#''who knows how it is. just wait and see'' was big news to my my control freak scarcity mentality past self

[sloaneispunk]

“friend or foe”

soft!frontman (hwang in-ho) x you

when frontman joined the games, he thought it was solely to see gihun fail, but his intentions shifted when a certain player number 455 caught his attention…

──── 〇 △ □ ────

part one

after the first round of voting, half of the room was left speechless, how could majority have voted to stay? the games were inhumane and above the top, was the money worth it anymore?

you headed up back to your bed where you could see everything clearer. the ‘o’s cheering loudly while the ‘x’s stood still as the air hung heavily upon them. then, you saw the player that had caused the majority to overule the ‘x’s… player 001.

he was a tall middle aged man with astonishing features. his hair somehow still styled neatly on his head, leaving only a few strands out of place. his lips curled into a small smirk as he walked past the crowd and seemingly back towards the bunk beds.

you must have been staring for too long because 001 suddenly halted, causing you to lean further down to see what had caused him to stop in his tracks. suddenly, his head snapped up, looking right up at you with that same expression on his face.

‘shit’ you cursed as you threw yourself back onto the bed, back hitting the cold mattress within seconds.

suddenly, a face appeared at the side of your bed, causing you to let out a scream as your hands flew to your mouth, shufflig towards the other end of the bed.

“hi there.”

there he stood, right there at the other end of your bed. player 001’s brown eyes looked so innocently into your own, he now had a bigger, more geniune smile on his face as he waited for a reply.

“you scared me.” you breathed out, still not moving from the edge.

“i’m sorry i didn’t mean to. i noticed you were alone earlier, i hope you don’t mind if i join you since we’re both by ourselves in here.” 001 said with a calm and gentle voice.

“uh.. yeah-”

“i apologise if i’m being too pushy, i just thought a young, pretty girl like you being here alone could be risky. i wanted to make sure that you were alright.” he interrupted. “my name is young-il.”

he stretched out his hand towards you, waiting for your hand in to shake his.

“i’m y/n, nice to meet you.” you replied, still skeptical, but nevertheless you showed your appreciation with a handshake.

oh, right then and there. with your hand in his, the frontman in disguise was heating up. he craved so much more then merely your hand in his. he wanted to touch every part of you, leaving nothing that he had not savoured.

he was brought back into reality when you pulled your hand back, staring at him, waiting for the charismatic man to say yet another inviting sentence to draw you in more.

“i’m afraid i didn’t notice you during the first game.” young-il said.

you shifted on the bed, moving towards the headrest as you beckoned him to the empty space in front of you which he gladly complied.

“during red light, green light?” you asked and he nodded. “i was at the front, guess i didn’t want to take the risk of lagging behind.”

“you must have completed the game pretty fast then.” he stated.

“i had a few minutes left, i spent it trying to help those who were falling behind.” you shrugged.

there it was. that kindess, that compassion. it was exactly what he was looking for. right now he was the big bad wolf licking his lips as he sat watching his prey.

“you have a kind heart, y/n. how did a girl like you end up in this place?”

“just mixed around with the wrong people i guess, i plan to start a new when i get out of here.” you said, full of hope, making him grin.

the two of you spent the night talking, getting closer with every hour that passed. the more young-il talked to you, the more he felt the need to dive deeper, there was so much he wanted, no, needed to know about you. all he needed was time to earn your trust and he would have everything in his control. when you had fallen asleep, young-il checked the surroundings, ensuring that everyone was fast asleep before he walked up towards the masked guards.

“make sure every single one of you nutjobs get this message. whatever you do, do not hurt player 455. if i find a single scratch on her, i will kill you all myself. is that clear?” young-il whispered but was still somehow stern enough for the guards to be taken aback with fear.

things were starting to change with the frontman’s plan, but he could adapt to change right?

──── 〇 △ □ ────

part two

the next day you were awoken by the cheerful song being played on the speakers.

“good sleep? you dosed off halfway during our talk last night.” young-il, chuckled, sitting on the edge of your bed, extending his hand out for you to take.

“were you here all night? my god, you should’ve went back to your bed! you didn’t sleep?!” you scolded as you took his hand.

he let out a laugh and helped you onto your feet.

“it’s no worries, y/n, i wasn’t tired.”

“so you watched me like a creep while i slept?”

“i- y-yeah, no! i mean n-no-”

“i’m kidding.” you cut the poor man off, “thank you.”

“yeah, of course.” he replied. “c’mon, let’s see what game we’re playing today.”

“ladies and gentleman, please follow in an orderly fashion to your next game.”

as you and young-il followed the crowd into the colorful, long, windy staircase.

“what if the next game is difficult, young-il?” you asked, following behind as he kept you close even when walking.

“hey, it’s okay, nothing will happen to us. i’ll make sure of it.” he smiled, pausing in his steps momentarily for you to walk beside him.

──── 〇 △ □ ────

part three

when you entered the room, you realised it was much smaller than the room for ‘red light, green light’. this one however, had two large rainbow circles on the floor and 5 tables spaced equally around.

“this game will be played in groups of 5, the game will commence in 10 minutes.”

your eyes shot to young-il. before you could say anything, 3 men came up to you and young-il. “hey man, would you want to join our group?”

3 men stood behind young-il, player 390, player 388 and player 456.

“why not? me and y/n can-”

“oh… we were looking for a team of men.. i’m sorry but your friend can’t join us.” player 390 interrupted.

“no.” young-il said sternly. he wasted no time arguing and instead took your hand and walked away.

after searching for other groups that would take you both in, you realised it was useless. no one really wanted a girl in their group and you couldn’t blame them. you stopped and sighed, causing young-il to turn around.

“young-il, it’s useless. you should join them. i’ll find others, we don’t have time.” you sighed, beckoning him to leave before time ran out for the both of you.

“no. i can’t garuntee your safety that way.”

“you don’t have to. it’ll be fine i’ll see you when the game is over.”

“c’mon, y/n i-”

“miss?” a voice said from behind you. “we need one more person for our team, would you want to join us?”

it was a sweet old lady, behind her stood 2 girls, player 120 and player 095.

“mom did you find someone?” a man jogged towards the old woman. “oh great, okay just in time.”

“come dear, who says women can’t win this stupid game.” she grumbled, taking your hand and leading you towards her group.

“i’ll be fine.” you smiled, leaving young-il standing alone with worry in his eyes. with much hesistation, young-il let you go, joining the team of men without you.

“you, hey! come join us! let’s win this!” player 456 cheered, inviting young-il back into the group.

“time is up, please sit down in your groups… this is a six legged race where you will have to complete 5 mini games individually while being chained to each other. the games played will be ddakji, flying stone, gonggi, spinning top and jegi. please order yourself in which you will be playing the games in.”

a sense of unease set in in young-il. he searched the room to find you. even if he was worried, he couldn’t show it on the outside, it would be too risky for you and for him. he remained calm as he scanned the room for you, eyes eventually landing on your face from across the room.

──── 〇 △ □ ────

part four

“we’re lucky we have many girls in this team! which games are you familiar with?” the old lady asked, looking at you.

“oh i’m not really sure, why don’t you guys pick first?” you replied embarrassed, an awkward smile plastered on your face.

as the others discussed which game they were going to play you looked around, searching for young-il once more. when you finally spotted him at the far end, you gave him a small smile and a wave, seeing how he was already looking at you.

“so i’ll play ddakji, your son will play flying stone, ma’am you’ll play gongi, ms 455 will play spinning top and ms 120 you will play jengi. is that alright?” player 095 said, looking around for approval from the group.

when the game started, your team was the first. you took your place on the rainbow with your team, all equally as nervous as you were.

“hey we’re gonna be okay, we’ll win easily.” you said offering a smile to the team.

“yes! we can do it ladies! oh and you too son.” the old lady said.

a gunshot fired in the air, indicating the start of the game.

“hana dul! hana dul! hana dul! hana dul!” every grunted in synchronicity, moving rather quickly to the first station.

the other players were up on their feet, following around the circle as they cheered.

1. ddakji

player 095 closed her eyes and took a deep breath.

piak!

the sound of the paper slapping on the ground echoed through the room, she opened her eyes and looked down. it flipped.

“first try! let’s go!” player 120 cheered.

“pass”

“hana dul! hana dul! hana dul! hana dul!”

2. flying stone

“son, just imagine. that rock is the face of the dealer that screwed you over.” the old lady said to her son making the rest of you snicker.

“you son of a bitch! give me my money back!” the man yelled as he threw the rock. without even trying, he managed to hit the other rock down.

“pass”

“holy shit! you did it!” you exclaimed. “let’s go! quick!” you exclaimed practically jumping in place.

hana dul! hana dul! hana dul! hana dul!

3. gonggi

“come, come! sit down everyone, i need to concentrate.” the old lady said.

she picked up the first few pieces with ease, but couldn’t catch the last one causing her to start over.

that must have struck a nerve because every try after that was not a sucess.

“mom. you said you played gonggi with bullets in the korean war, you can do it.” her son said. “picture it as dad’s face-”

“you imbecile!” she yelled as she picked all the pieces up again, putting them down and picking them up once more with ease.

“pass”

4. spinning top

young-il cheered like the rest, maybe even more. he was holding his breath with every step you took. even as the frontman, he wasn’t sure why he was anxious for a player like you to win. it was very unlike him but he had to admit it felt good.

he watched as you coiled the rope around the spinning top. he could see your hands shaking as everyone’s eyes burned holes into you.

with two minutes left on the clock you trusted your instincts and drew your hand back, carefully flicking your wrist. the spinning top flew through the air, with a soft bang it landed on the ground, spinning perfectly.

“pass”

“she did it!” young-il shouted, causing a roar of cheers to erupt as your team moved towards the last and final game.

hana dul! hana dul! hana dul! hana dul!

5. jegi

“can everyone look away? i just need some concentration.” player 120 asked. everyone including your team turned to look away, even with the time left, you were shaking with fear. one wrong move and you could leave this game as easy as you came in.

everyone remained quiet as you listened for the sound of the shoe and jegi coming into contact.

“one.”

“two.”

“three.”

“four.”

“five.”

“oh! we did it! that was five!” the old woman shouted.

you looked up seeing the guard makinga circle up with his arms.

“pass”

“let’s go! let’s go!”

with that, your team was let go. relief overwhelmed you as you passed the finish line. as the guards unchained your legs, you turned to the crowd finding young-il easily.

you offered him a smile and a little wave, making him do the same.

──── 〇 △ □ ────

part five

when it was young-il’s turn his team took place at the start of the line.

“well, it’s a little sad that we don’t have an audience.” player 390 sighed.

“no, it’s good. we don’t have distractions.” player 388 replied.

throughout the game, there was one thing on young-il’s mind, getting back to you. he couldn’t wait for another of your late night conversations. the stupid smile you had when he cracked a horrible joke.

he knew that the game was designed so that there couldn’t be many mistakes made each round. when he joined it was merely for the thrill of it, also the fact that he wanted to see player 456 suffer. but now he knew he had to play the games thoroughly and right, he knew he had to do this to keep his promise to endure your safety.

──── 〇 △ □ ────

part six

you waited anxiously on your bed as more groups came in, but not young-il. it was nerve wrecking, with every group that came in, somehow the number of player became lesser. it was made clear that not everyone was made to pass.

a few minutes later, the metal door swung open again.

the final group walked in, player 456, player 388, player 390, another player you hadn’t seen before player 222 and young-il.

young-il didn’t waste any time, he jogged back to your bed, seeing your smile widen as he came close. before he had the chance to say anything, you pulled him into a hug, wrapping your hands around his neck tightly as he bent down onto your bed.

“oh my god, you did it! i was so scared, i-i was so worried-”

“hey, it’s okay. it’s okay, i was worried sick too.” he chuckled, taking a seat beside you on the bed.

“i thought the team didn’t want a girl? how did she manage to get in?” you asked, pointing to player 222 who was now with the rest, talking and laughing.

“she was heavily pregnant. we didn’t have a choice, i’m so sorry they didn’t take you in.” he apologised as you shook your head.

“it’s okay, i understand. don’t worry. i’m just glad you made it.” you said, leaning so close that you could feel his bodyheat.

“you know… when i was playing the spinningtop, i couldn’t for the life of me figure out how you did it in one try!”

“of course, an old man like you comparing yourself to me?” you gasped sarcastically, making him laugh.

“yea right, come on says the one who’s almost lying on me.”

you jerked back, you hadn’t even noticed.

“i’m so sorry, are you uncomfortable? i can mov-”

“hey, i’m playing around. come back, you can do whatever you want. i’m just a makeshift pillow for you.”

you sneered and laid your head on his shoulder, legs tangled together on the bed as you could feel the rhythm of his breathing match yours.

“thank you, young-il.” you whispered, your hand finding his, squeezing it to show your appreciation.

young-il looked down to your hand in his and raised it to his lips, giving it a gentle peck. “anytime, y/n.”

whethere he liked it or not, the game had hit a big obstacle. as the frontman he needed to balance between running the games and keeping it safe for you, and preventing player 456 from infiltrating.

even so, he knew the dangers of the next game. ‘mingle’ was one set out to kill, his plans were all falling apart. frontman realised that keeping you came with a cost, and it was one he was willing to pay.

[goddamnitmahtin]

This is too good… I must add because what if…

During one of their meetups

Tim, sleep deprived and desperate for coffee, “Robu…. I need you.” He slumped onto Danny’s couch

Now normally, Danny wouldn’t prefer to be referred to as a coffee brand all the time but… this was Tim. And it was Tim’s favorite coffee… so in a way… it was like he was Tim’s favorite coffee? It was hard to explain but Danny knew that he liked it a lot. More than he probably should have.

He placed the cup of coffee into his fake boyfriend’s hands. His very big hands. Course from working so hard being all heroic in the field of duty. Calloused and bruised, no doubt broken and reset dozens of times. The hands of a vigilante who was fully and utterly alive.

Danny was never jealous of Tim for that. Infact… he was very happy for Tim that he was so alive. Heartbeats are a good thing of course. And his was very nice. Steady and always going 100 miles a minute from the amount of caffeine he consumed. He supposed he should stop providing said caffeine but he spent his whole life being selfless. He was going to let himself be selfish this one time. He didn’t want to stop seeing his fake boyfriend.

“How long has it been this time?” Danny asked, trying not to sound too suspicious, “Since you’ve slept?”

He watched as the adorable mess of a man slumped over his couch sighed, “Um- 6- no- 8? Um- 74 hours or so?”

Well it wasn’t as bad as sometimes at least. He knew that it was bad for him to be awake so long. Sometimes on their “fake dates” Danny suggested movie nights just so he would take a nap. He wanted Tim’s heart to keep beating so he could keep listening to the sound.

Danny nodded, “Busy man you are.” He made sure his body blocked the coffee table from Tim’s view. He hadn’t properly put his mail out of sight before his vigilante had come to see him and he knew that Tim was nothing if not a detective.

Tim noticed the awkwardness coming from him immediatly, “Hey why are you hiding your mail from me?”

Dammit Tim why do you have to be so smart and perfect all the fucking time-

Danny laughed nervously, “I’m not- doing that…”

Tim sat up and gently adjusted Danny out of the way to look at the papers, grabbing him by the waist to do so.

Danny swooned only a little when he felt those big hands on his hips. Momentarily, he very much forgot why he was hiding his mail from Tim. But not long enough for the distraction to stop him from trying to grab the papers before Tim could reach them.

He failed.

Tim looked at the eviction notice in his hand, “Danny you never told me- I could have given you more money?!” He looked bewildered and confused. And more than that. Danny could tell there was a bit of fear in his eyes. He understood. He felt it too.

“Money isn’t the problem Tim, you give me more than enough,” Danny said fidgeting with the tracker fashionably dangling from his ear, “Everyone in the building got one. Ms. Abernathy sold it under the table to some shady company.”

Tim looked outright pissed, “What company is it?”

“I don’t remember but I remember hearing the name of it and thinking it sounded fake as hell. Probably why we are all getting kicked out instead of our leases transferring to the new owner. Ms. Abernathy doesn’t want her tenants in a bad situation,” Danny explained. He may not have been a vigilante anymore but hey, he still knew shady shit when he saw it.

Then a ding from Tim’s Nightwing tracker. And then immediately after, he feels another presence outside the window. The other birds were spying again.

“Move in with me,” Tim blurted out.

Danny… well Danny…. Danny fucking short circuited.

“Wha-?” was all he could get out. Normally he was better at improvising but ancients be damned, the cutest man ever just asked him to move in with him.

“Look I know I said we should wait since I didn’t want you in harms way if any rogues found my apartment but…” Tim wrapped his arms around Danny’s waist AGAIN, “I trust you to be able to defend yourself (after Danny broke into the Batcave as Phantom, Danny told him everything because why wouldn’t he) and honestly… I’de love having you around more often Robu.”

Danny’s breath caught as he felt those callouses on his hips again. He watched Tim stand to look him eye to eye and felt his entire core purr as one of those calloused hands moved to his cheek. Tim was really playing it up.

Danny could play it up too, “Aw is the tracker not enough anymore Timothy?” He wrapped his arms around Tim’s neck, bringing his face closer, “Of course I’ll move in with you. But don’t think I’ll be taking it off.” (Danny was referring to the tracker)

Tim smiled, “Don’t you dare.”

Then they kissed. Like on the lips. Cuz they were acting. Yeah, that. It didn’t stop Danny from adoring how Tim tasted of coffee though.

The next minute they were packing a few bags of Danny’s things and heading off to the new apartment.

While his core buzzed excitedly about the future of much more close proximity, Danny’s mind couldn’t help but wander off a little. They had gone this far. And Tim had a nickname for him. Maybe he should come up with one for Tim? He called him Tim or Timothy mostly, sometimes throwing other names in there to see if they stuck but nothing ever did. He called him Birdie once and the man gave him the biggest glare he had ever seen. It was attractive but not the response he was hoping for.

Danny knew a lot about death. Obviously. He also knew the irony of Tim’s vigilante persona Red Robin. The most alive man he had ever met used the name of a bird of death. Most people only know about the associations from cardinals, many stating that the dead send the bird to their loved ones as reminders of them.

What not as many people knew was that this was also extended to red robins. Red robins also had a double meaning when it came to the dead as they represented rebirth and starting anew. The same meaning as an upright death card in the tarot deck.

If anything… of the two of them Danny was the red robin. Tim was more of a…. swan. Yeah a swan. Loyalty, fidelity, and grace. Swans also mate for life but Danny wasn’t going to think about that. He knew Tim probably didn’t do that kind of thing like ghosts did. But it was a nice thought that he wasn’t going think about at all.

He set down the box with his clothes in it. He didn’t have very many. Most of the clothes he had were from before he moved here and most of that was destroyed in Amity Park when his parents found out what he was. It was… a lot of fire.

The rest of the clothes he had… well he kinda slowly stole them from Tim whenever he finally decided to shower and crash out whenever he stayed the night.

It wasn’t weird. He trusted Danny to wake him up before he had to leave for work. It wasn’t weird at all. Infact… Danny’s core quite liked it whenever he would stay.

“Well that’s all of my stuff,” he said.

Tim nodded, looking at all 4 boxes and 1 backpack, “Well it’s a good thing you pack so light. Too bad that couch wasn’t yours. It was comfy as fuck.”

Danny chuckled, “The bed wasn’t mine either.”

At that Tim laughed as well, “I know Robu. It was far too comfortable for you to afford.”

Danny scoffed, though the thoughts of his hometown that were brought up by how little stuff he had didn’t leave completely, “Wow thanks.”

Tim’s posture straitened. Dammit. Tim always fucking knew.

“What are you thinking about,” he asked, getting close. He always did that. Got close. He knew Danny sought comfort in physical contact. He could hear a difference in Tim’s heartbeat from the genuine concern.

Danny looked up at him, “Amity… my parents…”

Tim nodded, “Do you want to talk about it or a distraction?”

Ancients, this man was so fucking perfect.

“Distraction please,” Danny sighed, letting his head fall against Tim’s chest. He wanted to listen to his heartbeat. It was nice. And Tim held him for a while just like that. Talking about how he was going to buy a brand new bed for Danny and that after that, he was going to make 3 new tracker earrings all in different colors so that he could always have one on him no matter the outfit (As if Danny didn’t wear the silver one he already had everywhere).

One day… one day maybe it could be real. But until then… having Tim like this was going to have to be enough. It was better than having never met him at all. He couldn’t let go of his swan.

Extra:

*a few days into them living together*

Danny on the phone: So yeah I’m living with Tim now.

Jazz on the other line: So he’s your boyfriend? You could have just said that Danny.

Danny blushing furiously: N-no!

Jazz: Danny… from what you’ve told me, you live together, you eat together, you do laundry together, he knows your past, you know his…. you sleep in the same bed!

Danny: I- well- the new one hasn’t come in yet and before that it was only sometimes!

Jazz: Uhuh. And denial is a river in Egypt.

Danny: Jazz….

Jazz: Daniel the man has a tracker in your ear! So, what did you decide to call him?

Danny: *blushing profusely* I don’t know what you’re talking about.

Jazz: You can’t hide from me. I know your brain Daniel Fenton! He has a nickname for you so obviously you came up with one for him.

Danny: Fine… he’s… my Swan.

Jazz: ….. (processing) …. (Google searching the meaning)…. (Reading) …. Danny you are so insufferably corny. I hope you know that.

Danny smiling: He reminds me all the time.

Jazz smiling wider: Uhuh.

Danny, working as a cashier: Can I help you?

Tim half-deranged: Please I just want a cup of coffee

Danny squinted, then pulled out a binder: I'm sorry, sir, but you are on the Don't Serve Coffee list. I can offer you some tea instead-

Tim: NO. THIS IS THE FIFTH PLACE. BRUCE CAN'T OWN YOU ALL!

Danny leaning in to whisper: Look, man, I can't give you coffee under the cameras. Meet me in the back alley in twenty minutes and I'll get you a coffee. Bring Cash.

Tim: how much? Five hundred, six hundred or hell even a thousand? I'll bring whatever you want.

Danny: Chill dude, it's a cup of coffee. Three dollars is fine.

Tim: It's not just any coffee! It's my favorite brand and Bruce bought them out just to make sure they wouldn't sell to me anymore!

Danny: okay okay, this coffee means a lot to you. I get it. Twenty minutes alright?

Jason three weeks later in Bat cave: Tim's on drugs! I've caught him trading cash for small containers in a shady alley six times. We need an intervention.

Dick: What?! I thought that was his boyfriend!

Bruce: I also thought that was Tim boyfriend but if it's a drug dealer we have to help him.

Tim hiding in the shadows: shit.

Tim texting Danny: If anyone asks your my secret boyfriend who been making me teas in allies

Danny: who the hell would believe that? But I've had a boring week, so yeah, I'm down to be a pretend boyfriend.

[hyperfocusthusly]

Lifelines

——-

Tommy had been staring at his phone, typing out a message, an apology, anything. He always ends up deleting it. Over and over, so when it actually rings in his hand he almost drops it. The news hits him like a train, pushes everything else to the background.

His sister is dead. Her and her husband, car accident, didn’t stand a chance.

The flight is bad, the funeral worse and then someone from social services shows up with a baby he met once when she was newborn and only really recognises from pictures. The woman hands him a 6 month old child and explains that this is what they wanted. The will stipulated that he would be their guardian in such a circumstance.

He stares at her tiny face. She stares back.

He shuts the door and wonders how anyone could think this was the right choice.

——-

He has to tell his Captain. He chooses to tell Lucy. He distinctly chooses not to tell anyone else.

——-

Babies are hard, as it turns out. There’s no room for grief with an insistent baby taking up every waking second. No rest from being relentlessly needed. No telling her she’d be better off without him.

He thinks about calling.

While he watches her crawl down his hallway after a woodlouse, pointing insistently, letting out an excited little “ah!” as the bug in question scuttles under the shoe rack. She follows it carefully, watching with an intense curiosity that makes something churn deep inside Tommy’s chest.

He thinks about calling.

The first time she gets a fever and won’t settle unless she’s upright on his chest. It’s not the first time Tommy has gone 24 hours without sleep but it feels worse. His nerves scraped raw from her distress. His hand on her back counting her breaths over and over. He thinks about calling.

But what could he possibly say?

——-

The secrecy works until it doesn’t. Until the morning that Chimney is stood in the local doctor’s car park watching Tommy, darker eyed and more scruffy, strap an 8 month old into a seat in the back of his truck. Tommy doesn’t see him, or hear Jee whisper “is that Uncle Tommy daddy? Is that his baby?”

——-

It’s how Chimney ends up stood outside of Tommy’s door one lunchtime. He isn’t home but Chimney knows he needs to wait. He knows what trying to handle a baby that age by yourself is like.

When Tommy gets home and sees who is waiting for him Chimney has to give him credit for actually pulling into the driveway rather than continuing in the opposite direction.

Tommy gets out of the car, Chimney doesn’t miss the moment he takes to collect himself before looking up to him.

“What are you doing here Howie?” He sounds ragged.

“Just checking in, two months is too long, I’m sure someone owes someone a beer.”

He goes for light hearted, trying to ease out some of the tension that has appeared in Tommy’s stance. He is hovering by the back door of his truck, fingers tucked into the door handle, endlessly thankful that she closed her eyes and fell asleep on the drive home. Something hovers in the air between them until Chimney takes a step forward.

“I saw you at the doctor’s last week.” Tommy’s brows crease slightly, then pull back as he realises what Chimney is actually telling him.

“Are you going to hide her from me forever?” Tommy looks relieved somehow, less trapped. He shakes his head and carefully takes her out of the car. Settling her into the crook of his arm and pulling her diaper bag over his shoulder.

“I don’t really drink beer too much anymore.”

“A coffee then?”

“Yeah.” He swallows nervously, tries not to let the implications of this meeting, and the conversation he knows is coming, get to him. “I could do with a coffee.”

—-

[read on A03]

Tagging some people who interacted with my abstract post about this (hope you enjoy!🫶🏻);

@leashybebes @beanarie @accefan-blog @big-urchin-energy @loucifersbitch @fyrehose @evansbuck-ley @sad-girl-hours23 @certifiedbisexualdisaster @theweewooshow @beckym2001 @kinardevans

And also some beloved pals;

@bidisasterevankinard @rubydaiquiri @sweaters-and-silly @apassingbird @sunnywithachanceofbi @theotherbuckley @desert--moonchild @comfortingevanbuckley @livelaughlou @epiphainie @actuallyitsellie @typicalopposite @wikiangela @bi-bi-buckleys @littlepaws9 @ohithankyou

[ayu-stuff]

Careful what you wish for...

This is not a story, but an announcement. An announcement that will make some princes and princesses' acorns and silly buttons twitch, I'm sure.

Some of you know @eratoxcalliope, also known as @akinkycouplereturns. Apart from a friendship that is increasingly developing these days, which I am most proud of, we've got a little... project in our hands, after she's realized something vital:

She married a child. Her husband is a completely overgrown toddler. A whiny little baby who needs some guidance in the grown-up world. As he's told me himself, he's only 29 months old! How cute.

So we've taken up the task of making the cutest, best behaved little princess out of him. It's so funny that such a big, strong man craves humiliation and exposure so badly. Behold my and Calliope's kiddo getting his lil bum spanked yesterday night:

Doesn't he look soooo cute? Humbled by his Momma and Papa for throwing a tantrum like the whiny toddler he is? He was all fussy bc we hid the computer cord that allowed him lose so much time playing big boy videogames he's still too little to understand... So we had to make him listen :p. Though I think she was too lenient on the little Princess...

He's at work rn, but when he gets home, this is the stupid lil outfit waiting for him on Momma's bed (bc he will be soon transferred to the guest room...):

Say it with me: awwwwww. Such a wittle kiddo with his cute schoolboy outfit!

Long story short, we're happy to announce we want to make his life miserable 🥰 since he's admitted us how eager he is to follow any humiliating rules we see fit. We're starting off with some easy-to-follow schoolboy rules that'll make him quiver for sure:

Appropiate language. Princess will always address the adults with respect and will not cuss or use big girl words.

Bedtime is at 8pm from now on. No buts.

No nasty hair below Princess' nose. We want a hairless little tot to make fun of.

Appropiate clothing. Princess will dress like the toddler she is at home, with little kid's underwear or pull-ups to be worn during the day.

Diapers will be worn for the night and Princess is expected to wake up wet in them. Waking up dry will be considered misbehaving.

Papa is to be greeted every morning and every night with a cute little girl voice mail. Failing to do so will have Princess punished.

Mama and Papa can always add new rules to this set if Princess misbehaves.

And that'd be it. I swear to God this is as real as pathetic it sounds. Stay stuned to see this little guy's descent to babyhood!

(And maybe, just maybe, my own descent to Calliope's bed...)

And don't forget to reblog. He'll hate love it.

[ranchstoryblog]

Fandom Memories: HMFarm

Hmmm. So, nearly a quarter of you whippersnappers wanna hear about the good ol' days, huh? Well, back in the day, you wouldn't just hang out on one or two big websites to try to find people who shared your niche interests among a million random users. Everything had its own dedicated site, with its own special pack of weirdos that you probably wouldn't find anywhere else. Home grown fandom, sprouting from the cement sidewalks of the freshly paved internet like so many weeds with pretty little flowers on top. So, let's take a little stroll down memory lane and visit one of the oldest fan sites with Archive.org's "Wayback Machine."

Ahh, just like I remember it. This here is "Harvest Moon Farm." 'course, we just called it HMFarm, like the URL did. This used to be the place to be. The prime progenitor of all farmin' fansites in the English speaking community. Maybe not the literal first, but up until around 2005, this was where you would go if you wanted to know anythin' about digital farmin'. It truly was a magical place to visit.

This screenshot isn't the oldest design, but it's the one I fondly remember. The majority of my time using the site was during the lead-up to A Wonderful Life, which was probably also when it was the most active as an information source. Seeing the screenshots, checking the forums, speculatin', wonderin', dreamin'... It's a warm feeling. I can't really describe how it felt to look at these shots for the first time. Granted, they were mostly sourced from various places like IGN or Newtechnix, but who wanted to go to THOSE messy sites when all the info I wanted was right here? IGN wasn't telling me how to revive the Vineyard in Harvest Moon 64 while I was waiting for AWL news either.

Our first look at the character we would come to know as Muffy, the sheer novelty of being able to go into the townsfolk's glorious, 3D-rendered rooms, the apparent misidentification of flowering tomatoes... The webmaster, Gamergirl87, would caption each one as well. Some of the captions of those screenshots ended up not being exactly true, but it was the closest thing to on-going coverage we really had. Who else was there to trust?

It's a little off topic, but I think at one point after learning about the GBA connectivity, I must have dreamed about this very gallery and seeing a screenshot of a Gamecube-ized Popuri with the caption that Mineral Town villagers would visit after connecting the GC and GBA together. At least, I'm pretty sure it was a dream. I've met some people who claim they saw the same thing, but none of us have been able to find that screenshot or comment again.

The one that would most catch my attention was the one on the left here. I didn't have a PlayStation 2, so I was coming fresh off of the GameBoy and Nintendo 64 when going into A Wonderful Life. The pond, the mysterious glowing plants, the mood and ambiance of their lighting, the little tree on the door... Naturally, I mirrored it on my first day the remake was available.

It's a real shame that the message boards are poorly preserved, since it doesn't look like there was a news post about the pre-order plush cow. I was hoping to find the name of whoever it was that convinced me to commit my first ever preorder. I still have the receipt, but without the forum post it's really only tangentially related to HM Farm.

'course, just learning about existing games and upcoming games wasn't the only good thing HM Farm was for. As I alluded to, there was a whole community here! While it's a shame that the message boards aren't well preserved by the Wayback Machine, you know what is?

The "ideas" list! This incredible time capsule was one of the first "interactive" parts of the site, starting in the year 2000. It's kind of fun to see how many of these ideas actually happened. Obviously, new characters and personalities were probably expected, but Animal Parade would eventually feature a honeymoon, several games have clothing and other customization, a mall, city, and pig would be added as soon as GBC 3, a goat would be in A Wonderful Life... It's actually amazing how prescient a lot of the suggestions are.

I'd share the whole thing, but the amount of e-mail addresses involved gives me pause. Still, there's a couple I wanna highlight:

Considering how often I still hear about people wanting to marry the moms and people attributing it to just "the fans getting older," it's funny to see Laserion lay out that, no, we've always been like this. Right down to using Manna's unhappy marriage and Lillia's husband never returning as valid reasons they should be available.

Tuan145, on the other hand, I just find extremely amusing because of the specific "2002 Escalade" part. Yes, this is clearly the ideal vehicle for all farmers in the Story of Seasons universe. This is now accepted headcanon. The boat was added in GBC 3 too, so obviously a 2002 Escalade is going to be added any day now.

Another thing that's amazingly well preserved is the site's fan art section. There's a few missing images here and there, but for the most part the entire thing is open to explore. People of basically all ages and skill levels happily submitted their creations, including original characters, digital art, traditional art, crossovers with popular series like Sailor Moon, a liiittle bit of drug use... Y'know, all the kinds of things you'd expect to see in a fan art gallery of the day.

Even better, some of the artists are still doing art today! Looking around, I quickly discovered one of my favorites, Rina Cat, is now on Blue Sky. I made sure to ask for permission to repost their art before including it here. Reaching out to everyone would be a bit much though, so I'll just encourage you to just browse the gallery using the Wayback Machine yourself. There's poetry and fanfics too!

There's a lot more to the site, including useful bits of history like keeping track of release dates for games, pre-release screenshots, and information that was only available on Japanese websites at the time, but I'll leave it at that for now.

Unfortunately, though the site continued to be updated until 2010 and stayed online until 2021, it's no longer available on the regular internet and the URL doesn't seem safe to access anymore. I wanted to include an interview with the former webmaster as well, but all their readily available contact information was tied to the website and I haven't had any luck so far in finding other means of contact. If I have any success, I'll be sure to make a follow-up! If you have any memories of HMFarm, or other fan sites, I'd be happy to hear about it.

[earlycuntsets]

interview with frank, mikey and bob with mychemicalromanceforum.com 2006

interview was linked on the 2006 mcr website news (home) page

"The big forum interview with My Chemical Romance!

Reporters: Imre (poison amy) and Lisette (Lica) Bandmembers: Frank, Bob and Mikey Place: The Melkweg (Milkyway), Amsterdam, the Netherlands Date: Wednesday August 31st, 2005, 3.30pm

After a lot of stress and the prospect that the interview might be cancelled, it was finally time to go upstairs and meet the band. Two hours later than scheduled, but hey, they were there so we’re not complaining! Our palms were sweaty and our hearts were racing, but we managed to remain calm and behave like proper journalists instead of squealing fangirls.

L: Let’s start with our list! We’re already talking about messageboards so lets continue on that. Some people sometimes claim to be one of you when they are on forums or other websites, what do you think of that?F: I don’t understand it really, to me it’s kind of like that game the Sims, they’re spending so much time leading this fake life while they could be doing their own thing, and if your dream is to be in a band you should go out and practise instead of playing a video game or pretend you’re somebody else. It gets really creepy when those people do that and put out pictures of you and say a loved one or your dog. When they do that and then talk to other people on your behalf, that really angers me because we don’t know what they’re saying to other people and they might give advise and others might believe it. Internet can be a great thing, but it can also be a really evil thing. I: We have a rule against talking about your private life. F: Thank you. I appreciate that.Mikey: That’s a big problem with MySpace, because some of my friends actually are on MySpace and they get messages, I don’t know how they knew that my friends are on there, but these are people that aren’t even in bands and they would get messages from ‘me’ on MySpace. It’s really weird. I: They know everything. Trust me. Bob: That’s ridiculous. F: I’m still a huge fan of music, but when I was a fan of a band I would never ever be that intrusive. You know what I mean, to go as far as walk on someone’s bus and sit down and go through someone’s things, or try to steal something… I: There was one girl last week, she was at one of the shows in London and she was proud that she ripped something off your arm! F: [sad tone] Yeah, yeah… I: She was bragging about it all over the internet. F: I know… L: How do you feel about these things? F: You know, it’s weird. *thinks* I don’t know how I feel about that. I definitely know that when I was at shows I would bring a souvenir home, but it wasn’t someone’s personal property, it was a flyer or something like that. It’s weird if you wanna go into the crowd thinking ‘am I gonna come out with everything?’ L: Are you nervous when you see a large crowd? Are you worried then? F: No! Well, no, I mean, it depends. There’s a bunch of different type of fans. You know, there’s people who just wanna say I love you, love your show, and that’s awesome. They respect the music and the art form. And then there’s some people that need to have that souvenir, that need a signature or a picture and there’s some that just scream and try to pull your hair out and that’s ridiculous and then there’s the drunk fan that wants to be the one that punched you. Unfortunately for the people that just wanna say hi or the people that just want an autograph, sometimes they get flooded because the bad apples are so loud or with so many. It sucks to make people wait outside for hours before you leave because I don’t wanna weed out the bullshit, you know what I mean, the teenie ‘oh wow the new N’Sync is an actual band’ you know that’s a terrible thing, but you try to do more good than bad.

L: How was it for you Bob, when you joined the band they were already on their way to become very successful, how was it for you to step into a band that was already on their way? Bob: When I first started it wasn’t really sure that… Well, I don’t think anybody thought that it was gonna be this successful. When I first started it was still in the van, playing shows for like a hundred people. It wasn’t like this when I first started. As far as the kids being crazy, obviously they *nods towards Frank and Mikey* get it a lot more, but it’s just strange for me. L: Well, you’re completely accepted on the forum, everybody loves Bob, they have it in their signatures. *grins* F: How could you not love Bob?!

I: When you started out, did you ever imagine being nominated for 4 VMA’s against Green Day?F: No, not at all! I: How crazy is that?! F: Pfff! It’s flattering.M: It was a great experience. The whole thing.F: I’m still reeling from it. I’m really glad it’s over. I: Were you nervous? F: Oh god, yeah. I definitely threw up before.M: You can see me biting my nails on camera. Every time they were showing Jamie Fox you can see me right behind him biting my nails a lot. I was really freaked out.F: It’s one of those things where.. Growing up I didn’t get to watch them all the time, but I saw bands like Nirvana play it and Guns’n’Roses. So just to be there and think of all the things that happened on that show and to actually play it, it was ridiculous. I: Because of the MTV awards you had to do the two festivals in England on the same day, how was that? Were you nervous doing those shows? B: It was tiring really. F: It was very tiring, yeah. And again, we kept like thinking of people that played it before. You know what I mean. I’m definitely keeping the two passes and I’m gonna frame them. It was rad. To do Reading and Leeds and especially on the same day, it was crazy! B: We were supposed to fly to Leeds and we couldn’t get on a bus and go to Reading, because we wouldn’t have enough time to set up, so we were supposed to take three helicopters and I was so psyched about that! I was so excited! It would have been so awesome to fly on a helicopter! But then something happened with the weather at Reading and they wouldn’t let the helicopters get that close to so many people, so we just took a plane. L: So the helicopter experience still has to take place. B: Yeah. We’re gonna do it one of these days. I don’t care, even if it’s on a day off, we’re taking a helicopter ride! L: Are you a thrill seeker? B: I … *thinks* Kind of. I guess so. F: As long as it’s got something to do with helicopters or motorcycles or black vans, that kind of stuff. I: You wouldn’t go horseriding on the beach. F: *laughs* I don’t think he’s that horseriding-on-the-beach type of guy. B: No. I wanna go skydiving one of these days. F: I’m not!!! I: Why not? F: If you’d asked me a couple of years ago to do it, I’d go ‘yeah, fuck it!’ but now I’m just too happy. You know what I mean? I: You don’t need that. F: Yeah! I don’t need to do that.

Then suddenly Bob exclaims: What is wrong with these people?! *reads from book* What would happen if you saw Mikey walk into the bathroom with another toaster? Signed: Bob Bryar’s official bitch.M: It wasn’t a toaster, it was a heater. I was putting a space heater in the bathroom when I was sick or something. I brought this heater into the shower so it was warm when I got out. It’s not the smartest thing in the world to do, but I was like ‘whatever, I’m fucking freezing’, but apparently they turned it into a toaster.. L: But you were fine. M: Yeah, I��m here right now. *all laugh*

L: For the video from The Ghost of You, you guys have your hair really smooth. We understand how you get your hair like that, but we were wondering how did they get Ray’s hair totally smooth? How much stuff did they put in there?F: You’ll see it on the making of the video, he has like these two little buns. B: Did they flat iron his hair too? F: They did something. It was all flattened out. It was all bundled together in this little fist of a bulb, so they could only shoot him from the front and part of the side. It was crazy. He was gonna cut his hair and we were all like ‘no don’t do that!!’. I: Did he ever tried to hide objects in his hair? To smuggle them inside? F: Hide objects in it? He might. B: *thinks* I don’t think so. *All giggle*

I: Another question they asked is: if your tourbus driver got ill, who would you trust to drive it?F: Bob. I: Yeah? Why? F: Cos he’s done it before. B: It happens a lot when you have to move a bus. When I used to tour with other bands, our drivers would just be like ‘hey, you wanna drive?’ and then I’d drive for like 1000 miles. L: It’s cool to drive something that big, isn’t it. B: Yeah, I like to drive and being on tour you never get to drive anywhere. If you’re not in a bus you’re in a cab or if you’re not in a cab you have somebody else driving you, so you know I take every opportunity I get to drive.

L: If you could describe your life so far in 5 words, what words would you choose?M: Tiring, wonderful…F: Surprising, uhm, definitely tiring… B: Red Bull. I: Hey, that’s two words! B: Oh sorry! *laughs* F: Coffee. B: There you go, coffee. Fun! (All at the same time) Proud. F: Prun! *grins*M: Yeah. B: How about proud-fun? I: We’ll make that a new forum-word! B: Prun.

I: Have you ever read any of the fanfictions people write about you? *guys laugh* M: My friends sent me one once. It was creepy! My friends are interested in all that stuff, so they all sit online and send it to each other and laugh. And then one of them emailed one to me and it was something really fucking out of hand.F: I heard Mikey’s hot for me. I: The hottest couple is you and Gerard actually. F: Oh really? We’re the hottest couple? B: That’s amazing. I: That’s actually one of the most active parts of the forum, the fanfiction section. F: Wow! That’s crazy. My god… (kind of unsure) Well, if that’s what gets you hot, go for it.

L: Do you have something with you when you go out on stage, like a lucky thing? B: High fives. F: Yeah we do, like high fives before we go on stage. I don’t think there’s any charm I have.. I think it changes like I’ll have something for a time that I feel is lucky, but then it’ll probably break or something and you get something new… Like these shoes *everyone looks at Frank’s feet* are lucky I think. None of it’s really lucky at all of course. *thinks* I have these dogtags that I wear a lot, but I can’t wear them on stage because it hurts my neck. I: Yeah and someone might steal them! F: Yeah that’s it, but I wear them all the time, except when I’m playing.

L: Yeah, you go crazy on stage and sometimes you’re lying on the floor, how are you able to play like that?F: You get used to it, like with anything. When we’re playing a new song, like right now we’re playing a new song. Well, not new new, but new for us because we haven’t played it in so long, so ah, we’ll play eh *looks at Bob* should we tell them? *Bob nods* Alright, we’re playing Jetset tonight and I’m not used to playing that song, so I’ll just stand there and make sure I hit every chord. L: So you’re not going crazy. F: *laughs* No, but you know what I mean like it’s hard because I get into it and I would do it, but at the same time if it’s so new I can’t. Once I’m comfortable with it I can do whatever I want. I: Is there a favourite song when you play? All: Prison! F: Yeah, Prison is like a band favourite. B: Yeah we like to play that. It’s become the song that when we need to play something for a soundcheck we pick that. I really like playing Jetset too though. I: Why didn’t you put it in the set before? F: We’ve never played certain songs, I mean like never ever played them. I think Jetset was one of those until we were like ‘yeah lets finally get this out’. We had about five songs to pick from for the headline tour, some older stuff that we haven’t played in a really long time and there’s this song called Cubicles that we’ve never played. I think you guys played it (to Mikey)…M: Yeah we’ve played it on a couple of shows.F: But I’ve never actually played it. I: It must be nice to do a different set. F: Yeah! You know it’s fun to be doing something that you haven’t played in a really long time because it puts a spin on things and it kind of challenges you.

L: Most places have a very active local music scene, do you ever go to a band of the local music scene when you’re in a city?F: I would love to if we had a second off, but we never do.L: And back home in New Jersey, do you go there to local shows? F: Yeah, if we’re home for a while and there’s a show going on, I’ll go see it. But it’s hard because we do this for a living and I mean we love what we do and we love music, but sometimes the last thing we wanna do is go to a show. It has to be a really good show, you know what I mean. I: Yah, but it must also be part of your job to keep up to date about new bands. F: Yeah, well we tour so much and we hear so many things from different people, I mean I found out about a lot of different bands from just kids. It kind of keeps you in your favourite scene, you know. And we get demos all the time.

I: A few weeks ago I interviewed the singer from HIM, Ville, and he told me he had been talking to you guys about maybe touring together.F: That would be cool. Yeah. He’s a great guy. He’s really nice. I: I know! *grins* F: I think that would rule. To me, HIM are kind of like the European Bon Jovi. That’s what I get when I listen to them.

Sadly the girl from the record company interrupted us by saying it was nearly time and we could ask one last question. Lica asked it. L: About the second I’m Not Okay video; it starts off with Ray and Gerard sitting there and Gerard says: I don’t wanna make it, I just wanna… What does he wanna do? F: Ok, the original line was: I don’t wanna make it, I just wanna rock! And we didn’t like it. If you keep an open end you can make it whatever you want it to be, you know. The rest of that, the whole opening scene, was written out. It was scripted and we were like ‘this isn’t really working’ so Ray actually re-wrote everything. Everything you hear in the video, other then ‘I just wanna’ is something that Ray wrote maybe ten minutes before we shot it!

Then the girl from the record company came back inside to tell us we really needed to wrap it up and Frank practically begged her to do two more from the book, like he suggested when we started out. Bob flips through the book. B: Bam! *points* All time favourite sad song? M: the Smiths – Asleep. That’s the fucking saddest song ever. B: That Jimmy Eat World song off of that show.. F: Angel song? B: Yeah. F: Oh yeah. Ah, geez, Angel Angel. Oh, right, ready? *flips through book again* F: When you guys stop and think about how you ended up where you are now, do you feel really lucky and jump for joy, or do you don’t give a damn at all? *laughs* I think we are the luckiest people in the whole fucking world. B: We’re very proud of ourselves! F: To be able to say that, you know, you’ve accomplished goals, that you set for yourself so long ago and this is awesome you know, like to be on tv or on the radio – fuck the radio and tv! To hear kids in different countries or different states sing along to songs that you wrote in your basement is the most surreal experience that you’ll ever have. And to have it mean something to people you never thought you would ever meet. That right there is the most amazing thing.

We had a minute to go on a picture with them and say goodbye. Frank told us that he really appreciated what we are doing for the band and thanked us for everything by giving us both a very tight hug. As you can probably imagine, we high on adrenaline for the rest of the day. The guys were lovely and very happy to see that all of you had posted so many questions for them. Thank you forum members, and thanks My Chemical Romance for making this all happen!

Second group pictureSaying goodbye and packing our stuffLast minute chattingFrank telling us how much he appreciate the work we're doing on here"

interview with frank, mikey and bob with mychemicalromanceforum.com 2006

[stars4noah]

TELL THE STARS- one.

{WARNINGS}: swearing

w.c- 2,023

a.n- i've only written one chapter of this and i'm in love. sorry it's so short, i'm having brain farts rn :(

{TAGLIST}: nothing yet..

for years, noah had been searching. the red string bound to his pinky felt like it was burning through his skin. he wasn't usually a man of religion or prayer, but he would pray to the stars that one day he would find her. his soulmate.

he was making his morning coffee run for himself and the others before they took off for the beginning of their tour when a young girl bumped into him, spilling her coffee all over his shirt. she apologized profusely, panicking and helping wipe his shirt with some napkins, while he was stood frozen, staring at the string that connected the two of them.

NOAH'S POV.

today marked the beginning of our tour. new album, new fans, bigger shows. bad omens had gotten bigger than i had ever expected, and i had a smile on my face the whole way i was walking to some coffee shop, looking down at my phone.

as the bell rang, announcing my arrival, i felt a small push against my chest, followed by cold liquid all over me. my eyes widened as i looked down to see a girl apologizing over and over again, trying to help me clean my shirt.

"fuck." i cursed as i registered what happened before noticing the red string that tied us together. i snapped out of my haze, knowing she was likely very confused.

"hey, it's alright. no big deal. accidents happen. let me buy you a new one, yeah?" i smiled sweetly.

"sorry, i really would, but i have to go. sorry!" she said, rushing out of the store before i could even get another word in. would it be weird for me to chase after her? probably.

i groaned, running a hand over my face. i forced myself to commit her face to memory. if i met her again, i would have to stop her. i think that she was so busy and in such a rush to get to her destination, she didn't even notice the obvious.

we were soulmates.

with a small smile and a dirty shirt, i ordered mine and the band's drinks and waited patiently.

i ran into the house quickly, putting the drinks on the kitchen counter as i was met with eyes of confusion. "woah, dude, what's going on?" matt asked, and a huge goofy smile spread across my face.

"i met my soulmate."

their eyes widened. "seriously? where is she?" nicholas asked, a smile taking over his features as well.

"oh uh... she left. i met her but i didn't meet meet her, you know?"

jolly raised an eyebrow. "so what happened?"

"i walked into the coffee shop and this girl spilled her coffee all over me and i realized her string was connected to mine! and then i offered to replace her drink but she said she had to go and just rushed out before i could say anything else."

i sighed, a look of longing in my eyes as i leaned against the counter and tried to come up with a plan on how i could find her again. i refused to leave LA before i got her number at least. knowing she was out there, i couldn't go out on tour for almost a year not knowing her name or anything about her.

"we have to find her. fast." i said.

READER'S POV.

i rushed out of the coffee shop, running to my car and quickly driving off. i had just been hired for some new stage tech job for some band and i could not afford to be late. plus, these guys payed pretty well. and one of them could be my soulmate, who knows?

i put the address for the airport into the gps, driving as fast as i could without getting pulled over. today had already been such a shitty day, and it was almost 8 am. lord knows what would happen if i-

whoop!

"oh, come on!" i groaned, looking at the flashing red and blue lights from the rearview mirror. i pulled over into some parking lot, putting my car in park and running my hands over my face. this day could not get worse.

"ma'am, do you know why i pulled you over?" the officer asked as i rolled down my window.

"speeding, probably." i said, the officer giving me a disapproved look at my slight attitude. they took my license and registration, walking off for a moment before coming back with all my stuff and the added bonus of a ticket.

i huffed as i pulled away. "$200 fucking dollars. jesus christ." i said.

i soon pulled up to the airport, parking my car which took longer than i'd like to admit. i was only a couple minutes late as i walked into the airport, looking for a familiar face. and i was shocked when i found them, only to see two familiar faces.

oh right. the guy from the coffee shop.

'please don't be my boss, please don't be my boss.' i thought to myself as i walked over to them, a soft smile on my face.

"oh, good! you're here!" matt said. i smiled back, giving him a small hug in greeting. him and i had been best friends since we were kids, and he offered me the job not too long ago. of course, needing the money, i said yes. i had a degree in that kind of stuff anyways, so it wasn't much of a bother. i knew what i was doing for the most part.

he introduced me to everyone, the last person being the cute guy from the coffee shop.

"and this is noah, our lead singer and boss."

'fuck!' i cursed internally.

brand new job, and i already made a terrible first impression. i shook his hand, my eyes going down to his pinky out of habit. i froze when i saw his string connected to mine, my eyes widening as i looked back up at him, though he didn't seem to notice. did he not see the string? or did he not recognize me? i didn't want to say anything out of fear of seeming like a weirdo, so i said nothing and continued walking with them to security.

security was a breeze, and we all sat down at our terminal as we waited for the plane.

"so.. have you met your soulmate?" i asked noah, looking up at him. he smiled softly.

"yeah, today actually. she bumped into me at a coffee shop. didn't get her name though. or a good look at her face. you?"

i nodded, biting my lip. "i think so."

"oh yeah? how?"

i took a breath. "uh.. funny story." i laughed. "i don't think he recognizes me. we got a glimpse of each other for like a minute and i ran off."

"oh, well you should try to find him." noah said.

"actually, i-"

"flight 202 is now boarding." the intercom spoke.

i cursed as noah and i got split up again. we boarded the plane, me sitting beside matt next to the window and noah a couple rows behind us sitting by nicholas.

i sighed as i sat down, running my hands over my face with a groan.

"hey, what's wrong?" matt asked as he got comfortable beside me.

"i'm like, 99.9 percent sure that noah is my soulmate. and he doesn't recognize me. and every time we talk we get interrupted before i can say anything." i said, and matt's eyes widened.

"wait, you're cute coffee shop girl?"

"yes!" i said. "why do you think i was running late? i spilled my coffee all over him and then i got pulled over. today has been the worst."

matt laughed softly, patting my back.

"it'll get better. i promise."

a couple hours later, we arrived at some airport in florida. our first show was in orlando, so once we got out of the airport we headed straight to the tour bus to start our drive.

"alright." noah said. "[y/n], you can have the bunk above mine. we're gonna be here for a good few hours, so make yourself at home."

i nodded and smiled softly, my eyes darting down to his pinky again.

the whole soulmate thing was a weird process. after you officially met your soulmate, your string disappeared, leaving you with a mark on your finger with a color that matched that of your soulmate's. noah's was green, as was mine. he hadn't noticed though.

"hey, no-"

"noah! come here for a sec!" folio called, and noah excused himself before heading to the front of the bus to talk to his friend.

i climbed into my bunk, groaning into my pillow. every time i was close to telling him, he got distracted. couldn't one thing go right in my life?

before i knew it, the exhaustion of the day had crept up on me, lulling me into sleep. all of my worries seemingly faded away for the time being, and i relaxed for the first time in hours.

until i was woken up again, water being splashed on my face. i sat up quickly, hitting my head on the top of my bunk. "jesus- ow!" i said, looking at the five boys who were in front of me, matt holding the now empty bottle of water. he tried to contain his laugh, noticing how i looked at him with a glare.

"i hate you." i said.

"you love me."

as we prepared the arena for the tour, matt showed me how things worked. how to set up the speakers, the different tracks and when they need to be played, and all of that stuff. i tried to stay out of the way for the time being, only doing things when i was told to do them.

i'd never seen noah perform before. i'd never even heard of the band until matt gave me the job opportunity. but seeing him perform on stage was something different entirely. how could a man with such a sweet face have such a powerful voice? it was crazy.

i tried to ignore my growing arousal as i watched him perform. the way he moved, the way he spoke and smiled and screamed. it was all so beautiful. so infatuating. i was so caught up in my own thoughts i didn't even notice when the show ended. and just like always, every time i tried to talk to him, he ended up having something else to do. i could barely get three words out before he had to go and see some fans or sign some papers or some rockstar shit. it was starting to piss me off.

i threw my bag on my bed as we got back to the hotel. first show, and i was in a bad mood. the whole day, nothing had been going the way i needed it to. i couldn't even bring attention to the fact that i was his soulmate. standing right in front of him, and he didn't even notice.

just like i didn't notice someone walk into the room, right i was taking off my shirt.

"oh, shit!"

i screamed, quickly covering myself as i turned around.

"fuck, noah! what are you doing?" i questioned, my eyes wide in confusion and shock.

"i- we- we're um.. sharing a room. i thought matt told you." he said, a hand over his eyes.

of course. matt.

i huffed, pulling my shirt back on. "you can look now."

he slowly uncovered his eyes, not wanting to make eye contact with me. i was just so tired, my mind didn't even think to tell him about the whole soulmate thing.

i sighed. "it's been a long day. i'm sorry, i'm just gonna go to sleep."

"no, don't apologize. i get it. get your rest." he said, getting in his bed as i got into mine.

while i dozed off, i didn't notice his eyes on me. or rather his eyes on that little mark on my finger, followed by a soft whisper of my name. i had already fallen asleep.

[zepskies]

Outlander - Part 2

Pairing: Dean Winchester x OFC 

Summary: Dean Winchester has been stripped of his military rank, but he’s living happier with his new wife, trying to adjust to a new life in her tribe. What will it take for her people to accept him, especially when the battle for her heart might not be completely won? 

AN: Here we go! Diving deeper into Dean's (mis)adventures, plus a big Protective Dean moment...

Disclaimer: I first got inspired to write The Honorable Choice for @jacklesversebingo after a recent rewatch of Spirit: The Stallion of the Cimarron (with a tinge of Yellowstone in the mix). I’ve done a fair bit of research for this now ongoing series, both on the Native American Lakota tribe, and on American history during this time in the late 1800s; AKA: the Old West, during the American Indian Wars.

Jacklesverse Bingo24 Prompt: Western AU

Song Inspo: The Spirit Soundtrack

Word Count: 6.4K

Tags/Warnings: 18+ only. Mentions of attempted sexual assault (not graphic). Protective Dean, survival situations, derogatory name-calling, hunting (in the traditional sense), angst, blood and violence, hurt/comfort, and romantic fluff and spice.

🐎 Series Masterlist || Bingo Masterlist

Part 2: What is Home

No matter how Dean tries, somehow he never makes his mark with the arrow. His boot even slips on the tree branch he was perched on, and he falls straight into the mud from this morning’s rain shower.

The other six men wait for him on the ground, and they laugh at him. 

Otaktay is the ringleader today, as he is whenever Šóta isn’t here.

“Get up, wašíču. Watch close,” Otaktay says, in his limited English. He and Takoda smoke their long pipes leisurely and blow smoke rings up in the air.

Wašíču.

Fat taker. Greedy White. By now, Dean knows what that means, and it’s worse than Outlander. It makes his jaw clench and his temper spike.

Otaktay gives Takoda his pipe to hold, then reaches behind his back for his bow and an arrow from his quiver. Dean has noticed that the other men’s bows look a bit bigger than his, but Otaktay called it a “training bow.”

He notches his arrow, pulls it back and lets it fly. It hits up into the tree and spears an apple, pinning it to the trunk.

It’s an impressive move, but Dean just picks himself up and cleans most of the mud from his hands. He knows Mila will have something to say about making a mess of the clothes she made for him.

“All right, fine. I am what I am,” Dean says. He meets Otaktay’s gaze head-on. “But I’ve still been hunting all my life.”

Dean used to keep his knife on his belt, but now he wears the pants and tunics the other men wear, and they either strap their weapons in a leather holster around their thigh or to their ankles. Dean unsheathes the knife he keeps strapped to his thigh. 

And he throws it hard. It cuts straight through a branch and brings an entire bunch of apples to the ground by Takoda’s feet; he even has to jump to avoid them landing on his head. The others murmur to each other, begrudgingly impressed. 

Except for Otaktay. His face remains stoic. 

A whistle breaks the tension in the forest clearing. It’s Šóta, who joins them, coming through on his horse. 

“How is the hunt going?” he asks in English, raising a brow over at the wild boar that lies in the grass. Otaktay and the others killed it this morning, so he’s the one who speaks first. 

“The Outsider will bring a whole bunch of apples to feed his wife. How satisfying,” Otaktay says, with a dry edge of mocking. Dean’s jaw clenches, but he tries not to rise to the bait. 

“Maybe he satisfies her in other ways, brother,” Šóta says. “Maybe that’s why he has a wife, and you don’t.” 

His tone is teasing, but is there a reproaching edge there too? Dean’s lips tug upwards, slightly; he sees that Otaktay simmers at the dig, but he doesn’t dare say anything against Šóta.

“Hey!” Takoda calls out. He points at the boar they mean to take back to the village. A mountain lion slips closer down from a tree. He sinks his teeth into the boar’s thigh and begins to drag it away, farther into the forest.

The sight of the wild cat spooks the men’s horses grazing nearby. Even Baby scatters along with them, braying in distress. But the men hustle into action. Even with mud still clinging to his clothes and his skin, Dean grabs up his bow and arrow and runs to grab his fallen knife. He whistles to Baby and calms her down enough to climb up onto her back. 

The others have already done the same with their horses and are chasing the mountain lion into the woods. It zips up a tree, and Šóta, Otaktay, and the others aim their arrows high. They wait and listen. 

Otaktay releases his arrow first. The cat’s angry shriek fills the clearing from above.

“You got him,” Šóta says.

“Winged him. He’s not dead,” Otaktay says. His brows furrow as he listens closer. 

The cat jumps from the tree and takes Dean to the ground. Baby brays and stamps around, and Dean has to both avoid her hooves and try to keep the mountain lion from sinking his claws or his teeth into his neck. 

Šóta’s eyes widen, but he springs into action by whistling to the men and raising his bow. Before he can shoot, he has to stop short at what he sees. 

A moment later, Dean rolls over and heaves the lion’s dead body off of him. His knife comes out of the animal’s chest, slick and crimson with blood. It runs down his muddy shirt as he pants and heaves for breath.

Šóta gets down from his horse, running his disbelieving eyes over the scene.

Dean looks up and finds a hand offered to him. His gaze travels up further and meets Šóta’s. His eyes are an even darker brown than Mila’s. Dean takes his hand and accepts the help to his feet.

The other men hesitate, stunned into silence, but they get down from their horses and help Dean and Šóta heft the dead animal onto the latter’s horse. They will take it, along with the boar they retrieve from up in the tree, back to camp.

Mila returns to camp not long before the men. She meant to start prepping for supper, but she becomes sidetracked while playing Chase with the children. As one of the few young women still without children of her own, she tries her best to give the mothers a break in the afternoon, so they can finish washing, mending, cooking, or even just having a rest for themselves. 

Watching their joy, and even helping them up when they fall and cry, makes her wonder when she will finally be blessed with a child. She hopes they will have Dean’s eyes, so pretty and green.

When the men return, she raises her head breathlessly and smiles. It soon dims, however, as she catches sight of Dean. She gets to her feet and ushers the children back to their mothers before she goes to meet him. 

He gives her a sheepish look when he gets off his horse. Her mouth drops open at seeing him covered in mud and sweat and blood. 

“It’s not as bad as it looks,” he says, trying to placate her with raised hands. She ignores that and touches his chest, her palms splaying down his stomach as she tries to find a wound. She finds more tears and scratches through his soiled clothes, but no real wounds. Still, she’s not satisfied yet.

“What happened?” she asks. 

“Just a little trial by fire, sweetheart,” Dean says. He grasps her arms to placate her. “Everything’s okay.”

Otaktay pointedly looks away from the scene and moves on along with the other men. Šóta notices, but he goes to his cousin.

“We encountered a thief,” he says, gesturing to the body of the mountain lion they brought back for tonight’s meal. “Dean Winchester not only caught the thief, but made an example of him.”

Mila raises her brows and looks to Dean, as if to say, Is this true? He offers a smile and a shrug. She smiles back.

Šóta rides on, but he glances back and sees how Mila dotes on her husband, touching a gentle hand to his cheek.

In return, Dean holds her by the waist and talks to her with a warmth in his eyes that he only has for her. Or at least, that’s what Šóta finally sees.  

Mila and Dean head back to their tipi, where she grabs a fresh change of clothing for him. 

“I could’ve gotten it,” he says. 

“You’ll track mud inside,” she points out wryly. She holds the bundle of clothes for him on their way to the river. “All you do is give me mending to do. You can’t keep clean, can’t keep from hurting yourself, can you?”

Dean knows her well enough now to realize her griping isn’t all that serious. She was just worried.

“I guess not,” he says, trying to hide his amusement.

She gives him a stern look, but with that cheeky look of his, she can’t stay upset for long. Her face softens into an exasperated smile, and she gestures towards the river. “Go. Wash yourself up. I will have supper ready soon.”

Dean grabs her hand and makes her drop the change of clothes in the grass. 

“Only if you come with me,” he says. He grabs her and aims to toss her over his shoulder, but she squeals in protest. 

“Dean Winchester! I’ll have nothing to wear if you drop me in the water!” 

Dean pauses, his lips tugging at a smirk. “You make a decent point, but I’m just wondering, do I really care if you’ve gotta walk back naked?” 

“Dean!” she giggles, hitting his shoulder. 

He chuckles and sets her down, but he still doesn’t let her leave. By now, she doesn’t want to. He starts helping her undress, followed by him peeling off his disgusting clothes. He hooks an arm around her waist and hauls her with him into the water. She laughs and tries to escape him by splashing water in his face, but he just spits it out. He chuckles and wipes the excess droplets.

He slips his arms around her waist, holds her tight and floats with her for a bit. He takes in a deep breath and finds peace here with her here in the sun-warmed water. She’s become his peace.

Mila takes his face in her hands and kisses him slowly. When she pulls away and their eyes meet again, she smiles.

“I am proud of you,” she says. “Not just for today, but for every day that you stand strong.”

Dean’s lips quirk with a reluctant smile. He doesn’t take praise very well, but her words make the weight on his shoulders feel a little bit lighter. Holding her flush against his chest, every soft, familiar curve is pressed against him. He leans in and captures her lips again.

That evening, the tribe gathers for a feast prepared by the Chief’s wives, Mila, and her mother Weaya to celebrate the warriors’ highly successful hunt.

Šóta watches his cousin with her Outlander husband. Dean follows her lead in divvying out portions of the meal, but still at times with a supportive hand on the small of her back. He even takes the large, hot bowl out of her hand to help serve her and her family—including Chatan, who accepts the offered bowl without a word.

Dean Winchester doesn’t sit until Mila does. They talk together with her mother and the others, though Dean mostly keeps to himself while the women chat. He occasionally responds to a direct question or comment, but overall, he seems content to listen. He’s starting to follow more bits of conversation in their language.

At the end of the meal, he stands with Mila and helps her collect bowls that will be washed. The man is confident, but not prideful. He’s hardworking, self-reliant, and has the makings of a warrior. 

However, Šóta is not the only one who watches his cousin and the Outlander.  

Šóta pulls Dean aside after breakfast the next morning. He takes Dean back to the forest, beyond where the horses are kept in their pen, and puts his own hunting bow in Dean’s hands.  

“Feel the weight of it,” Šóta says. “Does it seem like yours?”

Dean considers it, testing out the strength of the bowstring. “No. It feels heavier.”

“Because it is. We gave you a training bow for children,” Šóta says. He takes the bow from Dean and brings him the one he had tied to a satchel on his horse. “I will give you this one. It belonged to my half-brother, Takoda, before he made his own. I made it for him, and now I give it to you.”

Dean takes the bow. Šóta’s right, it’s taller and heavier than the first one they gave him. Of course they tried to trick him by giving him a kid’s bow. He tries not to be too annoyed about it, because it looks like Šóta’s warming up to him, at least enough to actually train him.

“Thanks,” Dean nods. He runs a hand over the bow and admires the craftsmanship of the wood, smooth and chestnut colored. He already has a quiver full of arrows he’s made himself, but first, Šóta corrects his stance and his posture.

“Your body knows the movements of hold, aim, and shoot, but you think too much,” he says. “How you shoot an arrow is not so different from a gun.”

Dean raises a brow. He begs to fucking differ.

Reading the skeptical look on his face, Šóta smiles.

“My father once told me, ‘A weapon is a weapon is a weapon,’” Šóta continues. “The way you use it might be different, but your mind is the same. Think like the river. Calm and free, yes?”

He throws Dean a thumbs up—something Dean taught him a week ago. Šóta just hasn’t gotten it quite right yet. 

“A river ain’t always calm,” Dean points out. He should know. He almost died on the river in his journey here.

Šóta thinks for a second, tilting his head. “That is fair. Here, let me think of something better—”

“It’s okay, I think I get it. I just gotta relax a bit, is that it?”

“Yes, but stay focused.”

“I can focus. I just need you to back up a little.”

Šóta raises his hands in surrender. He takes a couple of steps back and gestures at a tree to use for target practice. Dean centers himself.

“Remember to breathe,” Šóta says.

Dean shoots him a glance. Again, Šóta holds up his hands, then crosses his arms, pressing his lips together. Dean shifts his gaze back to the target, and he lets out a deep breath. Then he lets the arrow fly. 

It hits just shy of the tree’s center. 

Šóta smiles, giving him another “thumbs up.” 

“Good. Now, again,” he says.

The morning slowly dips behind the clouds into a golden afternoon. Šóta helps Dean catch and roast a couple of fish by the river, which cuts through the forest. Its waters are choppy and shimmering with the light.

This forest used to run almost all the way to the Black Hills, before the U.S. government began its work on the railroad. The tribe has had to move their village more than once out of self-preservation, like they did when Dean came to them. 

He felt bad for it at the time, but he’s also grateful they made that precaution. The last thing he needs is to run into his old unit, let alone for the army to find out he’s still alive. And the last thing he wants is to endanger these people, especially his wife and her family.

He finishes off his second fish and glances over at Šóta.

“Look, I appreciate your help, but…I’ve gotta wonder why,” Dean says. “You don’t like that I’m here either.”

Šóta pauses in his chewing. He swallows before he answers, looking over at Dean in the eyes.

“It doesn’t matter if I like you,” he says. “You are the man who brought Kimmímila home alive. So, I help you.”

Dean nods. He can respect that. He looks down at the half-eaten meal, then at his hands, calloused and worn. They hold the weight of his past, his choices, and also the man he’s trying to be.

“I won’t hurt her,” he says.

The simple truth is that he’d give his life for hers. No hesitation.

“I know that, Dean Winchester. That is the other reason you are still alive,” Šóta says, with a slight smile. “You are brave. I will give you that.”

Dean smiles. “I guess there’s no winning over the others, is there?” 

At that, Šóta pauses. “You are doing better than you think. The others see you aren’t afraid. They see you work hard, and you try to respect our ways. You just don’t know them. They don’t know you.”

“I get it,” Dean says, nodding. “Like, uh, Otaktay. Right?”

“Ah,” Šóta rubs his clean-shaven chin. “You will have a harder time with him.”

Dean quirks a rueful smile. “What’s his deal?”

“His deal?” Šóta questions.

“His problem,” Dean elaborates, “with me.” 

Šóta sighs sharply. “Our men are warriors bred. Otaktay. His name means, ‘kills many.’”

Dean raises his brows. He slowly inclines his head.

“Riiiight. Of course.” 

“Names have power, Dean Winchester. Otaktay takes his name like a challenge he will win, but he does it to protect our tribe above all else,” Šóta says.

If that weren’t enough, the man levels Dean with a more serious look.

“But there is something else you should know.”

Dean doesn’t think he’s going to like whatever’s coming next. He nods, wordlessly urging Šóta to continue.

“Otaktay has always watched my cousin, admired her spirit and her beauty,” he says. “Mila has known this, and maybe she would have accepted him, had she known…but he planned to ask Chatan, my uncle, for Mila’s hand.”

Dean’s chest tightens, as does his frown. “What happened?”

“She disappeared,” Šóta replies. “When Mato was taken, she couldn’t accept it. She left the village to find him against my uncle’s command. Then she found you.” 

Dean isn’t exactly surprised by that. His wife is many things, defiant chief among them. Also, it makes a lot of things make even more sense. It explains her father’s tough outer shell, and clearly, it means he’ll have to keep a sharper eye on Otaktay.

She had been successfully avoiding him, until now.

Mila had just left the horses after helping Takoda feed and brush them, and she was planning to wash up before helping her mother and some of the other women cook for the entire tribe again this evening. Today is the last moon of the summer months, and so they’ve been preparing the wild game that the men had hunted for the past two days. Tonight, they will have an even greater feast.

She feels a shadow at her feet as she ventures through the village. They’re getting bigger as a tribe, harder to move when they need to, and it’s more mouths to feed, but it’s also a good thing. Despite all the challenges the past few decades have brought, their people are enduring. 

However, Mila pushes these thoughts to the back of her mind when she feels a prickling down the back of her neck. It’s followed shortly by the strong hand that closes on her wrist, and the man that calls her name. 

She gasps and whips around. He’s there, gently shushing her. She glares at him and tries to pull her hand out of his grip. 

“Ota,” she snaps. “What are you doing?”

“I just want to talk to you,” Otaktay says. His brown eyes are earnest, but he doesn’t let go of her hand. “You have been avoiding me.”

“I can’t be any more honest than I have been,” Mila says, and finally she manages to free herself from his grasp with a sharper tug. “Enough of this.”

She begins to walk away from him. The distance between the horses’ corral and the village is short, just over the gentle slope of a grassy hill and down below…but her cousin isn’t here. Her husband isn’t here. Otaktay believes this is his only chance—his chance to make her see reason. He stops her again, this time with his words.

“Do you think it will be that easy?” he says. “The Outlander will bring death upon us all.”

Mila stops short. She turns on her heel to meet him with a glare. 

“His people think he’s dead,” she says.

Otaktay approaches her with slow, measured steps. “And what if they find him here? Every day their iron caravans invade our lands. Every day their patrols come to take from us, to destroy us. How many of his own do you think he will kill for you?”

He raises a pointed finger. “And your children. Your children with that man will be cursed. Forever in the shadow of two worlds, forced into one, and hated by the other.”

His words pin Mila to the ground by her toes. Her body stills, because she’s shaken deep within. She doesn’t want to believe him, but she also won’t admit that these are the thoughts she’s tried to push from her mind. What she wants most of all is a family of her own. She wants it with her husband. 

But is it fair?

To them.

To him.

To her people.

She doesn’t know, and for that, her lips tremble. Her eyes burn with tears and she raises a trembling hand to her mouth. 

Otaktay draws closer and attempts to hold her hands, but her brows crunch in anger. You!

She pushes him in the dead center of his chest, so hard that it unbalances him. He’s surprised by her ire, and that satisfies her. She shoves him again, more forcefully this time, but he manages to hold his ground. 

“Kimmímila—”

She doesn’t give him the chance to try and placate her. With a cry of effort and frustration, she slaps at his face with all of her strength. It whips the man’s face to the side and even makes him stumble. He raises a hand to his cheek in disbelief. Already his tan skin is reddening, both from the mark of her anger, and from his own.

When she goes to shove him again, he grabs her by the arms to try and subdue her. Her tears are beginning to blind her, but she doesn’t care. The way he holds her tightly makes a flash of dread coil in her stomach.

In her distant mind, she knows Otaktay wouldn’t willingly hurt her. But his grip reminds her of Roman, the officer at Fort Laramie, who took advantage of the way she was tied to a post in their camp. She remembers his rough hands, the wood pressing into her spine. She remembers his hot breath and his chapped lips trying to claim her, his knee pressing between her legs.

Her own breaths come out in shallow gasps as that well of dread grows in her chest, rising into her throat to choke her. Mila punches wildly at Otaktay’s chest and rakes him with her nails. He finally grits his teeth and grabs her tightly by the hair. 

“Enough!” he shouts in her face. 

She matches him, her voice echoing in the clearing. “Let me go!” 

“Not until you calm down!”

He takes her face in his hands. Looking down into her tear-filled eyes, wild and devastated, he begins to feel remorse; but there too is desire and jealousy, deep and twisted together in the oily dark of his soul. Otaktay believes he’s only been selfish once in his life. Kimmímila is that one.

“Let go!” she shakily demands. She struggles against his hold and tries to run away from him, even though she used to run with him, ride with him through the forest on horseback and across the grassy plains instead of doing their chores. He tries to remind her of it now when he bows his head to kiss her. 

He finds himself ripped away—shoved hard enough to land stumbling into the sun-hot grass. 

“Dean!” Mila gasps. She reaches for her husband, even though the clenched set of his jaw and the tightness in his broad shoulders make her wary. She’s not afraid of him though. She just has a terrible feeling that she knows what’s coming next. 

Dean turns his attention to her first, a firm, but gentle grasp of her shoulder.

“You okay?” he asks gruffly. 

She nods, brushing away tears from her cheek. She holds onto his hand. “Yes.”

“Okay, stay back,” he says, releasing her.

She tries to stop him from advancing on Otaktay, but Šóta holds her shoulders with a grim look on his face. He guides her back and at his side. He and Dean have come on horseback. They jumped down to help her. She doesn’t know that they heard her and Otaktay shouting from several yards away, their voices carried on the wind.

Dean hadn’t been able to understand the words, but Šóta’s sense of urgency and the shrill, angry panic in Mila’s voice spurred him on, urging Baby to a full gallop down the hill. Seeing her tears was one thing, but while he saw Otaktay, in his mind, Dean also saw the night that Roman tried to force himself on her.

The rage that compels Dean now is different from the anger he had then. Back at the camp, he was just doing what he felt was right. Today, this is a protective call for blood. 

Otaktay had barely gotten back to his feet, but the upward swing of Dean’s fist cracks across his chin and sends him back down to the ground. He seethes, with blood in his teeth, but he angrily swipes Dean’s legs from underneath him. It becomes a grapple for leverage as the men tussle in the grass, trading swift punches. Otaktay kicks Dean hard in the stomach to gain some distance, rocking back onto his feet. Dean stumbles slightly, but he does the same.

“Stop!” Mila shouts in protest. Šóta holds her back. Despite her wildness before, she doesn’t want either of them dead. She fears more for her husband, but not because she doesn’t believe in him. She’s afraid of what will happen if Otaktay is killed. 

He plays dirty, spitting in Dean’s face. Dean matches by throwing an elbow into the other man’s throat, grabs his arm, then pivots and heaves him over his shoulder onto the ground. For a moment, Otaktay lies there winded on his back. Dean pins him there with his heavier weight bearing down on him. 

Otaktay sneaks a hand from the sheath strapped to his thigh and twists a knife into his hand. Šóta and Mila both see it, him with a tight frown and her with widening eyes.

She calls out in alarm, but Dean reacts fast. He strikes at Otaktay’s wrist and grabs his arm. A swift elbow and Otaktay’s knee in Dean’s gut forces him to the side, heaving a grunt. Otaktay gains the better position as he presses a knee right over Dean’s chest. He grunts at the impact; it threatens to break a rib. The knife becomes poised over Dean’s face in the struggle, nearing his neck. 

“Otaktay!” Mila calls out sharply, a warning and a plea all at once. 

He hears her. For just a second, he allows himself to glance up at her and see what lies in her eyes. He knows her fear is not for him. 

Still, anger overcomes his heart. He calls out a battle cry and puts his entire strength into bringing the knife down. Dean allows it with gritted teeth, but he positions his hands in just the right way to guide the man’s arm just to the right of his neck, slicing shallowly into his skin. The knife sinks into the earth.

Dean throws a punch that lands across the Lakota’s cheek, then another, and it allows him to kick the man in his ribs, sending him backwards with a heavy grunt. Dean grabs the knife out of the ground, and when he rolls onto his feet, he slashes at the other man’s chest. It isn’t deep enough to be fatal, but it’s enough to make him bleed red rivulets. 

Otaktay works harder than ever, trading blows and kicks that Dean can’t always dodge. But eventually, Dean hooks a boot behind the other man’s ankle and unbalances him enough to drive him to the ground. He shifts the position of the knife and brings it flush to Otaktay’s throat. 

His eyes widen; he never expected to be bested by the Outlander. The sharp edge of the blade bites into his skin, cutting a thin line of blood dripping down to his collarbone.

They’re both heaving for breath, sweaty, bloody, and bruised. It’s then that Dean realizes that they’ve attracted a small crowd. At the center of it is Chief Tahatan. He’s watching closely, his face unreadable, along with one of his wives. A few men stand beside him, namely Mila’s father, Chatan, Takoda, and some of the women too. Šóta whispers to them, explaining why the men are fighting.

Even Dean knows that by the customs of their tribe, he’s well within his rights to end this the way his hand in itching to—by sinking the blade into Otaktay’s jugular. Maybe it will finally earn him respect. Maybe it won’t. 

He glances up and finds Mila’s eyes. She stands frozen with her heart in her throat. All she sees is him. And she’s the only one Dean means to answer to. 

He raises the knife—and he brings it down into the earth beside Otaktay’s head.

The warrior inhales sharply, his brows furrowing in shock and confusion. He stares up at Dean, who looks down at him with the remnants of jaw-clenching anger. In that moment, they come to an understanding. 

Dean pulls back and straightens up, with just a small shake in his bowed legs. His gait steadies as he makes his way back to his wife. 

Šóta lets go of Mila so she can go to meet Dean. She runs her hands over his chest and arms, trying to find injuries she may not have seen before. Her fingers trace around places that are already becoming bruises, but Dean just holds her, taking pains to soften himself. His arms around her are secure, but not too strong. She’s just grateful that he isn’t hurt too badly.

“You okay?” he makes sure. 

Mila nods, despite the tears shining in her eyes. “Yes.”

Her parents watch them closely, even though the couple doesn’t realize it.

Behind them, Takoda shakes his head at his friend, but he dutifully helps Otaktay to his feet. Šóta crosses his arms and levels him with a cold look. 

“Take him to Eyota,” he says. 

“Yes,” Tahatan agrees, his voice deep and grave. “Tell her what her son has done here.”

The rest of Otaktay’s anger drains when he looks up at his chief. He says nothing, and can’t hold the older man’s gaze for long. He reluctantly leans on his friend to help him up and over the grassy hill, down to the village. The others gathered there wait to see what Tahatan will do next. He approaches Mila and Dean. 

“A good man protects his family above his own life. A warrior protects his tribe, even at the cost of blood,” Tahatan says. He looks directly at Dean. “But an honorable man knows when to show mercy.”

Dean’s heart begins to beat fast again. He hadn’t known that his choice was the right one, until now. He’s able to keep his head high without being arrogant. He just isn’t sure what he’s supposed to say. 

“Dean Winchester, you will be called Ikíphi,” Tahatan declares.

Dean blinks in surprise, and also confusion when he notices the way Mila begins to weep silent tears. He tightens his arm around her waist in a wordless question, but she just smiles at him.

“Uh, what does that mean?” he whispers the question to her.

She opens her mouth to respond, but her father is the one who answers. Chatan rests a hand on his daughter’s shoulder.

“Worthy,” he says. 

He meets Dean’s gaze and holds it, giving him a nod of acknowledgement. Dean gives the gesture back to him in kind, and to Tahatan as well. Then Chatan takes his leave, walking back to camp with Weaya, Šóta, and the Chief. The others whisper Ikíphi, offering their nods of respect to Dean before they follow suit, until it’s only Mila and Dean left in the clearing.

She pulls out of his hold just to take his hand. She looks ahead rather than at him.

“Come,” she says. 

Something’s wrong. Dean knows it in his gut.

He and Mila bathe together in the river again, but even though she helps him by washing his back, she’s quiet and distracted. He asks her if she was hurt. She tells him she wasn’t. That’s the only time she looks him in the eyes. 

Later, they return home thoroughly exhausted. Dean starts up a small fire for the coals to help dry them off the rest of the way. 

“There is a feast tonight,” Mila reminds him while she sits on the bedding, brushing through her long, damp hair. Dean sits near the fireplace and uses his knife to shave. He glances her way and lets out a deep breath. 

“I don’t know if I’m up for a party,” he admits. 

She surprises him by agreeing. “I’m tired too. I think Tahatan will understand if we stay in.”

Dean quirks a brow. She loves it when the tribe comes together for mealtimes. For days, she’s been telling him about moon feasts—the music, the games, the antics her cousins get up to, performing stories for the children and whoever else indulges them. 

So Dean gets up and goes over to her. He swipes her hair aside and lays a kiss on her shoulder. She keeps brushing her hair, so he keeps up his path of kisses along her neck, nibbling her ear. She laughs a little and flinches at the ticklish feeling, making him smile. He wraps his arms around her from behind, and she sighs, succumbing to the feeling of him warm at her back. She settles against his chest. 

“You sure you’re okay?” he asks. 

Her smile fades, though he can’t see it. “I should ask you that.”

“I’m fine, baby,” he says, shaking his head. 

“Well, maybe you should not be fine,” she says in a smaller voice. 

Dean pauses, his brows furrowing. “What do you mean by that?”

Mila gently pushes his arms away from her. She stands up and creates distance between them. She crosses her arms to hold herself, not even daring to look back at him. 

“I mean that…maybe you should go home, back to your people,” she says. She manages to keep her voice steady, even though she’s breaking her own heart.  

Dean gets up to his feet, alarm and unease coiling in his stomach. He grasps her elbow and comes around to see her face, and when he does, he sees the truth. Tears shine in her eyes, slipping down with every blink. His furrowed brows ease somewhat, but he still needs answers. He holds her by her arms and stares into her soulful brown eyes.

“Mila, what’s going on? Your family, the Chief, even your dad—they’re all starting to accept me now. Isn’t that what you wanted?” he asks. “What happened today, it’s a one-off, okay? For damn sure, Otaktay’s not touching you again—”

“It’s not that,” Mila says with a sniffle. She holds herself tighter, trying not to let Dean’s concern, his touch, or the intensity of his green eyes affect her so much. 

“Today we have peace, but how long will that last?” she says. “And…and our children. Will they be accepted too? Or will they never find their place, caught between two worlds, but never belonging to either one.”

Mila succumbs to quiet, shuddering sobs. Her trembling hands try to cover her face from him.

Dean’s face gentles. He feels like he’s been kicked in the chest (again). He gathers her to his chest and holds her closely. In the entire month he’s been living here, he hasn’t thought too much about kids. Not in any real way…

Well, okay. Maybe he has, whenever he sees Mila caring for the children of the village for their mothers. Or when they run past him, laughing, playing imaginary games. He would smile, remembering how he and Sam used to drive their mom crazy tearing around the farm when they were little. 

In fact, the thought warms him now. Dean cradles the back of Mila’s head and runs his fingers through her hair. He imagines her holding a little boy who has her dark hair and eyes, and maybe Dean’s chin. He thinks she’d be a good mom.

I wish Mom could meet her, he thinks.

“Sweetheart, look at me,” he says. He pulls away so he can see Mila’s eyes again, honey-brown and shiny with tears. “I can’t go home. I’m already here.”

Mila can’t help but soften, her lower lip trembling. He caresses her cheek; a gentle thumb brushes away stray tears. 

“So it might get harder,” he says. “Maybe we are doomed to fail. Or just maybe, our kids are the ones who are gonna make the peace stick.” 

Mila’s fingers curl into his shirt. She holds onto him, and he can see that her reservations are finally breaking down. He squeezes her waist and earns her gaze on him. 

“All I know is, you’re my wife ‘til the day I die,” he says, more firmly. “I’m not going anywhere without you. You understand me?” 

Another watery path finds its way down Mila’s cheek, but she wipes it away. Her sweeter smile peaks through, along with the amused gleam in her eyes. 

“I understand,” she replies. Her voice is mostly steady; the small quake is no longer uncertainty, just heartfelt emotion. “You take your vows seriously.”

“That’s right,” Dean nods, his lips hinting at a smile. “And you promised me something too last night, remember?”

Her brows furrow as she considers the question. But then, it dawns on her. 

You will never be alone.

Her small smile returns, and she nods.

“Yes. I’m sorry…I should not let fear blind me to the truth.” She takes his hand from where it lies on her waist, and she guides it to rest over her heart. “You live here now, in my spirit.”

Dean has never heard the words I love you said quite like that before. It warms places inside him that he didn’t know were all that cold and dark. For her, he could try to put into words what that means to him, but words aren’t his strong suit. He’s never been that good at letter writing or giving speeches. That, he always left to Sam, or Benny. 

Above all, Dean is a man of action. 

He takes her face gently in his calloused hands, and he kisses her. He gives her everything in that all-consuming kiss, and he hopes she understands what he’s trying to say. 

I’m home.

AN: This might feel like the end, but we have two more parts left! As you can see, Dean's doing his best lol. Do you think he made the right choice with Otaktay? There might be more drama ahead, plus, a special guest finally joins the cast...

Next Time:

Her smile drops with a sharp inhale of breath. 

She hears hoof falls on the earth. A horse treads nearby. 

Slowly, she lowers the wet clothing back into the basin. She sees two reflections growing on the water: a horse and a man. The man gets down from his horse first. 

“Hey there, miss—”

Mila swiftly turns and unsheathes the knife she keeps strapped to her ankle. 

Pronunciation Guide:

Wašíču ("wash-ee-jew") Šóta ("sho-tah") Chatan ("chat-tan") Tahatan ("ta-hat-tann") Otaktay ("ogh-tac-tay") Weaya ("we-ayy-ya") Takoda ("ta-koda") Mato ("matt-toe") Misae ("mee-sah-eh")

Read Part 3 on Patreon now!

Join My Patreon 🌟 Get early access to new stories, bonus content, and first looks at upcoming stories, send me requests, and more!

Outlander Masterlist

The Honorable Choice Masterlist

Jacklesverse Bingo Masterlist

Dean Winchester Series List

Dean Winchester Masterlist

Main Masterlist

Series Tag List (Part 1)

@hobby27 @kazsrm67 @jacklesbrainworms @foxyjwls007 @mostlymarvelgirl

@thebiggerbear @roseblue373 @this-is-me19 @emily-winchester @deans-spinster-witch

@deans-baby-momma @sanscas @kaleldobrev @spnwoman @samanddeaninatrenchcoat

@globetrotter28 @adoringanakin @midnightmadwoman @chevroletdean @iprobablyshipit91

@chriszgirl92 @lyarr24 @ladysparkles78 @spnfamily-j2 @pieandmonsters

@deansbbyx @sarahgracej @chernayawidow @mimaria420 @stoneyggirl2

@fics-pics-andotherthings-i-like @waywardxwords @waynes-multiverse @twinkleinadiamondsky @mxltifxnd0m

@my-stories-vault @kayleighwinchester @rizlowwritessortof @samslvrgirl @tortureddarkstar

@tmb510 @syrma-sensei @artemys-ackles @malindacath @mrsjenniferwinchester

@jc-winchester @charmed-asylum @fromcaintodean @k-slla

[mercury2venus]

CHAPTER 3

BACK 2 BACK

We fucked. I mean he had me hanging halfway off the balcony screaming to the entire city of New York just how good Kyle Alexander was fucking me. 

It was New Year's Day and I needed to get my story typed up as soon as possible. I creeped out of the bed picking up the articles of clothing I was stripped from. I looked around the room, drinking in its appearance. God...we did some freaky shit. After getting dressed and getting lost in his big ass penthouse I bid adieu to the maid. And slipped out of the place. 

Then I realized I didn't drive here. Shit. I ran back in and dialed the only person I could trust to keep this to themselves. 

" Hello Who is this ? " she answered.  Monica was my best friend and held me down through it all but I know this shit was going to be a topic with her for days. 

'It's Mecca." I mumbled. “Look I just need you to come pick me up I'm at a friend house and I'm honestly not trying to overstay my welcome.” I gave her the address and begged her to hurry. 

I heard Monica laugh and agreed to be on her way. 

I watched her cherry red Porsche pull up, bumping some Jodeci. She just had to draw attention while I tried to make a quiet escape. I got in the car and seen the smug look on her face. " So.." Monica held back a laugh. Who fuckin house is that ? " 

" Just drive Mo." 

That was 2 months ago. Kyle called and called. Sent roses, left voicemails. Wrote me letters. All asking what did he do wrong ? And Why am I avoiding him. The answer was guilt. I never slept with someone I interviewed. It was classless and I hate myself for it but the dick was so good I found myself in perpetual daydreams.

 

Today I was a guest speaker at NY Fashion institute the article I did on Kyle got the attention of well everyone. I was proud of it, it truly was my best one to date.

I tucked a piece of my hair behind my ear hoping my updo would stay in tact at least till I get back home.  

Speaking to the students was a dream come true, They were so engaged and really has alot of commentary.  

" Hi Ms. Ali , I'm Fallon Brooks, Junior. i just wanted to tell you that seeing a Black Woman in journalism owning her own magazine. calling the shots, showing the world that we are more than what the media shows is inspiring to this little Black girl from Atlanta, Georgia. You mean the world to us and i just really wanted to say Thank you so much. she laughed. 

I wanted to cry this is why I do it, for all my little Black girls who felt unheard, went unseen, their well deserved opportunities given to white mediocre counterparts. 

" Thank you...God I'm gonna cry." I laughed. I wiped my tears and smiled. 

After speaking to the students, I walked towards the bathroom I had somewhere to be in a bit and I wanted to make sure I looked great. 

" Mecca." 

Damn. So much for avoidance. I turned around with a small smile. His eyebrows raised as if he's waiting for an explanation. " Mr. Alexander ...Hi." I spoke. 

He tilted his head and walked towards me. He got close to my ear," After making you cum 5 times I'd think you'd refer to me as what I told you to call me." He said softly.

Cocky much ? 

" Having sex with you was a mistake I let my judgment get clouded. Thank you for granting me access to your mind and for doing the interview. I really appreciate that. Mr. Alexander ." I smiled. I had to set boundaries. 

Kyle looked at me. Those intense eyes of his narrowed. Just stared at me. 

" Mecca. I don't care about the other bullshit okay ? We had a great time, what's the real reason you've been avoiding me hm ? He said lowly. 

I looked him in the eye. 

" Young black woman on the come up from Harlem meets rich, playboy fashion designer.. I don't know I just don't need the world thinking some knight in shining armor came and helped me or I fucked my way to the top. I put in time and effort for this, I didn't grind the way I did back at Spelman just for someone to look at me and say it was because of You" I vented. 

Kyle's eyes were soft.  " Mecca — I, I'm sorry I didn't even think about that. Fuck. I just really like you love. I have a tendency of moving really fast. I apologize sincerely. "

I looked into his eyes.

Fuck it.

                                  ••••••

"Shit, you messing up my hair K."I moaned.  Shameless I was. Here I am butt naked back at his house getting fucked from the back  Kyle had my discombobulated my French roll and was now gripping my hair as he grinds into me 

" this shit is amazing Mecca. I was being nice earlier you keep this away from me next time I'm going to your house. Understand? "

I hated him. Everything about him irritates my fuckin soul. But God the way he was talking sent shockwaves to my core.  He put a leg and and got deeper 

" I said do you understand ?" He barked. 

My response was caught in my throat the only thing I was able to muster up was some incoherent sound. 

" yes baby, fuck I hear you." 

He pulled my head back to give me a sloppy French kiss. " good fuckin girl " he mumbled.

"Ky, I'm about to cum daddy. " I moaned

" hold it, not yet. Fuck this pussy is too good " 

Confidence filled me at that moment 

" careful this good ass pussy will have you acting crazy "

" too late Mecca " he laughed.

I let out a pornographic moan. He was saying all the shit I loved to hear. " mm yea this your pussy now " I whispered. He must have heard me because next thing I knew I was on my back with my legs at my ears.  " keep saying shit like that and I'll nut in you Mecca" Kyle warned.

" then do it baby nut in me " I egged him on

" you so fuckin nasty .." Kyle threw his head back, he pushed my legs further to my head and began to pound mercilessly. 

" what's my fuckin name Mecca, tell them who this good ass pussy belongs to."

“it’s yours daddy, it’s forever yours baby I swear “ I yelped. My eyes began to roll to the back of my head as he thrusted into me deeply.

“ it better be, that’s the shit I like to hear Mec. Tell me you love it here and you’ll never leave again” he spoke into my ear.

I won’t , Kyle..I won’t.” I whispered as I became undone.

At that moment I signed a deal with the devil.

[mission-light-if]

Mission Light - Update 08.01.2025

Hey, it’s me again after a long time. Happy New Year, by the way!

A lot has happened—uni started again and I had a writer’s block throughout November and part of December. I’m way behind where I wanted to be, but things finally getting better. I’m almost finished with the prologue now. I had planned to release the second part in October, but here we are. It took longer than I wanted, but oh well.

I plan to be more active here in 2025 and write more, even though it’s going to be a busy year for me.

I always plan too big and end up overwhelmed by my ideas and tasks, which causes me to freeze and do nothing. So, I cleaned up my ideas and to-do list for the story and cut some things. It would have been cool to include them but I’m just one person and the prologue is already way bigger than I expected—160,000 words (including code, with some repeated passages, so it’s not really 160,000, but that’s what Twine says).

I had to compromise. Maybe that’s why the prologue seems a bit messy to me right now, but I’m working on cleaning it up and improving it.

I’ve decided not to promise release dates anymore because I often can’t meet them. Chapters, updates and content will come when they’re ready. However, some of you might have noticed that I updated my Tumblr blog and the itch.io game site.

I’ve realized that I get frustrated or hit writer’s block when I don’t immediately feel a sense of success, probably due to my ADHD. Sometimes, I get so frustrated that I want to abandon the whole project. But each time, I get mad at myself because I want to prove that I can finish something—that I can finish this and stay consistent without changing my interests and projects every week.

To help with that, I’m considering weekly updates on my progress in 2025. It won’t be much—maybe a few hundred/thousand words per week—but it might help me staying motivated. I would still make bigger announcement posts when a chapter is complete, so that those who prefer to read completed/finished chapters can wait for that. But we’ll see how it goes.

I’ve also done more character art and CGs and I’ve updated my art style. I’ll be posting those in the future. I also plan to write some short stories or prompts. I know I haven’t been consistent in answering questions, but please send them if you have any—it really helps me stay motivated when people engage with my work.

That’s it for now. Thanks for reading, and thank you so much.

Take care,

Jakob (yes, I changed my name, haha)

[arceespinkgun]

More detailed thoughts on the current arc of the Skybound comics (spoilers for up to the most current issue, #16) in which I give some more insight into why I'm still kinda ambivalent about certain parts:

Starting with the negatives to get them out of the way (they're not super serious or anything but I think they're why I'm not sure how I feel yet).

The characters who are part of the Combiners are not really characterized at all, and when they are it seems very odd. The Combaticons as big Starscream fans is really strange to see, especially when I remember their G1 debut. Mostly, the Constructicons and Combaticons feel like they're fulfilling rank-filling roles.

It's too vague right now to know what exactly happened between Starscream and Megatron in the past, but if Megatron was compelling or mind-controlling Starscream, I think that doesn't really do Starscream a lot of justice. However (and this is a big however) I believe this plotline is probably symbolic and ties into what's going on with Optimus. This series seems to be exploring the harsh realities of war and its corrupting influences, so even if I'm not sure about how one particular character is written, it may serve the greater narrative.

Arcee's crisis in #16 didn't make sense to me? She didn't jeopardize anything at all, that was only Optimus's (wrong) interpretation... and he went and killed Shockwave anyway! It just seemed odd to me to see her be comforted by Optimus when it almost feels a little hypocritical.

The thing I still find most frustrating is, unsurprisingly, how Jazz is written in this series. He barely feels like a real person with depth even now. Although nothing is like, contradicting his G1 characterization, the fact that Jazz was one of the most prominent and fleshed-out of all the transformers is making me feel like he's not being utilized very well. He always had lots of interesting things to say in the cartoon but I don't feel like that's happening here.

Now onto the positive things!

I continue to adore what DWJ's doing with Elita-1. We get to see her now as a leader of a team, a trait I've been waiting for, and I was surprised by and enjoy her friendship with Warpath! I never would've thought of something like that, but I guess it makes sense. They've been portrayed as Cybertronian resistance fighters before. Her smile while he's getting repaired was so sweet.

In a similar vein, I love seeing characters who have always been around but rarely focused on getting much more attention and care in the narrative. Bluestreak's ruthlessness was great to see focused on and maybe this series will do something more with the fact that his backstory is like Cliffjumper's in this series. I was really excited to see Trailbreaker, a character with a ton of potential, get to shine a little too! I really hope he goes on to be a major character.

Astrotrain is also a highlight for me, and I was pretty surprised to hear he wants revenge against Megatron because... Megatron killed his love interest? This is a surprising and confusing turn I never would've thought of, but I guess this is how Astrotrain would act if such a thing happened, and I'm wracking my brain trying to guess what the backstory is there. I think I'd prefer if this was about a pre-existing character and not an OC, because I found Starscream's backstory about a dead OC friend kinda weak TBH.

I'm super excited to see further fallout of Thundercracker feeling so betrayed and I was happy that this finally happened.

Megatron using Laserbeak as his eyes is really cool and I doubt DWJ would do this, but it would kind of be nice if Megatron was just blind for the whole series.

I'm really eager to see how this comic approaches the deep-seating transformer cultural issue of creating new life to be soldiers thing now that its reared its ugly head, and if Cliffjumper might have some kind of crisis later on if he feels guilt over his choices.

The art is just incredible and continues to be!

For now, I think I'm waiting to see if all this comes together like the end of the last arc worked so well.

[feketeribizli]

okay wait marci questions. how does he feel about media stuff? press, sponsored posts, the obligatory slash forced social media goofing etc. actually what's his social media presence like in general. also does he have pets..... did he grow up idolising anyone currently on the grid? how does he feel about racing his childhood heroes if yes? also, what's his favourite colour? capping it here but i want it known that he has eaten my brain 👍

hiii thank youuuu absolute bangers from you as always mwuah mwuah 😁🫶

nearly wrote a thousand words LMAO im putting a readmore somewhere to save yall... thank you for your time everyone 🫡

with all the live cockslip talk i thought itd be fun to delve into his social media presence for real... team and personal brand posting he doesnt mind per say, he got that goober in him that doesnt take oneself too seriously so hopping on silly trends hes almost looking forward to it. aston socials esp their tiktok is like my fave thing in the world lol id love to see him recreate the adam security & gf trend with padre

marci mostly uses instagram and its a mess... i barely follow any drivers but ive noticed they almost always got a certain aesthetic they try to keep up and well. marci dgaf. theyd try to put some color grading filter on the first photo in his dumps so at least theres some harmony to his page but its atrocious

he obviously has an official account on every other site but its usually for stuff his management posts on there (and an empty tiktok profile where his reposts are public. surely nothing weird or suspicious to see)

back to press and shit... hes not a fan 🧍‍♂️ he prefers the scripted stuff and when he can have like three takes to say something cause when its just him and twenty cameras broadcasting live... he still gets nervous and then the accent slips in and he stumbles his speeches and words things in a way people could twist what he said around easily (moment of silence and empathy for little lando norris). hes a small scale driver so the world doesnt hang on every word he says but yknow how it is

oh now im yapping like crazyyy... this part could get a whole new post but its kinda media related and ive been thinking and wanna talk about it a bit... if youve read this far kisses xx 😘

but yeah since im inserting marci into the canon events of real life theres bound to be loud media frenzy around his arrival especially since its aston. and in lances place (gotta work more on this but i was thinking lance has a kinda bad crash somewhere in the beginning of the 2024 season and my guy gets summoned out of thin air colapinto style to fill his place in until recovery but out of nowhere lance is like id like to temporarily step back lol 😋✌️ and the world explodes and marc is full time employed now)

and like idk how the hungarian public would react to a hun on the grid after twenty years (hes faggy so id care. otherwise idgaf about hungarian athletes for the most part) but that combined with the guy the world seems to hate a lot finally stepping down (NOT ME LANCE I LOVE YOU this is me trying to help this is me putting you in good situations) the commotion would be a major event with marcis name in the tabloids for a bit

all im trying to say is that his f1 entry would probably be very overwhelming and hes this shy guy no one has ever heard about before blabbering at stupid fucking press questions while glued to fernandos side. who is he whats his deal

ok lets put a hold on media for now 🧍‍♂️ as for pets... an old bernese back at home :-) marci kind of grew up with her (as much as he was at home. or the country even)... management posting ten-year-old marci at his first karting event with the puppy in his hands and then twenty-year-old marci after his first grand prix facetiming his family in the aston garages with the dog on the phone too... ack

about idols... his big thing is michael schumacher i know that for sure. marc generally looks up to everyone and has immense respect for most drivers. the more i think about it the more im like maybe bro got a thing for psychosexual warfare kinda drivers (schumi, vettel, alonso...) like yayyy to on and off track terrorism when its not aimed at me 😁

confession i kind of made him to deal with my conflicting feelings about aston martin as a whole lol and well. anyway he still shivers hot and bothered sometimes when fernando is around. gets a bit self conscious about it too but nothing that taking it up in the ass couldnt fix

fave color is greeeeen 😁 as i said match made in heaven with aston. team merch is glued to his body

WHEWH what an essay and i dont even know if im making sense lol ! marci is taking shape and becoming rock solid in my head im very happy about it 😋🫶 shoutout again to everyone intrigued i love cooking up the guy im having sooo much fun ‼️💥❣️

[sleepnoises]

Ask Polly: How Am I Supposed to Make Friends in My Late 20s?

Is there any creature alive with higher, more impossible standards than a 28-year-old? The only difference between a 28-year-old woman and a 38-year-old woman is that one of them tries to hide how few friends she has, and the other will email you out of the blue and demand to hang out after meeting you for exactly four seconds in a room full of retired people and divorced people and new moms. The late-30s woman knows that it’s no big deal to want to make new friends. Maybe it won’t be a life-changing time, or maybe you’ll be acquaintances, or maybe you’ll be vacationing together down the road. It’s worth a shot. [...] So the second thing I want you to know is that, in order to make very close friends in a natural, organic way, you have to cast a wide net and be accepting and give it time. You can’t use the aggressive, early twentysomething’s tactics, because it poisons the whole process to believe that you’re trying to hunt and trap the perfect BFF. [...] Some of your closest, lifelong friends may not seem like close, lifelong friends for the first five or six years you know them. Seriously. It takes time to figure out who matters, who listens, who tells the truth, who comes through in a pinch, who’s down to earth, who appreciates you and accepts your flaws, who says the right thing at the right time, and who makes sense all around. [...] The more you try — without skyrocketing expectations, without circular thoughts that say YOU ARE A FRIENDLESS FREAK — the easier it’ll be. The more you do it, the happier you’ll be, even if no lifelong friends emerge immediately. You should do it now in order to prepare you for doing it 20 years from now, because you’ll ALWAYS have to do it. You don’t just get the big group of buddies and then sleepwalk through the rest of your life. Life isn’t like that. [...] This life is not perfect. This world is not a perfect place. Sometimes it’s nice to sip a drink, and repeat yourself, among people who aren’t perfect, and don’t expect you to be perfect either. Aim low, open your heart, and let them in.

selected paragraphs (speedrun) of an ask polly that changed my life a little bit // Ask Polly: How Am I Supposed to Make Friends in My Late 20s? by Heather Havrilesky

[devotedlystrangewizard]

the school arc to me is so good because it drags ciel out of his position as a powerful figure and literally places him in the shoes of the person he could have been. the circus arc ALSO drags him out of his position as big bad queens watch dog/head of the phantomhive estate but the school arc feels like a mockery of a future that never was. this is what he could have been had his parents not died. and even then its NOT because he will never be that kid.

he never was.

[front-facing-pokemon]

[sysig]

Size difference.png (Patreon)