#But that doesn't mean you should send me more

[ebenelephant]

Look, I think you're misconstruing some of my points and since this is reaching way farther than I wanted I would like to clarify for a second. This was kind of a bit of a rant post which I didn't expect people other than like 4 mutuals to... see? So as you can imagine I wasn't exactly my best articulated. Some of my points have definitely come across wrong, so to try and explain what I mean a little better:

I'm not saying we should see more flashbacks to Tom's life. This is a criticism I have of this plot point not being thought through, more than anything. It tells us something other that what was probably intended because you get the impression that Rowling didn't really consider the wider implications of what she was saying in the time period it was set. I'm not suggesting this should be delved deeper into, I'm just suggesting that it wasnt the best thought through.

With the Weasleys I just messed up the timeline on this one. I do genuinely have issues with some of the portrayal of the Weasleys which I won't get into, but this one is my mistake.

The Snape one is more of a personal gripe. My tongue in cheek remark about being "surprised you caught onto that" is in reference to the fact that I have heard/seen multiple people just glossing over that context to his life entirely - either because they missed it of because it was too minor for them to care.

My issue with the Hermione thing isn't actually that she obliviated her parents – as you say, this makes sense with her character – but rather how underutilised they are. We meet the parents and guardians of other, less important characters when they're thematically and narratively relevant, and given how important Hermione's status as a muggleborn is in the books you would think they would be both. It always seemed a weird choice to me that her parents are practically non-entities, spoken of occasionally but never seen. It's the show-don't-tell thing: we are told that Hermione loves her parent a lot, and of course we know this to be true, but the biggest time they are really relevant is when she obliviates them. Even if Harry had just seen them once, maybe sending Hermione to platform 9¾, and had seen them in contrast to the Dursleys this would have given them more weight. Hermione is distraught, but we as the reader are much less emotionally involved because we have no idea who these people are.

The Lily point honestly feels like a bad faith arguement, because she was never just 'the main character's long dead mum', she was the person who saved him, who made him the chosen one, who is referenced throughout the series, and who is directly related to the actions of multiple characters. I would literally just like consistent characterisation for her, because the way she is spoken about doesn't align with the ways we see her acting in the few scenes she has, and even in those scenes she is somewhat contradictory. This is never addressed by Harry the way it's addressed when he learns the negative qualities of his father – though in a book targeted at a 9-12 audience you would certainly expect it to be. This makes me think, again: oversight. Kids books have to guide the reader somewhat, and this aspect doesn't really do that. Could've been a great addition to that "nobody's perfect" theme JKR had going, but wasn't executed in a way properly accessible to a nine year old as opposed to other points in the series.

thinking again about jk rowling being a bad writer. like, we all know about the massive flaws in her worldbuilding and i hope by now it's clear she's a bigot on basically every front. (hello, regular reminder that she doesn't even actually like women.) but like. she's especially good at dropping bits of lore and then those not being relevant in the fucking slightest. riddle was told to go home to his orphanage in london during what would have very much been the blitz? whatever. the weasley's are so strapped for cash that they're sending their son to school with a potentially dangerous broken wand? of course they're spending their lottery winnings on visiting their adult son in egypt, what else would they do. snape grew up in what was likely a dying northern industrial town with abusive/neglectful parents, largely cut off from the magical world? almost impressed you caught on to that, with how little it's expanded on. yes hermione has a supposedly good relationship with both her parents, no we're not going to show you it at all, yes she's going to wipe they're memories like it's nothing. lily evans is the moral compass of james and basically the most important person in the series but fuck you if you want to actually know anything about her lmao. even what little we see is wildly inconsistent.

[cakepoppresent]

Let Me Beat His Ass

A few things

Lol poor Daisuke his future wife is going through it and hasn't been returning his texts or calls

Malcolm truly is a big baby. Since Malcolm has been told "no" by Luna he doesn't know how to react. He's taking her wanting to see Andre as a personal attack against him rather than his sister just wanting to find out the truth.

Love Veronica and Luna, in an alt time they would have been GREAT

Transcript under the cut ~

Luna: She’s looking into it, she trying to find this “source”, Chantel isn’t saying who told her

The comments under the pic (it's much smaller on a phone than a computer)

@toucanman - I fucking knew it a rich girl like her would never actually be nice, she was just hiding her bitch ass attitude

@coochielicker - This isn’t the Luna I stan! All SMZ does is lie lie and LIE. Shes been acting for years and its only now shes a diva? Stop playing with my good sis!

@flo- Hmmm...I can see it tho, shes from a super wealthy family its probably her way or no way but who cares was anyone even hurt?

@fruitysims - LOL ive been waiting on something to come out on this hoe. Her nice girl shtick was so overbearing now her true colors are coming out. Thank god

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

Veronica: What did Destiny say? Is she gonna do anything about this?

Veronica: You should send her bitch ass a lawyers letter or something. Can’t be legal to spread malaious rumors like that

Luna: I dunno. I���d rather find this source

Veronica: Where the hell is that man of yours? He must have connections he can use

Luna: Probably... he’s been calling but I don’t even have the time to deal with him right now. Malcolm that bitch still won’t talk to me and now Andre’s face is all over the news and my bitch Dad hasn't even called. It's...a lot right now

Veronica: Let’s travel then, How about Tomarang or Tartosa? Just until everything dies down and you figure out what to do next

Luna: No...I don’t want to leave Andre to deal with this alone and Malcolm is gonna crash out once he sees this online...I can’t leave right now

Veronica: Get off your phone babes. Reading all these comments is going to make you feel worse.

Luna: This is fucking awful and I miss Malcolm, can’t believe his ass won’t talk to me. Benji gives me updates but I’d like to meet Andre with Malcolm.

Veronica: Malcolm is the biggest fucking baby you gotta force him to see reason. If you don’t he’s just gonna pout and mop all day. Let me talk to him

Luna: What are you gonna do? Beat him up?

Veronica: Yes? Beat him up verbally at least. You’re hurting and he needs to get over himself, I'll help him see reason

Luna: He really does listen to you. Don’t be too harsh on him

Veronica: Hush. It's important you guys deal with this Andre thing. Malcolm needs to at least hear him out and stop punishing you for wanting to talk to Andre

Luna: Hahaha Malcolm has always been so sensitive, I wonder where he gets his bitch ass attitude from

Luna: V... it's been hell these past few days. It means a lot that you’re here with me now

Veronica: Babe. You’re basically my sister and I love you. Whatever is happening now will pass I know it will.

Luna: Feels like it's never going to end everything is going to fucking shit. I’ve never fought with Malcolm like this and Benji doesn’t know what to do he hates being in the middle of all this

Veronica: Sleep it off. I can’t help with what's going on online but I can and I WILL speak with Malcolm okay?

Luna: Okay...

Veronica: No more tears babe. I’ll beat his ass up if I have to. Just wait for my call okay?

Veronica: Love you too babes

Luna: Love you V

[amaryllis-sagitta]

Hi again, going through the different endings of DAV, I was pretty surprised to hear Solas being all like "I am a god!!" when Rook beats him in a fight. I know he has pride issues but that felt so OOC to me?? I was wondering if you had an opinion on it?

Hi, thanks for asking again!

There are 3 tiny (or not so tiny?) moments that I think push the envelope on Solas's characterization in a way that allows us to portray him as more genuinely sinister than the main line established in Trespasser, post-Trespasser media and most of DATV, which is the "Pathetic, stubborn man ridden with massive unprocessed guilt and shame, who can't make a choice without some catastrophic collateral for the life of him, and the unforeseen consequences of his choices repeatedly push him to double-cross people and have them do his dirty work".

One moment that had me thinking is the third memory of the rebellion - I mentioned earlier how Solas's pose and facial expressions make him unduly smug when Felassan calls out that they were supposed to do better than send out an army of spirits, appealing to their nature in seemingly good faith, when they were really a distraction doomed to fail. It shocked me because it seems to strike at one of Solas's core values. It's supposed to hurt more in relation to spirits because we know how much Solas despises wasting, destroying or twisting spirit purpose. And yet, in his confrontation with Felassan, he seemed content, smug even, about achieving victory against Elgar'nan and didn't show a trace of regret.

Another moment is the jab in the Fade that "at least you have Varric to talk to", again with a smug sense of satisfaction. Learning about this line took me by surprise because for all the disingenuity Solas is capable of, I never had him for someone who takes delight in such petty cruelty, especially when the matter is also personal to him to a degree. Varric's death should have hurt him by virtue of their mutual respect gained in DAI, so has the game underdelivered in representing this? Or are we really pushing a narrative that he never really changed his mind on non-elves, or chose not to acknowledge them as people, so Varric was just a disposable fool?

The third specific moment that shows Solas in a worse light is the moment you mentioned in the ask. Though, watching this scene, I feel we need to cite the full sentence:

Rook: [...] I am not alone, but you will be. The Veil needs to be tied to the life force of an elvhen god. And now it is, Dread Wolf. Solas: You sneer at me as though you understand. You are mortal! Compared to you, to your infinitesimal existence, I AM A GOD!"

This is a conditional state of an ending, when you decide to fight him and at least the companions in your party have reached the Hero status, which means they survive Solas's counterattacks, so in the end Rook doesn't stand against him alone, and does not end up in the Fade prison with Solas. This is where Solas is at his most desperate, I think, because when Rook remains alone in the Fight ending, it's a pyrrhic victory. Solas doesn't lash out then, because he isn't done with Rook. The context of "I am a god" is that Rook will soon perish while The Dread Wolf will prevail for centuries still, and no mortals can stop him in a way that matters.

But could it also be a trigger for his greatest fear: that there's a realistic chance he can very nastily die alone with his regrets and self-loathing? Because he does not say he is immortal - he never bound a dragon, so he can't take advantage of the Evanuris perk. Neither does he accept a definition of godhood. It's a matter of scale and comparison; in this final moment, he's looking for a way to belittle Rook and their team.

In fact, the "I am a god" in this context represents the extreme of the views he's held about mortals before - arguably, before joining Inquisition. Though I think that even then, he had trouble humanizing races other than elvhen. If his mind has really swayed throughout DAI, it feels barely half a step towards acknowledging that mortal elves, especially the Dalish, might have a point in their approach to history. Then, in Tevinter Nights, he says to Charter that the elves who survive the un-Veiling might find the "new" world better. Not really a win.

I believe a proper background for this is found in two conversations. First, when Rook keeps poking at Solas's plan to tear down the Veil and he stops eluding the question, Rook says "Spoken like a god". Solas's reply in this moment frankly sounds... too deflective. Like it's coming from someone who genuinely needs someone to constantly whisper "Remember you are but a mortal, Caesar" in his ear.

The second moment is when, after having the loud argument with Elgar'nan to get Rook out of a Fade pocket of despair, Solas admits Elgar'nan is who he feared becoming - callous, tyrannical and contemptuous. I guess Solas's worst moments are supposed to show how close he really could get, because the "I am a god" most definitely defines an ego trip that comes from a place of great insecurity.

If I were a hater looking for a hook to make an uncharitable argument that "He was amoral all along and his gentler side was a mask that just waited to slip", I'd start there.

[olderthannetfic]

re it being lonely to have an uncommon kink

One of my own kinks, Dolcett, is almost exclusively a het thing, and I get frustrated that I have to sift through mountains of boring sexy ladies to find just one fic or drawing that depicts it happening to male character of any kind, much less a male character of my type. It's frustrating and lonely, I *know* there are other gay guys out there who are into it. At the very least there should be straight folks who like a genderswapped femdom version of it. But it's just not very common.

This doesn't mean there's something wrong with me. It's no more weird than shipping an rarepair with with only one fic on AO3 that you wrote yourself.

It's slightly ironic that I'm anoning up to send this ask, but if I can shake the "there is something wrong with me" feelings in re fiction about sexily enslaving, slaughtering, and cannibalizing people based on social status and/or gender, you can do the same for fiction about urination during noncon.

Maybe we both want to keep our usernames and main blogs off of our squicky kinks, but we can also both just high five each other in the back of the extreme kink emporium. There's no shame here.

--

[lamentationsofalonelypotato]

@zepskies

I'm not kidding this might be my favorite gif ever lol. BUT I am so excited to read the last chapter of this series!! I mean, I'm sad that it's coming to a close, but I'm hoping that in the future there might be a fic with a little Elijah (or a little Jude) running around. 😏

I love the little details about him and Benny pranking each other, but it really just made me sad because Dean left them 😭 But at the same time they are opening up with one another and sharing their life stories and I couldn't be happier.

“I will protect you,” she says. Dean frowns. He doesn’t like the sound of that. On one hand, it warms him that she seems to really mean it. On the other hand, he doesn’t want to know what it’ll take for her to protect him.

Again I stan a strong woman and Mila is just so stinking badass that I love her so much. Also yes girl, PROTECT 👏🏻 YOUR👏🏻 MAN👏🏻

But if he only has two choices, then he at least wants to make sure Mila gets home safely…even if that means he won’t be. He’s come this far. If his career is worth the price of what he feels is right, then his life is worth it too.

Love that you're referencing the honorable choice title here, and showing that Dean is a man of honor and that he did make a choice that maybe messed up his life, but he cared more about doing the right thing. And I think you did a great job of titling the series and the chapters in general. Each one corresponds beautifully to the themes in the chapters so you should be proud!

It’s good that Mila rides that giant mustang; if she were on a mare, like Dean, she’d already be sunk up to her shoulders. Baby’s a big girl, to be sure, but Mila is nearly a foot shorter than him, with a smaller frame. He watches her carefully as she makes her way ahead of him.

I know that something dramatic is about to happen and that I shouldn't be thinking about this right now, but I just love height difference so much😭. When a guy is bigger than his girl oh wow it sends me to the moon. I think it's so cute and goodness the cuddles must be so fun.

“Dean!” Mila yells, for the first time using his name. The last thing he registers is the fear in her eyes—afraid for him.

Again, devastating moment, but... SHE SAID HIS NAME FOR THE FIRST TIME! And the running her fingers through his hair?!?!?!?!

Dean wants to sit up and take an inventory of his injuries, but he can’t make his body move just yet. He’s too tired and bruised. He also likes being in her arms. He likes her fingers in his hair, now moving to his cheek. He sighs through his nose in contentment as her thumb drifts over his overgrown stubble. 

“I guess you are pretty, for a White Man,” she says teasingly. Her fingers trace his brow, his jawline, even the tip of his chin. She seems to be avoiding his plush mouth, even though her gaze keeps dropping there. Dean pretends to frown. “Sweetheart, that’s not the way you talk about a man,” he says. Her brows raise. “No?” “Handsome. Strong. Toothsome, if you will,” he says, enjoying the way she begins to blush. “That’s what you wanna call a man."

I'm cackling. I love Mila so much. The sass, the teasing. Oh goodness they're so cute and I am so scared that there's going to be a last minute perilous situation and somebody is gonna die.

“It’ll be faster to dry our clothes if we’re not wearing ‘em,” Dean rumbles. His voice is deep with desire. He presses kisses along the side of her jaw, behind her ear, down her neck and shoulder. He earns her pleased hum, her heavier breaths, and her fingers once again in his hair.

Excuse me sir? SIR?! You know... he's right Mila. You should listen to your future husband.

Also him respecting her when she said that she doesn't have sex before marriage is just so HONORABLE AND WORTHY and why can't there be men that respectful all the time? Dean Winchester is really just ruining other men for me everywhere. 😭

She will bring him home to her tribe, and she will explain. If they still don’t welcome him, then she prays for the strength to keep to her honor. Because now, she begins to realize… Her heart has already chosen.

Girl it's chosen correctly. No remorse. No regret. Please oh my word let them both live at the end of this fic. 🙏🏻

He grunts in acknowledgement, but he turns on his heels and storms out of the tipi. Her mother comes forward next. She examines Dean from all angles. She takes his face in her hand, somewhat squishing his cheeks, so she can look deeply into his startled eyes.

So... the face squishing is a family trait I see. But man, Dean standing there while a random lady just squishing his face while his eyes are wide in horror is so funny to me.

“Sweetheart,” Dean says, cupping her cheek. Even with the hammering of his heart, he grins. “I’m pretty sure that’s where this was going anyway.”

AWW YEAH IT WAS GOING THAT WAY! lol

“Do you regret?” she whispers, reaching up to touch his chin with two slender fingers. “Do you regret helping me?” Dean considers her question. He knows he’ll carry his family in his heart until the day he dies. His brother, his mother, the memory of his father. Benny and Cas, even Jack, and so many others. It’s already a heavy burden, but he had always been prepared to lose his life on the battlefield, in service of his country. At least this way, he gains a new life.  “No. Never did,” Dean replies. “Not even once.”

This bit is so good. It's so true and honest and a little heart breaking, but it's such a wonderful thing for them to talk about, because Mila knows that he's thrown away his life to save hers. And it's so wonderful that he's able to give her that confirmation and reassurance that he doesn't regret the choice he made. Because it was the right choice, the -AHEM- Honorable Choice lol 😂

“If I’m your husband now, that means I get all of you,” he says with a grin. She gazes up at him, both in blushing amusement and affection. “All of me,” Mila repeats. She takes his face in her hands and brings him closer, until her lips are a whisper from his. “Then I want all of you.” 

Oh this chapter was so good my sweet friend! I'm a little sad to see that it's ending, but it was so wonderfully written and neither of them died. I was really scared about that 😅. AND it ended with a wedding (sort of?). Now little Elijah can run around the camp helping his mother and learn how to break in horses with his father. ❤️

The Honorable Choice - Part 3

Pairing: Dean Winchester x OFC 

Summary: June 1872. Captain Dean Winchester of the U.S. Cavalry is tasked with one job: break a wild mustang. He just didn’t expect the woman who infiltrates his camp, intent on freeing her tribe’s horse.

AN: The last chapter! Hold on, it's about to get bumpy...

Disclaimer: I got inspired after a recent rewatch of Spirit: The Stallion of the Cimarron (literally a perfect movie), as well as having Yellowstone in the back of my brain. I’ve done extensive research for this one, both on the American Indian Lakota tribe, and on American history during this time in the late 1800s (AKA: the Old West, during the American Indian Wars and the Sioux Wars). Of course, one of my main goals is to avoid inaccuracies, both historical and cultural.

**Pronunciation guide at the end!

Jacklesverse Bingo24 Prompt: @jacklesversebingo Western AU

Song Inspo: The Spirit Soundtrack

Word Count: 5.7K

Tags/Warnings: 18+ only. Protective Dean, survival situations, smut (mutual masturbation, fingering, and more), angst, and fluff.

🐎 Series Masterlist || Bingo Masterlist

🎙️ Listen to the podfic version here!

Part 3: Worthy

They travel together for two more days. Dean isn’t really a talkative man, but inevitably, he finds himself speaking to fill the comfortable stretches of quiet plodding across the grasslands.

He tells her about growing up on his family’s farm, where his father was firm but fair, and a larger-than-life presence when Sam and Dean were kids. His mother though, she was the only one who could ever go toe to toe with John Winchester and win.

“She tamed him,” Mila remarks with a smile. Dean’s lips quirk in response.

“I wouldn’t go that far,” he chuckles, “but he knew he couldn’t pull a whole lot of shit with Mom. She’s a real pistol when she’s gotta be.”

Talking about them makes his heart heavy and sobers his mood, so he deflects with other stories, other chapters of his life. 

He talks about going through basic training alongside Benny Lafitte. As privates, Dean pranked his friend by filling his lumpy old pillow with raw eggs and chicken feathers. In retaliation, Benny swapped Dean’s morning coffee with actual dirt and hot water. Their boyish games escalated until they were nearly kicked out of the military.

Dean managed to smooth things over though. He’s always had a way of charming people, even the gruff Sergeant Major, Bobby Singer.

Mila admits that she and her cousin Šóta used to sneak out of the village when they were younger. He taught her how to climb trees, how to fight and protect herself, and how to ride a horse astride, like a man. He was the only one who ever encouraged her to have the “free mind” her mother dreamed about.

The more she confides in him, her eyes sparking with life and her hands gesticulating along with her words, the more Dean listens.  

On the third day, it’s nearing mid-afternoon when Dean slows Baby to a stop. After miles and miles of forest and grassland covered, they’ve finally approached a large, wide river. Mila stops beside him.

“My tribe lives beyond the river,” she says, “but the current is strong now.”

Dean looks over at her. A question he hasn’t wanted to ask crops back up. He feels that now is the time to voice it.

“Yeah, about that…I’m thinking your tribe doesn’t take very well to outsiders,” he says. “White men in particular.”

Mila presses her lips together. He can tell she’s been thinking the same thing, but she turns to him with a determined set to her features.

“I will protect you,” she says.

Dean frowns. He doesn’t like the sound of that. On one hand, it warms him that she seems to really mean it. On the other hand, he doesn’t want to know what it’ll take for her to protect him.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” he asks.

She turns her face away and doesn’t seem to want to answer at first.

“Mila…”

“The Chief is my uncle,” she says at last. “He will listen to me.”

Dean blinks. Well, that changes things…maybe.

He’s still not convinced, but at this point, he really doesn’t have many options. It’s either take his chances with her tribe, or become a vagabond. He’s not sure how long he could survive in wilds of the West alone, especially while trying to dodge military patrols.

In the past three days, it’s taken Dean all that time to come to terms with a simple fact. He’ll likely never see his brother again, or his mother. It’s a pain that cuts into him deeply, down to his bones. It stings behind his eyes.

But if he only has two choices, then he at least wants to make sure Mila gets home safely…even if that means he won’t be.

He’s come this far. If his career is worth the price of what he feels is right, then his life is worth it too.

With that decision made, Dean expels a long, somewhat faltering breath. He locks away the rest of his uncertainty, his apprehension, and even his grief. He hides deep inside, where she won’t see it. 

“All right, the current doesn’t look too bad over here,” he says, pointing to farther north along the river. “The horses can make it.”

Mila nods in agreement. She still looks uneasy, though she tries to hide it too. She ventures ahead into the river. Dean follows close behind.

The water is shallow at first, but it all too quickly gets deeper. The horses plod over the river stones and vegetation under the surface, and the humans are led deeper, until they’re submerged into the water up to their waists.

It’s good that Mila rides that giant mustang; if she were on a mare, like Dean, she’d already be sunk up to her shoulders. Baby’s a big girl, to be sure, but Mila is nearly a foot shorter than him, with a smaller frame. He watches her carefully as she makes her way ahead of him.

That’s why he’s able to act fast when Mato slips, dunking Mila under the water. She gasps and tries to cling onto him, but the current is fierce. It pushes Mato down the river no matter how much he scrambles and kicks at the water, braying wildly in distress.

Shit! Dean tugs sharply at Baby’s reigns and strives to catch up to them. He grabs Mato’s reigns and pulls and pulls, until he and Baby are able to drag him to the other side of the river where he can get a foothold with his hooves.

Mila is starting to fall off his back. She struggles to cling on while the river pushes at her, with her wet hair falling in her eyes. Dean leans back as far as he can to try and pull her up.

“It’s okay, I’ve gotcha,” he calls out, even though his heart hammers with alarm.

She reaches out for his hand in turn. Just as his fingers begin to close over hers, a wave from the current crashes into her. A short scream tears from her throat after she loses her grip on Mato’s neck. Without her weight, he’s able to pull himself back up onto the bank along with Baby.

Damn it! Gut-wrenching alarm spears Dean into action. He leaps down from Baby and removes his gloves, his hat, and his uniform jacket, so he can dive into the water. Thank God he’s a strong swimmer.

Mila seems to be too. She carves through the water against the current the best she can and tries to keep her head above the waves, but Dean can see it’s a losing battle. He manages to grab hold of her arm, and then wraps an arm around her waist to keep her close. Both of them work together to try and cling to any passing rock or low-hanging vine as the current sweeps them out toward an ultimate end.

A waterfall.

Of course. Goddamn it. Dean doesn’t know how steep it is on the other side, and he doesn’t want to know. All he’s trying to do is keep himself and Mila above the water.

She hooks her hand around a sharp rock. It bites into her hand, making her cry out, but she clings to it for all she’s worth. She holds onto Dean just as tightly, even though the current wants to take him. She tries to pull him closer, close enough for him to get a hold on the rock as well.

This time, it’s Dean who loses his footing. The rocks slip beneath the soles of his feet when he attempts to gain some leverage.

A shout of surprise escapes from him when he fails, and it gets swallowed up by water rushing down his throat.

“Dean!” Mila yells, for the first time using his name. The last thing he registers is the fear in her eyes—afraid for him.

The river takes him over the edge of the abyss, and he falls.

He never expected that he would get to open his eyes again, let alone to the sight that greets him. Mila’s familiar face, framed by the dark, drying waves of her hair, is bright with firelight. It dances in orange-gold across her features. Her eyes are warm like rich molasses when she looks down and finds him awake.

She smiles in relief.

He realizes that he’s lying on soft grass with his head pillowed in her lap. She’s taken off his boots and half of his white undershirt; she tore one of his sleeves to wrap around a mercifully shallow gash in his shoulder.

The horses are drinking from the river nearby, with a pile of apples split between them. There’s a fish roasted over the fire, but all Dean cares about is the way her fingers are running through his hair. She sings a soft song under her breath while she passes her other hand over his injured arm without touching it.

He doesn’t understand the words, but he thinks she might be trying to heal him. He’s heard plenty of stories about the Sioux people, most he’s taken with a grain of salt. He does remember Cas saying that their healers are different from doctors.  

Dean’s never given their hoodoo much thought, but right about now, he hopes it works.

“Mornin’,” he croaks.

Mila’s relieved face becomes touched with amusement.

“It’s night,” she says. “You slept for a long time.”

Dean wants to sit up and take an inventory of his injuries, but he can’t make his body move just yet. He’s too tired and bruised. He also likes being in her arms. He likes her fingers in his hair, now moving to his cheek. He sighs through his nose in contentment as her thumb drifts over his overgrown stubble. 

“Thank you,” she says. Emotion is thick in her voice.

Dean meets her eyes again, and he smiles. He raises the back of his hand to touch her smooth cheek, gently. He lets his fingers glide across her tan skin, down the column of her neck. Her breath hitches.

She takes his calloused hand in her slender one. Her long hair falls like a curtain over her shoulder, almost like it’s shielding them from whatever is left to come for them beyond the forest. Dean wraps an ebony strand around his finger, just to feel it fall loosely again.

“You’re beautiful, you know that?” he says.

Mila graces him with another smile from her lips. He wants to know what they taste like.

“I guess you are pretty, for a White Man,” she says teasingly.

Her fingers trace his brow, his jawline, even the tip of his chin. She seems to be avoiding his plush mouth, even though her gaze keeps dropping there. Dean pretends to frown.

“Sweetheart, that’s not the way you talk about a man,” he says.

Her brows raise. “No?”

“Handsome. Strong. Toothsome, if you will,” he says, enjoying the way she begins to blush. “That’s what you wanna call a man.”

“Toothsome. I don’t know this word,” she admits. “Am I supposed to eat you?”

Dean resists the urge to say the first incorrigible thing that pops into his head. Instead, his body shakes with laughter.

It’s difficult at first, all his muscles pulling at him in protest, but he raises himself into a sitting position. He cups Mila’s cheek, dragging his thumb across her lower lip. Her lashes are dark and long. They move when she looks up at him. He knows the look in her eyes, wanting, desiring, but also unsure of what she should allow him.

Dean leans in slowly, giving her time to decide.

She tilts her face up to his. He noses at her cheek, his eyes falling closed along with hers.

He finds her lips with his own on instinct and feeling alone. Soft and tender movements, testing, asking.

She answers him. Her fingers tangle in the front of his tattered shirt as her lips begin to move against his. Dean wraps an arm around her waist and gathers her against his chest. His other hand glides down her arm, down her side and along every soft curve. Her clothes are still damp, and so are his.

“It’ll be faster to dry our clothes if we’re not wearing ‘em,” Dean rumbles. His voice is deep with desire. He presses kisses along the side of her jaw, behind her ear, down her neck and shoulder. He earns her pleased hum, her heavier breaths, and her fingers once again in his hair.

“I can’t,” she gasps. She says something in her native tongue, too fast for Dean to even register. He slows down so he can meet her eyes.

“What was that?” he asks. Her face falls, and she starts to trip over her words.

“I am not…how you say, married. I have to be…”

Dean smiles ruefully, sliding a strand of hair behind her ear.

“Chaste?” he offers. She nods, her brows furrowed. Her grip on his shirt tightens.

“Yes,” she says. “In the eyes of my people, it is…”

“I get it,” Dean says. When she still seems conflicted, he presses a kiss to her forehead. 

“Really, I understand,” he says.

His problem is that he stares into her eyes too long, and at her kiss-swollen lips. He dives back in for another taste.

This time, he’s a little less gentlemanly than he promised. His tongue sweeps along her lower lip, begging entrance. She makes a sound of surprise, but she opens up to him. Her gentle hands slide up his chest to hold his face, and her thumbs stroke his cheeks. He holds one of her wrists to keep her there as his tongue dances with hers. She tastes like the river, and like salty tears.

Had she cried for him? How long did she sit with his body, waiting to see if he would wake up?

Despite those worrying thoughts, Dean knows this feels right. More right than he’s ever felt.

It’s harder than he might’ve imagined, but he still pulls away, before he won’t be able to stop himself. Mila pants for breath. She seems to feel she should let him go, but also doesn’t show any sign of wanting to. Smiling, Dean caresses her cheek one more time before he turns to the fish she roasted.

“This looks good,” he says, clearing his throat. “What kinda fish is this?”

With a sigh, she attempts to steady herself and moves to join him by the fire.

That night, Mila dreams.

She dreams of wings, white and beautiful. She hears the cry of an eagle before she sees his great wingspan take off in flight. He soon finds his mate, and they dance together in the sky. 

When she wakes, the fire has gone out and it’s still dark in the night. It takes her a moment to realize that she’s safe. Finally safe.

And she’s lying securely in Dean’s arms.

She’s no longer conflicted when she stares up at his face.

She will bring him home to her tribe, and she will explain. If they still don’t welcome him, then she prays for the strength to keep to her honor. Because now, she begins to realize…

Her heart has already chosen.

“Kimmímila, what have you done?” her uncle asks in the language of their people.

He is Tahatan, Chief of their tribe.

Mila’s father, Chatan, and her cousin Šóta have tied Dean Winchester to a post in the center of the Chief’s large tipi. Dean kneels with his head bowed in respect, even though he keeps sneaking looks at Mila to try and gauge what’s happening. He doesn’t understand a word of any of it.

“You’ve brought this outsider into our village, this White Man!” Tahatan shouts, his voice deep and resounding.

Mila steps forward, despite her mother’s embarrassment and her father trying to grab her shoulder. For the second time in her life, she defies her father for what she believes is right. The first was to rescue a member of their tribe—because even a horse’s spirit should not be broken by greed.

“Uncle, I’ve told you the story, though you don’t want to believe it,” she says. “Dean Winchester saved me when he could have killed me, or worse. He defied his own people. He is dead to his own people, for me, and because of me. You may think they lack all honor, but this man is different.”

She looks over at Dean, and he meets her gaze. He wears an anxious frown as he looks between her and the chief, but she has a feeling that his fear is for her, not for himself.

She kneels beside him, then looks up at her uncle with all the stubbornness she’s ever possessed in her life. She feels it’s led her to exactly this moment.

“And we are one,” she says. Nerves trill up her spine as she says it. She predicts the way shock falls over the room. The way her father curses out loud, angry. The way her mother covers her mouth in dismay. The way the Chief takes a step back, tilting his head at his niece.

“You would take it that far?” he asks.

Her face doesn’t change. “It’s already done.”

Tahatan is beside himself, both angry and perplexed. He goes back to his chair of wicker and wood that lies centered in the room. He drops heavily into it. After a long while, in which he thinks in silence…he releases a heavy sigh. He gestures for his brother and his son to untie Dean. The men do so, but they don’t let him go free. They force him to stand and bring him forward to kneel again before the Chief.

“Dean Winchester,” Tahatan says.

“Yes, sir,” Dean replies.

“You prove yourself to be a man with honor,” he says in English. “Kimmímila has chosen you. She claims you have chosen her in return. Do you deny this?”

Dean glances over at her. She bites the inside of her lip, a bit worried about how he’ll react. She’s not sure he completely understands what Tahatan is telling him, but he nods, regardless.

“No, sir. I don’t deny it,” Dean says.

“Then, you will be allowed to stay, and live among us,” Tahatan declares. "We will see for ourselves what you are. We will see if you are worthy."

Dean gives a nod, crossed with a bow of some kind. He obviously isn’t sure of what he’s supposed to do, but he does say thank you. Mila wraps her hands around his uninjured arm and helps him to his feet. She smiles at him to let him know that the worst is over. He blows out a breath in relief.

“Is that it?” he whispers. He expected more of a thrashing, if he’s honest.

“Almost,” she replies. The two of them stop short before her father, Chatan.

Dean straightens up and holds out his hand. “Sir.”

Chatan glances down at the white hand extended toward him. His gaze raises back up to Dean. 

He grunts in acknowledgement, but he turns on his heels and storms out of the tipi. Her mother comes forward next. She examines Dean from all angles. She takes his face in her hand, somewhat squishing his cheeks, so she can look deeply into his startled eyes.

She seems satisfied by what she finds, and she lets him go. Afterward, she takes Mila’s hand and heaves a deep sigh.

She kisses her daughter’s hand and says nothing else, leaving them to find her husband and calm him down.

Dean turns to Mila with a look that says, please tell me that’s it.

She smiles more genuinely.

“Come,” she says.

She leads him by the hand out of the Chief’s tipi and through the village. Dean takes in the rows of other tall, cone-like structures covered in buffalo skin, as well as all the faces that turn to stare at him in a mix of curiosity, wariness, and even fear. Some of them whisper to each other, taking their children by the hand and keeping them close.

Dean’s still on guard himself, even when Mila takes him to a smaller tipi. It’s been closed up for a while now, by the look of it. Weeds have grown right outside the entrance. 

“This one’s yours?” Dean asks.

She pauses, giving him another small smile. “Ours.”

Dean raises a brow. Ours. Really?

She opens the flap in the front and beckons him inside. There’s still enough daylight to shine through the outer lining. Inside, his gaze flits over the old pile of stones in the center for heating, clothes folded in the corner, some cooking pots and utensils, paintings on wood and clay, and a couple of beaded decorations. Buffalo skin bedding is laid out on the other side with a couple of soft looking furs. 

Son of a gun. Dean doesn’t even blink as he processes it all. He’s in a damn tipi. This is really about to become his life.

Shaking his head a little, he forces himself to focus on Mila. She’s his anchor, and she seems to sense that he’s reeling. She guides him to sit beside her on the bedding, holding his hands in hers. After a moment, he reaches up to tuck a curling strand of hair behind her ear.

“You didn’t get in too much trouble because of me, did you?” he asks.

She shakes her head. “No. My father and uncle are very similar. Strong to anger, but it is quick to run out. At least with me.”

Dean thinks he understands. Short fuse, quick fizzle.

“There is just…one thing,” Mila says. Her eyes fall away from his, like she’s embarrassed. He squeezes her hands.

“What?” he asks, his brows furrowing. It gets her to look at him again, but she seems worried to tell him.

“To convince my uncle to let you stay, I told them that we…” she trails, trying to find the right words in English. “That we are married.”

Dean’s brows raise high. His heart trips up faster. Okay, “ours” makes a lot more sense now.

“I am sorry,” she says quietly. “I didn’t want you hurt—”

“Sweetheart,” Dean says, cupping her cheek. Even with the hammering of his heart, he grins. “I’m pretty sure that’s where this was going anyway.”

In fact, this is a best-case scenario, as far as he’s concerned. He leans in to kiss her, and it doesn’t take long at all for her to sigh in relief, melting against him.

“We’re married, huh?” he asks. “No ceremony? No white dress?”

“We are bonded,” she replies, nodding as she meets every one of his kisses. “Or, we will be.”

She tugs him closer and revels in the feeling of his hands beginning to roam her body, sliding down her waist, her hips and thighs.

“Guess that means we have to seal the deal,” he grins. His lips drift away from hers to burn a familiar path across her cheek. He takes to nibbling her ear, making her flinch and laugh as it tickles.

“Seal-the-deal. What does that mean?” she asks.

Dean chuckles lowly in her ear. “Oh, I think you know.”

He guides her onto her back, over the comfortable mess of furs. He wants to take his time exploring every inch of soft, tan skin, but he first sweeps her hair away from her eyes, the back of his hand brushing against her cheek. She smiles up at him softly.

“Do you regret?” she whispers, reaching up to touch his chin with two slender fingers. “Do you regret helping me?”

Dean considers her question. He knows he’ll carry his family in his heart until the day he dies. His brother, his mother, the memory of his father. Benny and Cas, even Jack, and so many others.

It’s already a heavy burden, but he had always been prepared to lose his life on the battlefield, in service of his country. At least this way, he gains a new life. 

“No. Never did,” Dean replies. “Not even once.”

He bows his head toward hers, and he proves it to her. His lips capture hers, fueled by passion and wanting. Mila’s hands slide over his shoulders and down his back. Maybe without her realizing it, she implores him to let go of the weight heaped on his shoulders.

When he begins to bunch up the hem of her dress, she sits up to help guide his hands. Her quickening breaths mesh with his as the first layer of clothing drops beside the bedding. His tattered shirt joins her dress, along with pants and shoes and boots, until all that’s left is skin against warm, bare skin. He lays on his side right beside her and explores wherever she lets him begin.  

“Beautiful,” Dean murmurs, as his lips follow the column of her neck, down between her breasts. Her breaths rise to meet him, especially when he begins to toy with a dark, pebbled nipple. Her fingers slip through his hair, and his name falls from her lips. He palms one breast while kissing and gently teasing the other, exploring sensitive flesh and grazing her sensitive fleshwith his teeth.

“No man’s ever touched you?” he asks, despite knowing the answer.

She shakes her head, her fingers gripping his hair tighter as his lips and tongue move against her skin.

“No,” Mila gasps a reply. Her hand slides down the back of his neck, and the more he teases her, her nails soon create faint red lines down his back, her thighs squeezing together. She feels a throbbing ache at the very center of her. Despite her inexperience with men, she knows what it means, and she knows what she wants.

Dean’s mouth drags away from her breast. He pulls back so he can meet her eyes. A smile curves his lips, and he takes one of her hands from his shoulders. 

“Have you ever touched yourself?” he asks. He guides her hand down her body, brushing over a wet, sensitive nipple, down her stomach, and between her legs. This time, Mila nods in answer. She stares up at Dean with eyes like molten honey. He leans in to kiss her neck.

“Show me,” he says.

She shudders at the depths in his voice. It increases the flood of wetness she already feels, even before she slips two fingers between the folds of her sex. She gathers some of that slick and circles it over the source of her pleasure, the small nub above her entrance.

Dean takes his hardened length in his hand. While she writhes by her own hand, he drinks her in with his eyes. A soft groan falls from his lips as he pumps himself a few times, sliding a thumb across the weeping head of his cock.

He can’t be a spectator for long though. He nips tantalizingly at her neck, creating a zing of added sensation across her skin. She whimpers, though she tries to stifle it, her knee bending further.

“It’s okay, sweetheart,” Dean says. “Let me hear you.”

He releases himself and replaces her hand with his own. He slips two long fingers inside her drenched entrance, earning a gasping moan from her. She latches onto his shoulders and buries her face into his neck. She whispers fervent things he doesn’t understand, but it only spurs him on.

His thumb circles insistently over her clit as his fingers pulse inside her. Her hips buck a needy rhythm against his hand, until her thighs begin to shake, and her inner walls squeeze even tighter around his fingers.

“Shit, that’s it, baby,” he pants gruffly against her cheek. “Let go for me.”

Warmth snaps and floods from her throbbing core, and she cries out near his ear, her nails biting into his skin. Her release coats his fingers.

Mila drops her head back against the furs underneath her. Her chest rises and falls quickly while she tries to catch her breath, her eyes tightly shut. Dean surprises her with a soft kiss.

“Mila,” he prods. He wants to see her eyes again, so pretty and wanton when she comes. He veers away from her lips to kiss her cheek, and then the other side of her neck. “Let me see you, sweetheart.”

She huffs a small laugh. Opening her eyes, she gestures to her bare body. “This is not enough?”

Dean’s lips tug at a smile. He shakes his head. “As a matter of fact, no.”

He shifts over her, finding his place between the cradle of her thighs. His elbows come to rest on either side of her head. She feels trapped by his body, even as she welcomes his weight and the feeling of his arousal, long and heavy and hard, trapped between their bodies. This man fills every corner of her world in this moment.

“If I’m your husband now, that means I get all of you,” he says with a grin. She gazes up at him, both in blushing amusement and affection.

“All of me,” Mila repeats. She takes his face in her hands and brings him closer, until her lips are a whisper from his. “Then I want all of you.” 

Dean chuckles. “You sure about that?”

She smiles in satisfaction, and her lips claim him this time. One kiss turns into many, each one mounting in passion and desire. Dean groans into her when she begins to touch him. Her hands are soft, but direct in their seeking; they caress his shoulders, run down his chest and stomach, and then, more tentatively explore the now painfully hard length of him pressing against her.

He makes a grateful sound of pleasure when her hand wraps around his cock, squeezing gently. His fingers bury themselves in her hair.

“I want all of you,” she says, this time a plea and a demand all at once as she strokes him.

Dean nods in agreement. He’s come this far. He can do that for her too.

He spreads her thighs a bit wider and encourages her to adjust the angle of her hips for him. His hand glides down her plush thigh and gets a healthy grip. Then he slides his hand under hers and guides his cock through her folds, first just holding himself at her warm, wet entrance.

He manages to wait for a second, in order to meet her gaze. She’s already holding onto his arms tightly, like he’s become her anchor. Her thighs wrap around his hips and beckon him closer.

Slowly, he pushes inside. He takes care in how he works her open. She winces at the sting of his girth stretching her, but his fingers once again massage her clit, stroking her arousal back into a keening flame. He swallows her gasps and moans as he bottoms out inside her, fully sheathed. Tears prick at her eyes, but not from pain.

Mila’s dream flashes like a waking vision behind her eyes. Wings take flight, along with the gleam of a golden beak and a sharp eye.

She blinks, and the image disappears. She’s left with the man who has become hers, making love to her with every stroke of him deep inside her. She presses grateful kisses across his neck and shoulder, wherever she can reach while she clings to his strong arms.

The thick head of him brushes a sensitive place over and over, one that tightens the coil in her lower belly and makes her core tremble again with warmth, until her body convulses against him, pulsing in pleasure, gripping him tight from the inside. Mila’s fingers clench in his hair just as tightly as her release hits her in a powerful wave; even her voice becomes lost to it.

Gritting his teeth, Dean grips the soft flesh of her hip and chases his own end. The way her inner walls choke his cock, he has no choice but to come hot inside her, his spend mixing with her own release. A strangled shout tears from his throat.

He has to brace himself before he crushes her. With his forearms resting on either side of her head, he lowers his forehead against hers. Her legs slip from where they’ve been tightly molded to his hips, her feet meeting the floor. Eventually he slips out of her. He watches his seed drip out and create a mess on the dark furs. The sight of it satisfies something primal deep inside him.

Later he’ll ask her about washing up (and about supper), but for now, he just turns onto his back beside her. She inches toward him, and he raises an arm so she can splay out against his side. They both lay there for a moment in the quiet, just catching their breath together. It marks the end of a long journey, and yet, the start of one too.

Mila turns to raise onto her elbow. She reaches over to wipe the sweat from his brow in a tender touch. Dean smiles up at her. He takes her hand and presses a kiss into her palm.

“I could get used to this,” he says.

Her eyes widen in surprise, but then she laughs softly. “Yes.”

Her hand moves down to his chest, over his heart. She sobers as she considers her people, and how much trust has yet to be bridged—not only her own father and uncle, but the entire tribe. When she led him through the village, they called him wašíču.

Fat-taker. Greedy White. Not one of us.

“It will be hard for you here,” Mila says. She worries it will be too hard for Dean.  

He just squeezes her hand, earning her attention through tumultuous thoughts.

“I’m not afraid of a little hard work,” Dean replies. His usual confident charm is infused in his smile, but she has a feeling he’s just trying to reassure her.

Sensing she’s not convinced, Dean reaches up to hold her cheek, guiding her to look at him and not the floor.

“Listen. I made my choice, and I’m sticking it out, come hell or high water,” he says.

Mila’s brows knit together. “Hell-or-high… What does that mean?”

Dean sits up on his elbow along with her. He takes her chin between his fingers and meets her gaze.

“It means if you want me, you’ve got me. The rest, we’ll figure out as we go along,” he says.

A smile slowly lightens Mila’s face. She tilts her chin up to meet him with a kiss.

“I will be with you,” she says. It’s a promise.

Dean smiles back.

“Good,” he says. “Because that’s just about all I need.”

AN: There we have it, friends. 💜 I really, truly hope you enjoyed this mini series! To be honest, I have more ideas for this little world (like how Dean might try to assimilate into this culture), but I'll leave it to you guys to let me know if that's something you'd be interested in reading.

Until then, I would love to know what you thought of this chapter! 

Pronunciation Guide:

Šóta ("sho-tah") Chatan ("chat-tan") Tahatan ("ta-hat-tann") Wašíču ("wash-ee-jew")

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[robolvrr]

pop 'n lock it! *⁠.⁠✧｡⁠☆

rodimus prime x gn! flirty bounty hunter reader

sexy aliens at hotspots near you! • rodimus has learned that maybe cybertronians aren't as feared by the rest of the galaxy as he thinks.

warnings: nsfw, sexual content. (fisting, valveplay, friends with benefits.) non-cybertronian reader.

"come here often?"

your fingers rub raw on the safety lock of a battered pistol. the sizzle of raw laser still sends a wave of nausea through your system, before your internal servers have forwarded through past memories and interactions to positively identify the cocky voice rumbling through your communications system.

your lips playfully pull upwards.

"how'd you get my line, roddy? don't remember giving you this frequency babe."

the laughter that follows is painfully confident. so much so, that you can easily pick the chuckles apart and find the nervousness coursing beneath. he's about to snip back at you but that's just so predictable, especially since he's much more fun tongue-tied.

"daww, you missed me pretty thing? and here i thought you were too busy being a lil commander. if you wanted me so bad you coulda just told me the last time."

rodimus lets out the equivalent of a bark. you turn your attention to the sky, squinting in an attempt to see if he was piercing through the atmosphere or not.

"oh, you're mean! you know, sometimes i think you just like to project. i get you that riled up, sweetspark?"

that's how he wants to play tonight? cute.

you make eye-contact with a ball of flame and melted metal dancing across bright, magenta skies like a comet out of hell. humming, your pistol meets your hip, belt heavy with equpiment.

"your paint job gonna hold, hm? coming down awfully hot, needy."

"am not."

"uh-huh. sure, speedy. you want me to buff it better later?"

"just get that expression off your face. ugh."

that smile is downright cheshire. this planet's entire warmth and core couldn't force his frame any hotter than the sly smirks you design. it's your plotting grin.

the possibilities send a nice shiver down to his pedes.

"good mechs get rewards. stop playing coy and admit you're stressed and you missed me."

silence, for once, fills your comms. he can imagine you sucking your teeth with a feigned, sour pout.

"... be ready."

your head tips back when you giggle. legs drape over a slender, glossy bike before it sets to hover over rusted terrain, helmet clicking into place as your suit whirs to function.

[ welcome back, user. where to? ]

wrists twist back until the engine purrs. you wonder if rodimus will too.

"the usual. clear my night and tell trax the job is done."

your bike and you shoot through the desert in a blur, leaving the approaching prime and your disintegrated target of ash far behind.

---------

rodimus knows he shouldn't be interacting with you on any level. like, at all.

it's not as if you're a major threat. he's learned the hard way not to leap to conclusions, though you've never made a point of following through with any threats and you're cute, kind of intimidating. almost some figment of his imagination that flits in the corners of his optics.

he hasn't told anyone, anyone, on the ship about you.

for one, they just wouldn't get it.

rodimus prime, captain of the lost light, dirty pervert who enjoys interfacing outside his species every once in awhile. who is hopelessly intoxicated by a being hundreds of feet shorter and yet lets 'em run him up a wall.

for two, he's sure it isn't "ethical." magnus wouldn't look at him the same and he already was in hot water.

for three? well for three, you should be in prison. he's not sure where or which one, but from his research and your blunt pride, you're not exactly a good person.

not entirely. you've gotten rid of some awful corruption and he doesn't like how he's starting to question where his morals and your efficiency mix, because he's certain you don't fry his processors that bad to the point he's losing his sense.

you do.

rodimus lands on the planet's surface, fields buzzing too much to remember the name or care about proper docking. it's not as if he's sticking around for long, per your request.

which is cool. totally cool.

rodimus feels like shareware when he transforms into alt-mode, aware you're probably already waiting. his pistons roar and he fights the urge not to ding you again, because yeah, he's needy.

so what if he misses your mouth? missed your skin, synthetic and otherwise, missed your foreign technology analyzing his ticks and limits?

he needed this. he deserves this, that much was true.

the crackle of his comms make his wheels bite rock aggressively.

"don't make me wait."

----------

he arrives not even five minutes later. you're too static to care about or remember his measurement of time. it's quick and to your standards and that's all that matters.

his chassis is dusty. sure enough, there is visible damage upon his descent. you don't look up, or over, your shoulder until he drawls in bratty greeting.

"you know, most hosts are a little more attentive."

there he goes. classic rodimus, always misbehaving. biting what he could chew and choking instead.

you let the silence grow awkward before you give him what he wants. you can sense the way he's unsure by how his vents vary, fans slowly whirring as they lower the temperature down a degree.

"and most guests are more polite. who said i invited you?"

poor thing looks like a kicked pet. his optic ridges droop and his dermas screw up, stubborn.

"i can be good. it's just... i need you, okay? that's what you wanted to hear, right? just give me tonight. please."

he slips down the concrete wall as steps, practiced and nonchalant, drift his direction. all his insecurities and want bubble to a nasty concoction and his legs part without command.

he can feel it. your stare, right on his closed array. the visual, physical culmination of his obsession dripping and oh, primus. your mouth is opening and you're letting it fall on your tongue.

"hahhh.. frag." he stores the image in a file far away.

"like candy, roddy. i can forgive you for intruding if you haven't been touching yourself like i asked, darling."

he groans and his digits scrape the foundation. you suck your finger and he's shaking.

"sure tastes like it."

frag it all. you make him so desperate it's embarrassing.

he nods his head fast and his panels pop and lock open.

leaning forward, you make a mental note to see just when your schedule will open up again this lunar cycle. while his spike is just as pretty as he is, an curved phallic throb of silver metal with sparkling, ruby bio-lights, you dip lower instead.

rodimus didn't have time to ask, hearing the whoosh of your thrusters and suddenly tongue and spit find his node with turbokitten licks.

"ooohhhh, okay, hah! w-warn somebody before you just g— guhh..!"

you never ask him to mass displace when intimate. it's partially the reason he feels so gross. there is no reason for him to be this broken already.

he should be breaking you. you should be under him, unable to take an inch. unable to think straight, or walk straight—

you're nibbling.

the rounded knob is rubber and thick. solid. firm, but slippery. you're not worried about harming him, though you do bite harder than necessary to ensure he's getting stimulated.

transfluid starts to drench your chin as you swirl and slobber, forming a warm suction that earns you a glitched moan.

"yes, yes, yeeeeeeaaahh... j-jhust like. ah! that.."

eager fingers circle his valve. he hiccups his approval.

then, your hand. he has to focus on not crushing it but from the yelp and helm bumping the ceiling, he wasn't expecting the action at all. you dreamily continue to coat him in your saliva as your wrist slithers in.

rodimus is sure he's going to offline.

you're not big. that's been established. but he still has to ease his calipers, legs trembling as you shove more and more of your forearm in him.

"please don't stop. i-i'm sho sorry. i'll be good. i'll be so good fhoure yew."

lubricant coats his faceplate when he hears your wicked amusement murmur against his valve instead.

his processor is fuzzy. he can't grab at anything because his strength will collapse the support beams, or you'll shoot that domineering leer that makes him feel like he's tipped over a vase.

rodimus whines, bleats. after lapping and swallows, your mouth has lost patience and drifted to his pulsing shaft instead. your lips are so much softer than a cybertonian, pillowy and velvet.

meanwhile, you are lazy. still pumping up to the elbow, in and out, in, out, innnn, outttt.

"let me see you cry, honey. so cute when you do. so handsome. so pretty."

the captain ex-vents sharp. his optics are cerulean. they glow in the darkness and drink you up.

"y-yeah?"

greedy! he's too obvious.

"you're the prettiest cybertonian i have ever seen." there it is, that engine growl. it vibrates your form with a tickle.

"my little light. my perfect...", you know what you're saying is going to make him overthink. you keep going because you feel how close he is already. "perfect prime."

that does it. rodimus tries to reboot his vocalizer as he shrieks out, dopey and bursting. a large, pink pool puddles at his aft, a single servo snatching you by the waist by instinct and dragging you up, up, up, up.

his glossa shoves down your throat and you paw at his helm.

he wants this burnt into his very being. his spark is thrashing.

"give. more. c'mon."

smoothing away tears, you suckle. his glossa slithers out and spit and fluid makes spider-web bridges between your mouths.

"you know i am not that mean, right? relax your pistons."

rodimus looks at you, albeit too tenderly. you close your eyes and distract you both instead by kissing him again.

"hah. as if. you're evil."

"you seem to have a habit of letting evil people around you, roddy." clink. the suit on your body phases off. he looks like he wants to stick you in his intake, drool and all.

"... touché."

[iloveacronix]

Sighhh. Dear mutuals. Please stop sending me smut fanfictions, ESPECIALLY the ILLUSTRATED ONES, when you know damn well I'm less than 18, know my SPECIFIC age, and KNOW I do not feel comfortable with smut.

I am VERY uncomfortable when you do this and you, as someone older than me, should know better. I do NOT care if you like the ship, I do NOT care if you think its good, I DONT WANT TO FUCKING READ IT, and I DONT WANT YOU SENDING ME LINKS TO THAT SHIT. I AM NOT INTO IT, BUT SOMETIMES IM CURIOUS AND IT DISGUSTS ME. LIKE COULD YOU NOT?? I do not mind if you mention the word it's not specific at ALL, but if you are going to fully talk about it DETAILED OUT shut up. I don't want to hear it. Don't want to read it. And I do not want to see it. Also don't have the crappy mindset where you think that suddenly because we're mutuals it means we're bestie best friends and you feel privileged to send me inappropriate shit, because that's not how it works. None of you, AND I MEAN NONE OF YOU, are "PriViLEgEd" to send me smut FICS or links, and it will never happen because im not looking forward to reading it. Don't use that excuse again. You know who you are.

So please. Stop. This is the third time. I don't care if you're a friend, if you send me smut FICS or links WITHOUT WARNING, I'm blocking you. I blocked two people already for it, I can do it many more times. Your bullshit only makes me feel more fucking tired and reluctant to make more online friends. So stop. When I say I'm a kid(not that young but still) on my bio, I'm serious. It doesn't matter if it's "just a written story and it's not a big deal," it is for me because it just shows me how much of a freak you are to have the audacity to show it to a minor THAT HAS ALREADY "SAID I DO NOT WANT TO READ SMUT."

Thank you. Good day.

[body-to-flame]

I want to watch the sun sink behind the heavens with you. Anything. I just want anything from you.

[peppermintquartz]

Tommy is exhausted. He's taken on so many extra shifts, his captain has barred him from doing any more for the rest of the year. And now his stupid phone won't stop ringing.

With his eyes still closed, he gropes for the phone. But by then the call has stopped, and there's a voicemail on. Without really thinking, Tommy opens it.

"Daddy."

Tommy recognizes that voice. Worse, he recognizes that tone. He's had it directed at him more times than he can remember the past six months.

Before he can delete it, Evan exhales and whispers, "Tell me, Daddy, how many times?"

"How many times what?" Tommy really should delete this. Nothing good will come of this. But he misses Evan's voice, misses how he would call whenever he wanted, fill up the silence of Tommy's world. He's not talking to Evan right now; it's Evan, talking into Tommy's mailbox

"How many times... Am I supposed. Supposed to sleep with someone else... Before. Before I'm good enough f'r you?" Evan sounds drunk. "I wanna know. So I can... I can keep score. Cause right now... Ri' now is just me. I'm just... Just me. Missing you, Daddy. Miss the way... you'd touch me. Right here, kissing up along my thigh... Your scruff. The way you... you'd look at me, like I meant everything to you. God, please, Tommy. Daddy. Tell me, please, tell me how to make you happy. You're good at that. You taught me how to... How to make you happy. Please."

This is a bad idea. This is a terrible idea. Tommy should turn off his phone and go back to sleep. His left hand slides under his waistband and wraps around his cock, feels it harden in his grip.

"Do I need to kneel? Keep your cock in my mouth while, while you watch a game? I can do that. I love how your cock tastes, Daddy, you know that. You could... You could read, read one o' your trashy romance novels, tell me to reenact a scene. Fuck, Tommy, remember when you had me, pinned against the front door? Your fingers, inside me - nngh - not the right angle, not the right, right thickness. Tommy, I need you. I need to feel you inside me again." Evan is panting now, and there are slick wet sounds in the background. "The dildos don't fit right. They just... they dont. It's not the same without... Tommy. Tommy. Fuck. Daddy, remember when you had me in your lap, and you made me ride you while we... while we watched Dirty Dancing? I'm stroking myself the way you did, slow an' firm, but it doesn't feel the same, why doesn't it feel the same? I need, I need it to feel the same, please, Daddy, help, please help me-"

Tommy is stroking himself as he listens to Evan panting and begging on his voicemail, hating himself for his weakness. Evan is drunk, he probably didn't mean to send this, and Tommy shouldn't feel smug or possessive over the fact that Evan apparently can't get off without Tommy's presence.

Evan is panting harder now, his sobs intercut with breathless gasps, and there's a short, brief cry of "Tommy-" just before the sound cuts out completely.

Tommy comes so hard into his fist he sees stars.

When he comes back to himself, he is disgusted by what he's done. He washes and scrubs his hands with more vigor than necessary. Then he goes back to bed, but he stares at the phone for a long time.

He really should delete that voicemail.

hey so one night eddie takes buck out for a few drinks to take his mind off tommy and he ends up sloppy horny drunk and sprawled across his uncomfortable couch palming his dick through his pants and finally caving into his fucking hunger to call tommy only to for it to ring and ring and ring until he finally hears that bitchy voice again and proceeds to leave the breathiest messiest most pathetic voicemail while stroking his cock, whimpering and moaning tommy’s name until he comes all over his fist.

[dangaer]

have to admit it following that last post, if we're shipping im 9/10 times rereading the media and looking at certain parts through a ship tinted glass set. i put it on the dash sometimes rather than dms because i'm extremely nervous that i'm going to come off as too much but, you know, i'm working on that.

[tardis--dreams]

Me panicking because i have 9 missed calls and 5 emails talking about my absence and how "a colleague could take over for me" vs. Me knowing it's really not that important no matter how pushy a client is and that on top of it I'm underpaid and have way to much overtime so i shouldn't even care

[katboykirby]

Okay 🤷

I'm coming from the standpoint of someone who has both worked in the mobile game industry on the writing/game development side of things, and also as someone who personally knows and regularly speaks to staff at Solmare. All I'm doing is offering the perspective that comes with having that experience.

You personally seeing lots of posts about a particular topic, because it's a popular point of discussion in your circle, does not mean that the topic is popular or widely discussed outside of your circle. I'm not saying that no one is having these discussions, but I absolutely promise you that it's not as many people as you seem to think. And like, that's fine? Not sure why that's even an issue or anything, but okay?

Again, "this is badly written" is completely subjective. Your personal opinion on a piece of media is obviously fine, but it's not in any way universal or objective. To be honest, it's kind of a weird choice to even bring up because (in addition to it's subjectivity) it's simply not all that related to the original point that was being discussed? This specific post is about people being upset over optional monetization in the game, not about story quality. That's absolutely a conversation that can happen, but it's not the point of THIS post?

I don't know where I've been defending Solmare? In my original post I literally outlined multiple points of feedback and criticism, and examples of what I think they could have done differently and what they can still stand to improve. I also link directly to the contact page for their Support Team specifically so people can easily send their own feedback.

Ultimately, my main point was this: the new feature isn't perfect and Solmare could have done several things differently that would have improved the rollout and made people happier. BUT, it's also not the atrocious garbage fire that people are treating it as. There's harassment and abuse being sent to the official OM accounts, multiple people are saying that "everyone should boycott Solmare" and just overreacting in general. Which is a lot of drama over what is, essentially, a pretty standard and inoffensive item bundle being added to the shop.

The new feature is very normal for live service mobage (especially gacha) and "optional paid bonus content" is EXTREMELY common in this genre of games. In-app purchases for goodies and extra fluff exist in basically every gacha game ever, and OM isn't doing anything different. Obviously it's totally okay to not like it! And if you don't like it, you can just totally ignore it. It doesn't impact the game either way.

You're paying $30 and getting a long Devilgram story, a character phone call, exclusive premium artwork, and a stack of 300 DP on top. That's all. It's not mandatory, it doesn't lock any actual game progression or Main Story behind a paywall. It's just a totally optional goodie bag in the shop that you can completely ignore if you don't want to buy it. It's more than fair to criticise the pricing scheme, but some players are acting like the gave devs personally hacked into their bank accounts and stole their life savings.

Anyway, I'm probably not gonna keep replying like this because this post has gotten ridiculously long, lol. You're more than welcome to DM me if you wanna keep discussing stuff, but I might just disable reblogs because I wasn't expecting this post to get so much attention.

Going to play Devil's Advocate (ha) here for a moment, as someone who has experience working in the industry & game development:

Remember, every single time that any new feature is added to the game (even if that new feature is "just a new artwork and phone call") it means that Solmare is -

Paying artists for the new artwork

Paying writers for the new scripts

Paying the voice actors to record the new voice lines

Paying the game devs, coders, debuggers, etc, to actually implement the new feature into the game without breaking anything

Paying for QA

Paying the translators for all the different language versions (Obey Me is currently available in 4 different languages)

Paying the localisers for all different language versions

Etc, etc

This is all on top of the monthly costs of keeping a live service mobage like OM running smoothly. Anything that isn't paid for by the players is being operated at a loss. This isn't a flaw with OM itself, this is a fact that exists on an industry-wide level.

Secondly, while any concerns about the price are entirely valid, I think that a lot of people are glossing over an important point - Solmare is not charging you $30 for a Date Ticket. Solmare is charging $30 for a BUNDLE, which includes the Date Ticket as well as 300 DP. So this is similar to all the other sales bundles that have been rolled out in the past.

And the price is consistent with the standard price for DP in Akuzon. It has always been about $30 for 300 DP, so the price has not actually changed or been increased. This is an optional, $30 bundle for 300 DP that essentially includes the Date Ticket as a bonus for free.

You're totally justified if you don't want to spend $30 on this. I'm definitely not arguing that. While I think that this feature isn't as bad as some people are saying (I never would have expected any new features to be totally free) I do think that Solmare could have rolled this out in a better way than they did.

I think that most, if not all, of the complaints would disappear if they simply offered different bundles for different price tiers. This is something they've already done in the past, even! Just give people alternatives, like...

$1.39 for the Date Ticket by itself

$10 for 100 DP + Date Ticket

$20 for 200 DP + Date Ticket

$30 for 300 DP + Date Ticket

And so on. I think this probably would have alleviated many people's concerns, and would have made the new feature more accessible for more players.

Now, I don't think that harassing the official Twitter account is the way to go about communicating your thoughts. There's a difference between genuine constructive criticism/feedback given in good faith, and needlessly rude hate comments. "Fuck you, hope your game goes broke" doesn't help anybody, and will only make Solmare less likely to listen to the EN fandom. They've dealt with a lot of harassment from Western fans before, including death threats, and you aren't communicating anything useful or constructive by sending hate to the EN social media account.

Solmare has a Support team that you can email, if you have feedback and you actually want to reach the JP game devs. If you want to let them know that you want other/more affordable options for the new Date Ticket feature, this is the best way to do that. Just remember to be civil, since harassment and hate mail are extremely likely to simply be thrown out before it reaches the hands of anyone in charge.

[tovaicas]

some of the threads probably could've been handled better but as a whole I love alphinaud's HW character arc so much

[original-cat-showdown]

ROUND 2 MATCH-UPS EVERYBODY

Tabby (@cure-icy-writes) vs Elle Chihiro (@cure-icy-writes)

Ni'iri (@sillysorcerer) vs Spirit (@spirits-of-kin)

Gull (@featherfrond) vs Paxel (@cat-skull)

Kitty Heels (@esmaelj) vs Ginger (@esmaelj)

Jade (@dragontoonss) vs Caitrionia (@kjmellow)

Vivi (@rainewintersnow) vs Apotheosis (@horizontalnobelcat)

Nico (@crownne-prince) vs Narciso (@crownne-prince)

Briarfang (@plaguedbutch) vs Leafcloud (@plaguedbutch)

Bobsyfella (@thunderwhenhepurrs) vs Jinna (@teknoctarkamacska)

Tumbledown (@sugarsprinkles) vs Caro (@sugarsprinkles)

Frozen Teeth (@element-kitten-klaws) vs Pawtree Purrety (@kdm13)

Mason Spectrespeaker (@2bu) vs Kat (@laceghost / @laceghost-art)

Mina (@spacedragonstar) vs Lara and Rio Coddsworth (@acromafireair)

Cherry Lipstick (@hyephyep) vs Lane (@hyephyep)

Round 1 brackets

Round 1 results

Polls will run for a week, and I should manage to set them up in a few days!

[homocidalpotat]

Please do not send me asks for donations

Here's why:

I have NO money to give you

I'm not a popular enough blog that I will give you any reach

I am a minor, and most of my followers are too

It makes me feel extremely guilty

Seeing pictures of injuries or hospitals etc are triggering for me (which are in most intro posts for this sort of thing)

They are always worded in a way that makes me feel like I am a murderer if I don't donate

It makes me feel uncomfortable

I said I don't want them, and my boundaries should be respected

I can't tell what is a bot and what isn't (although I know a large portion of them are NOT bots)

I get a lot of spam from this. It is disappointing to see 10 new asks in my inbox just to be the same ask for donations over and over

Please, just respect the fact that I have said this.

If you want this in your pinned post, please don't credit me. You can copy the words or take a screenshot with my username cropped out. You can reblog this but please don't go on about how awful you find it. I get it, but also if you spiral two much you might end up accidentally saying something bad. This post has led to a lot of hate anons and harassment, so I would rather not have too much attention. Thanks...

Edits, boundaries and facts below (probably for the best if you read them too- especially if you are considering sending me hate)

Edit: To all the people reblogging this, I'm sorry you have had to deal with this too. And yes, you can put this in your pinned post! Stay safe <3

Edit 2: I am pro Palestine and want to do everything I can to help but I'm not financially or mentally well enough to do much. I'm not in support of these people dying. Also, this post isn't just about Palestine. It's about ALL asks for donations. I'm not doing favouritism or racism. I just can't deal with it. Don't harass me for expressing boundaries.

Edit 3: Yes, this post might seem controversial. But I did literally make this for my own personal experience and didn't expect it to get more than 12 notes or so. You can agree with this post, pin this post, reblog this post, I don't care really. But don't add opposing views because quite frankly, it's none of your business. It's not my problem and I didn't mean for this post to get so many notes. Edit 2 mostly covered what I'm trying to say here, but don't use the number of notes as an excuse to fight me. I just want a peaceful Tumblr experience. Also, if you are reblogging this, don't trauma dump. I keep notifications on for this post so that I can block people harassing me before shit escalates, so I can see every reblog. You can screenshot and repost if you want to talk about your problems, but honestly its no better seeing people saying "I'm bankrupt and I just got kicked out by my family. I also have a history of abuse and those images are so triggering that I want to die". That doesn't help me. Make your own post to say that. Please

[adreamfromnevermore]

AU Where the Justice League forms as usual except for one slight difference where Bruce just so happens to have been the one superheroing for the longest. (Excluding Diana, who got up to it in World War 1 and then mostly didn't while she learned about Man's World)

Bruce helps form the Justice League, ignoring all of the comments as they come to the sudden realization that Gotham's baby cryptid story is actually a man in a very intimidating armored suit who can and will break your arm if you cause problems for him. They are unaware that this is not the first team he's led, and actually he's used to teams full of mostly teenagers who also happen to be his children. This should be easier, this team is primarily adults.

He realizes rapidly that he doesn't understand these people.

His kids take bonding activities to mean learning a dozen different ways to break someones leg. That doesn't fly with these people. And that is most of Bruce's ideas, hell when he was a kid Alfred took every opportunity to get him out of his room and mostly that was with the agreement that Alfred would teach him how to defend himself. He's come by it honestly.

This team is not easier. They have more drama than when his house was actually full of kids. It's insane. He doesn't know what to do with it, usually he just sent the kids to their rooms or grounded them from patrol. That doesn't work here.

He comes to a strange crossroads. That falls apart when he forgets who he's working with and snaps at Hal with a full room of heroes that the next person to throw a punch or an insult without a reason too will be sparring with him.

A long standing rule in the batcave that worked two fold to prevent infighting between the kids and too ensure that they were well and truly trained.

It works wonders. No one says a word out of line for the rest of the debrief. Bruce becomes the unofficial mediator of the league over Clark because anytime he walked in on a fight it suddenly became 10 times more civil out of sheer terror of what he'd do to them in a sparring match.

Eventually they actually meet his kids. Well, one kid.

Half way through a mission (one of the rare ones in Gotham) the Bat comes to a complete stop at the edge of an alley. Every single league member on the team comes to a stop behind him. Slowly from the shadows of the alley a man in a red helmet stalks out to greet them.

"You don't call, you don't write"

"Red Hood."

"Don't Red Hood me! We've been worried sick!"

"I was at the cave last night."

"You didn't answer my texts B. You always answer my texts."

Somehow it ends with big and scary following them through the rest of the mission with a running commentary of how much Bats has let him down in his failure to respond in a timely manner to a text send less than an hour before he ran into them in the alley. It only ends when Red Robin shows up.

And even then it only ends because Hood can't keep himself from throwing a punch and Bruce has to snap at him that if he throws another one they're sparring when they get home.

And by god is Jason giving up the chance to punch his brothers.