockyard and I’m covered in dirt.” You only shrugged at him.
“Don’t care, we can change the sheets tomorrow and I don’t mind if you smell bad.” The corner of his mouth twitched.
“You will in about five minutes.” He mumbled, as you shifted under the covers to make room before opening them up toward him, quietly inviting him in the space you made.
“C’mere and I’ll prove you wrong.” There was no demand in your voice–only that soft, teasing affection that always managed to cut every argument out from him–and he gave in with a gruff sigh.
“Alright…It’s your funeral.” He stated, as he worked his belt open and unbuttoned his jeans, letting both of them fall into a careless heap he already knew you would give him hell for in the morning. The buttons of his shirt took longer as he undid them with one hand, before shrugging it off his shoulders to let it join the rest of the clothes. Once he was down to just his boxers he climbed carefully onto the mattress beside you, feeling your body moving in close immediately, dragging the duvet over the both of you. Rhett stretched his arm out so you could fully settle against him, as your leg slipped between his while you tucked your head beneath his chin. His body loosened the second your full weight rested against him, closing both arms around you–surrounding your body and covering you completely–sliding one hand up under your shirt until his palm pressed against the small of your back.
Your fingers began tracing slow, idle patterns across his chest while you breathed him in deeply, letting his scent fill your lungs.
“You don’t smell like a stockyard…You smell sweaty.” You corrected him quietly, pressing your nose against the dark lines of the bull-rider tattoo over his heart and inhaling again on purpose, “Love that smell.” He hummed low in his throat and shook his head once.
“I think you’re so tired that your sense of smell has gone off its rocker.” You glared up at him, a small smirk curving your mouth, before leaning in to press a soft kiss right at the base of his throat, tasting the saltiness of his skin.
“Maybe…But right now…I like it a lot.” Rhett sighed, clenching his arms around your body to embrace you even further.
“I told you not to wait up for me…If you hadn’t you wouldn’t have been so tired, and you wouldn’t be waking up smellin’ like a farm.” He said, and you hummed again.
“I wanted to be the first thing you saw when you got home.” You replied softly, feeling Rhett’s breathing halt for a moment beneath your head, as your eyes began to close again, feeling the heaviness of sleep washing over your body and invading your mind. You could feel Rhett’s hand slowly sliding upward, coming to cradle the back of your head. He gently tipped your face upward towards his and kissed your forehead, then the corner of your eye, then your cheek, then finally your lips. He kept it tender, and unhurried–touches that asked for nothing but made him feel like he was reuniting with you in a far more intimate way, like he wanted to complete it.
“You always are,” He whispered against your mouth, as he allowed you to settle back down against his chest again, and even through the haze of sleep that was about to overtake you, he saw the sleepy smile that draped across your lips before you fell asleep against him–finally in the comfort of your lover's arms.
