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zepskies · 21 days ago

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Outlander - Part 1

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: Ready for some more Cowboy Dean? Here we go with Outlander Part 1! This is a sequel story directly following The Honorable Choice, where Dean not only saves the member of a Native American tribe, but falls in love with her. (She saves him a lot in return.) Now, he’ll have to learn how to live in her world if he wants to stay with her.

This sequel series will be 4 parts! 💜

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

Word Count: 5.3K

Tags/Warnings: 18+ only. Suggestiveness/implied smut and spice, hunting (in the more traditional sense), angst, hurt/comfort, and romantic fluff. **Pronunciation guide at the end!

🐎 Series Masterlist || Bingo Masterlist

Part 1: Two Worlds

Her people call this river Little Cheyenne. It’s because Big Cheyenne cuts through the land of the Sioux Indians by half, but Little Cheyenne almost meets it in the south, stretching all the way up to the Black Hills.

Mila’s tribe has always lived near this river. Its waters have bled red during battles with other tribes, and sometimes during battles with White Men.

The White Men’s fort, the one her husband came from, lies farther down in the south. The tribe had to move their village higher north along the river after Mila returned with Dean Winchester, just to be safe.

On a cloudy afternoon, Mila scrubs at a bundle of dirty clothes until they’re clean. She rinses them off in the river and is thorough about her work, but she knows she can’t be here much longer. She has a stew simmering on hot coals in her tipi…

Well, the one she now shares with her husband.

Unconsciously, she smiles. She remembers leading Dean through the tribe, to the place where she hoped he would find rest. They stopped at the foot of her tipi.

“This one’s yours?” he asked.

She paused, giving him another small smile.

“Ours.”

Mila continues scrubbing, though she frowns when her fingers slip through a tear in one of the new tunics she made for him (even though he keeps calling it a shirt). The tear was made by a blade, or maybe an arrowhead, she realizes.

The crunch of feet on the riverbed’s gravel makes her raise her head and look over her shoulder. Unease prickles down her spine. She braces herself for a familiar shadow, come to disturb her peace.

But then she relaxes. She’s being joined by two of the older women in her tribe. Mila has known them her whole life, and so she calls them tunwin. Aunt. They both greet her kindly and kneel beside her with their own bundles of clothes for washing, but Eyota, the older one, has a sharper eye. She is their tribe’s medicine woman.

“Your husband wears out his clothes,” she remarks.

“He’s been working hard training with Šóta and the other men,” Mila explains.

“He seems to be learning quickly,” says Misae. She has a more playful glint in her eyes. “Who knew that you could catch and tame a White Man. Looks like they are no different from wild horses.”

Mila smiles slightly, but it’s not genuine. She nods in agreement. “He’s learning quickly.”

She holds her tongue from saying anything else, even though she wants to. Dean isn’t a man to be tamed, any more than she was, in his people’s eyes. She aims to change the subject.

“Do you have any good herbs or spices for wahonpi? I’ve had the stew simmering all morning,” she asks Eyota. Not only is she a gifted healer, but Eyota is also one of the best cooks, and she knows it. She nods and straightens her shoulders the way she always does when someone asks her for advice—and even when they don’t ask for it.

“Of course, child. What you need is…”

“Goddamn it,” Dean huffs under his breath.

The jackrabbit flees from him again, or more accurately, from his terribly aimed arrow. He’s an excellent marksman…just not with a bow, it seems.

He doesn’t know what he’s doing wrong here, and he’s not likely to figure it out. Not by the way Takoda, Šóta, and the other men are laughing at him.

Dean resists the urge to roll his eyes. He knows when he’s being hazed.

These men are bare-chested warriors, each of them richly tanned under the sun. Most of them wear their hair long, half of it gathered high on their heads, or braided in some way. Šóta is his wife’s cousin, and as the Chief’s son, he wears a small adornment of eagle feathers threaded into his hair. His closest friends are Takoda and Otaktay. Both of them laugh at Dean the most, and in their language, using just enough gestures and body language that Dean knows he’s being talked about. They point at his boots and his brown Stetson hat—two of the only things he’s kept of his own that make him feel comfortable in his own skin.

Finally, Šóta goes over to him. “Good try,” he says, in his usual patronizing tone.

Dean knows he can’t punch out Mila’s cousin, no matter how bad he’s asking for it. Somehow, Dean manages to hold onto his temper.

“What’re they saying?” he asks lowly, gesturing at the two chuckle brothers.

Šóta’s lips twitch. He glances down at Dean’s feet. “They say your…shoes are loud on the earth. You give yourself away before the animal even catches your scent.”

Dean’s given up a lot of things, but his boots won’t be one of them. He wants to learn. He wants to belong here, in Mila’s world, but he also wants to stay himself.

So the men move on, mounting their horses. Dean rides with Baby at a plodding clip. Her black coat ripples with a healthy sheen. He thinks she’s come to enjoy the more natural surroundings and freer pasture of the grasslands, and he can’t deny, this part of it all feels right. The sun peeks through between the dappled leaves of oak trees, painting the ground in red, green, and gold. It’s quiet and beautiful here as Šóta leads the pack through the forest, just southwest of the village.

Eventually, he stops them between a denser thatch of trees and shrub. He raises a hand signal that Dean’s come to recognize. He raises his bow belatedly after the others though. He follows Šóta’s line of vision, and there is a deer grazing in a small clearing. A young buck.

Šóta signals at Dean. Try again, his eyes say.

Dean takes in a deep, quiet breath through his nose, and he takes aim.

He really misses his damn rifle.

Dean shoulders the sting of failure while he makes his way through the camp, leading Baby by the reigns. He drops her off at the large horse pen. There he feeds her and brushes her long coat, all while murmuring soft affectionate things. She’s still one of his only friends here.

But even she leaves him short to join her new friend, Mato. The two have become thick as thieves. Mato greets the black mare with a friendly whinny. Their noses touch in affection, and Mato playfully nips at her ear.

Dean raises his brows. “Well, that’s a little more friendly than usual. You guys start courting when I wasn’t looking?”

He walks over to Mato, who’s softened up to him in recent weeks.

“You sly dog,” Dean remarks, smirking. “Didn’t even ask me for her hand.”

Mato blows a hot breath through his nose at Dean, who has to blink, wiping his face.

“Now that’s just rude.” Still, he offers the mustang an apple from his pocket. Mato takes it from his palm, letting Dean rub his neck while he munches on his snack. “As fathers-in-law go, you lucked out, pal. See? I’m a delight.”

He wouldn’t be surprised if Baby had her first foal by spring. Dean grins at the thought, but it soon falls. If only his father-in-law were so easy to please.

His mind dwells on it as he starts making his way back to the heart of the village. Chatan, Mila’s father, hasn’t warmed up to him any better than Šóta or the other men. Tahatan is the only one of them who treats Dean civilly, and overall, he seems to be a good leader.

Dean has that thought, just when he sees the older man himself walking with a woman Dean sort of recognizes. She wears a long necklace made of blue beads and seashells. Tahatan goes into her tipi, even though Dean knows…that woman isn’t the Chief’s wife.

Dean raises his brows, but he subtly pivots on his heel and takes a different route back to his own tipi. Whatever he just saw, it’s definitely not his business.

“Honey, I’m home,” he teases.

She welcomes him into her arms, her hands traveling warmly up his shoulders. He bends to kiss her, soft and slow at first. And then deeper, sucking on her lower lip and teasing her with a sensuous tongue. She hums in surprise into his mouth, making him smile.

He’s exhausted and feeling low, but he doesn’t want to let on to her. He just wants to forget about his day, and hopefully recharge with a better night.

“How did it go today?” she asks, after he allows her to breathe.

Dean nods (and lies). “Pretty good.”

She waits for him to continue. When he just continues to hold her, she raises her brows up at him.

“Dean?”

“What? I’m workin’ on archery. Lots of progress.”

She eyes him in suspicion, and he knows he doesn’t have her fooled. Actually, she looks like she’s going to press him about it, so he releases her from his hold and goes to change out of his dirty clothes to avoid her gaze.

“Hey, uh, maybe it’s none of my business, but I saw the Chief go into some other woman’s tent today. Holding hands, bedroom eyes, the whole deal,” he says while he changes. He glances back at her and waggles his brows. Mila smiles slightly.

“Did she wear her hair in a half-braid, or did she wear a necklace made of seashells?” she asks.

Dean’s surprised that she doesn’t seem surprised, but he thinks back to what he saw.

“Uh, seashells. Yeah, she wore seashells,” he says.

Mila nods. “Yes, that woman is also his…the chiefs of my people are known to take more than one wife.”

At that, Dean becomes even more surprised. He finishes dressing and leaves his boots by the tipi’s entrance. His raised brows even out into a smirk.

“Well, okay. Guess it’s good to be Chief,” he says.

Mila’s lips purse as she eyes him narrowly. She goes back to stirring the stew with a wide, wooden spoon. Dean doesn’t see her reaction, but he does notices that something’s missing from his side of the bedding. He frowns.

“Hey, where’s my gun?” He asks Mila, who shakes her head without looking at him.

“I moved it,” she curtly replies.

Dean’s frown deepens. He touches her arm to get her attention.

“I’d rather you didn’t do that, baby,” he says. He’s made sure that she knows the basics of a gun well enough, but he doesn’t want to take the chance of her hurting herself.

“Don’t leave it out, then,” she snips back. “It shouldn’t go where we sleep.”

Dean tilts his head at her. He’s a bit confused at her tone, especially because they’ve had this conversation before.

“I have it there just in case something happens at night,” he reminds her. His pistol is really just for emergencies though. There are only three bullets left in it, and he can’t exactly go shopping for more.

Dean realizes then that Mila’s mood has shifted. He approaches her from behind.

“What’s wrong, huh?” His hands find familiar purchase along the curve of her waist. He swipes her braid away and presses a kiss where her neck meets her shoulder. More teasingly, he asks, “What’d I do now?”

Mila remains tight-lipped, until she glances at him over her shoulder.

“Do you want another woman?” she asks.

It’s a simple question, but it succeeds in completely tripping him up. He blinks at her, incredulous and bewildered.

“What?”

She continues shredding another herb to put into the stew. Somehow, it makes the broth smell a bit worse.

“You seem to admire the Chief for having three wives, so you must want another one too,” she says.

Holy shit, three wives? Dean wonders. The man must be a saint. Look at the hell I’m catching with one.

He can’t help but laugh, a deep belly chuckle that does nothing to take away Mila’s ire. She glares at him now, genuinely upset, and Dean knows he’s starting to shit the bed on this one. He sobers up and raises his hands in surrender.

“Sweetheart,” he says, in a placating tone.

Despite her annoyance, she allows him to hold her again. He plies her with more tantalizing kisses along her neck. He breathes in the sweet-smelling oil she uses on her hair.

“You’re more than enough woman for me. You know that, right?” he whispers against her skin. It earns her slight shudder, and he smiles. He teases the spot just under her ear, grazing with his teeth, then soothing with his tongue. She can’t help but writhe against him a bit. It stirs a well of desire in his lower belly, especially when he squeezes her hips, pressing himself to her from behind.

She tries to remain strong as she clears her throat, no doubt feeling his growing hardness against her. She starts to blush hotly.

“It’s all I can do just to make sure you stay sweet for me,” Dean says, a hint of teasing returned to his voice.

Mila finally breaks into a laugh. She reaches back to swat him on the head, but his ministrations work. Once she manages to escape from his grasp with a teasing smile of her own, she more happily serves him a bowl of stew.

Dean smirks. Fine, he can be patient. He’ll just have to wait until dessert, then. After a moment to calm himself, he sits down on the ground beside her and brings a large spoonful of stew to his lips. There, he pauses. The strange taste that assaults his tongue nearly makes him choke, but he does his best to swallow it down. The meat’s tough as nails, for Christ’s sake…

Hearing a spoon clatter against the bowl, he chances glancing at Mila. She sits stock still, her brows furrowed as she frowns. Slowly, she sets the bowl down and says,

“Stop eating.”

She looks angry at herself. Dean feels bad for her, his sympathy striking at his chest.

“What do you mean? I’m hungry,” he says, and gamely takes another couple of bites.

She just watches him. Her upset worsens while he tries and fails to cover up a hacking cough.

Finally, Mila can stand no more. She takes the bowl from him, making some of the foul broth slosh over their hands and onto the ground. She tried to make wahonpi, one of the most basic soups in her people’s culture, made from bison, potatoes, corn, and carrots stewed in the broth.

Eyota told me it was simple! she thinks in dismay. How did it go so wrong?

“It’s no good,” she says, her voice hard. “I will go to my mother and see what she cooked. She may have extra for us.”

She rises to her feet, and Dean quickly follows her. He catches sight of her tears, even though she turns her face away from him to grab her shoes. He reaches out and stops her with a hand on her arm. He tugs her back to face him.

“Hey, it’s okay. Why’re you getting so upset?” he says. “I’m not picky. I’ll eat whatever you make.”

Or maybe next time, I’ll try doing the cooking, he thinks.

“Because!” she blurts. Tears well up in her eyes and begin to slip down her cheeks, no matter how much she tries to brush them away. “Because you shouldn’t have to eat it. Because it should be good. You deserve to eat something good!”

Mila finally realizes why her mother tried so hard to teach her these things. She’s embarrassed, feeling sorry for herself, but it’s also far worse than that. Her heart hurts knowing what Dean has gone through, and what he continues to go through for her sake. The least she could do is make sure he eats well, and it seems she can’t even do that.

“Mila,” he says with a sigh. He guides her into his embrace. “It’s okay, sweetheart.”

She can’t allow herself to be comforted. She pushes at his chest to look up at him.

“You think I don’t know what happens outside?” she says. “It’s a small village, and people talk when they think I’m not listening. I know what the men are doing to you.”

Dean shakes his head stubbornly. “It’s fine. I can handle it.”

“You should not have to,” she insists, resting a hand over his heart. “You have proven yourself to be a man of honor. Tahatan said it himself. They should not be this way.”

Dean smiles ruefully. “I can handle it.”

He bows his head and captures her lips, plying her with a deeper kiss. The heat of it grows and becomes more than a distraction, more than comfort. It strips everything else away, until it’s just the two of them again, like the night she found him at the riverbank and held him until he woke up in her arms.

What they eat doesn’t matter. Other people don’t matter. All that matters is this.

He squeezes her hips and presses her harder against him, so she can feel every part of his desire. She moans into his mouth, curling her fingers into his shirt. So he guides her down to the bedding, where he shows her what he’d rather get a taste of.

Later that evening, Mila and Dean have dinner with her parents. Her mother, Weaya, is a gracious host, treating Dean both like a guest and a proper son-in-law. She gives him a special cut of braised bison meat, not to mention extra corn and potato hash. Chatan says nothing to him and eats in gruff, stoic silence.

Dean can tell it both hurts and annoys his wife, but he has to focus on answering Weaya’s many questions about his life—mainly about his family and the farm he grew up on. In some ways, raising crops and rearing up cows, chickens, and horses there isn’t so different from the Lakota village.

“You must miss that place. Your home,” she says. Dean meets his mother-in-law’s eyes, pausing in polishing off the meat sauce on his plate with a piece of bread. Chatan looks up from his meal, and so does Mila, who hesitates too. He sees the thread of her concern there, behind her eyes, so Dean hides the stab of sadness that hits him every time he thinks of Lawrence.

“Sometimes,” he admits. He looks over at Mila. “But I’m not alone. That’s what matters.”

She smiles at him softly. Dean has the urge to take her hand, maybe raise it up to his lips, but he’ll leave that for when they’re alone. He doesn’t want to upset her father any more than he has just by sitting in Chatan’s house. Tent…whatever.

He’s glad when, after almost another hour and a round of hot tea, Mila finishes chatting with her mother and stands. It means they can finally get the hell out of here. No disrespect to her parents, but with so much change happening so quickly, Dean had been able to put Lawrence out of his mind for a while. Tonight he thinks about his mom and his brother more than makes him comfortable on their way through the village. He follows Mila inside their tipi, then starts up a candle while she gets ready to rest for the evening.

Living here is like going back in time—before the lantern, before indoor plumbing and the water heater. It’s not a huge hardship for Dean, who’s spent a lot of his life sleeping on hard, dusty ground, or military bases with less than most modern amenities, but it’s still another adjustment.

He undresses down to his pants and settles down to the bedding and furs, waiting for his wife. She kneels beside him after undressing down to just her shift. He lays on his back with an arm tucked behind his head, and he watches her unbind her long, dark hair, undoing the braid from the bottom strands. She has this concentrated look on her face, like her mind is far away, even though she’s right here next to him. He threads his fingers through her loose hair while she works, giving her a smile.

“You okay?” he asks.

Mila pauses. She lets her tresses escape from her fingers and reaches for him, laying her hand on his chest. Dean holds it there and finally allows himself to press a kiss into her palm.

I’m sorry, is what she wants to say, but she knows he’ll only reply, For what?

So she lowers down and slips into his warm embrace, as if this can make them both forget the day. She rests her cheek over his beating heart.

“You will never be alone,” she promises.

Dean quirks a smile. Instead of answering, he brushes her cheek tenderly with his hand, and he closes his eyes. A few deep breaths later, and he finds sleep.

The candle slowly flickers out.

On most nights, Mila falls asleep before Dean, and so his light snores don’t bother her. Tonight, even though she’s tried, she can’t tune out his rumbles. Or maybe it’s her own mind she can’t tune out.

She carefully maneuvers out of his hold and slips on her shoes. Maybe the moon will give her clarity tonight.

She pushes open the front flap of the tent and steps out into the cooler air. She looks up at the moon’s white-blue glow, a wide crescent peeking out from between two large clouds. A strong breeze tugs at her hair and flutters her lashes when she closes her eyes. She crosses her arms when goosebumps spread across her tan skin.

“What troubles you, Kimmímila?”

The voice is steady and male, and all too familiar. Still, the intrusion startles her. Her eyes fly open wide and she jolts, inhaling sharply. She frowns when she realizes it’s him.

“What are you doing? It’s late,” she says.

He steps out from the shadows with his pipe in hand. He smells strongly of tobacco. Her father and uncle smoke as well, but she doesn’t like it herself. She’s glad Dean doesn’t either.

“Easing my mind,” he says, raising his pipe. “I see you’re up to the same thing.”

Mila shakes her head. She returns her attention to the moon. “Go. You shouldn’t be here.”

“Are we not friends, Mila?” he says. “Can’t we talk and share like we used to?”

His voice is disheartened enough that it earns her gaze. She sighs at him.

“I am sorry, but I can’t give you what you want,” she says. “Don’t test me anymore.”

He pauses with his pipe in hand. It drops to his side, and he takes measured steps closer, until he’s looking down at her. Even with the litheness of his form, he’s still taller and broader than her. His long, dark hair is half pulled onto the top of his head, threaded together with a beaded leather string she made for him when they were children. He has used it ever since. The rest of his hair lays loose down his back, brushing his arms.

“If you actually loved him, it wouldn’t be a test,” he teases.

He tries to touch her cheek, but she guides his hand down. She shakes her head and steps away from him.

“This isn’t a game,” she says. “You know I mean what I say.”

His anger and frustration surfaces, with a sharp exhale of breath and the crunch of his dark brows.

“You would choose the Outlander over your own people,” he accuses.

Mila’s gaze is firm as she heads back to her tipi. If he will not be reasonable, then she will make it clear enough to hurt.

“I choose him over you,” she says.

Then, she slips back inside.

The shadow outside remains, just long enough for the moon to become clear past the moving clouds.

In the morning, Mila goes to her uncle, Chief Tahatan. She finds her parents there in his tipi as well, all of them sharing breakfast. Her aunt passes around more bread and wojapi, a sweet mixed berry sauce, while her father is resting a broken ankle. He’s complaining again, even though it happened over a week ago now.

“If you hadn’t let the horse buck you off, you wouldn’t be hurting,” she says sharply now. She’s become annoyed with his griping. “Or better yet, you can finally admit that you’re beyond the years of breaking young stallions.”

Chatan is the Horsemaster of their tribe, and has been since Mila was a little girl, inheriting the position from her great uncle, the former chief’s younger brother. Mila knows, however, that Chatan is getting too old to do the harder work. Many years have meant many battles too, and they’ve taken their toll on his bones.

An idea grows in her mind, and she goes to sit beside her father. She applies the poultice Eyota gives Weaya for him, before rewrapping his ankle.

“Father,” she begins, imploring him gently, “perhaps Dean could help you care for the horses.”

Chatan eyes her with a frown. “Your husband already has his hands filled with training.”

“Šóta and Takoda can’t do it all themselves, and Dean has experience with breaking young horses,” she reasons.

Chatan ignores her and hefts himself to his feet without her or his wife’s help. He leaves with her mother on his heels, even though she looks back at her daughter apologetically. You know your father, her eyes say.

Mila frowns at his back, both frustrated and upset. When they’re gone, she heaves a sigh. She remains determined though.

She goes to Chief Tahatan next. He sits in his chair of whicker and wood while he smokes his pipe. Her aunt has gone to help the other women harvesting chokeberries and wild onions. Mila will go there soon, but first, she has business here.

“Uncle,” she says.

He makes a sound of acknowledgement, crossed between a grunt and a groan. He knows what's coming. She kneels at his feet and touches his hand in a sign of humbleness, reverence, and familial love all at once.

“Uncle,” she repeats. “Dean has done nothing but try to please Father, but still, he’s being stubborn…will you talk to him? Please?”

Tahatan sighs deeply. “You must understand your father, child. The decision you’ve made affects us all.”

“I do understand, Uncle. But the truth of it is, none of you have given Dean a chance to prove himself.”

“His chance is right now,” Tahatan says, his tone more stern. “Have I not been gracious? Did I not allow him to stay and live among us?”

“Yes, but you continue to judge him in your mind, like everyone else,” she says. The Chief remains quiet. She moves to stand before him, holding his gaze directly. “Let us perform the Huŋkápi.”

Huŋkápi. The Making of Relatives. Her people first created the tradition to make peace between Lakota and rival tribes, like the Ree. It can even be used to unite extended families within the tribe, especially in times of marriage. There is no better time for it, she thinks.

The Chief shakes his head. “Kimmímila.”

“Is he not my husband?” she says. “In the eyes of our people, this is the joining of two families, and accepting an outsider into our tribe. That is exactly what the ceremony is for.”

“He has no family,” Tahatan snaps. “It is not exactly the tradition.”

“Then let us make it new,” she argues.

Tahatan hesitates. He shakes his head and rubs at his chin in a gesture of long-suffering. He thanks the spirits that he never had daughters. While he loves his niece, he has never envied his brother.

“I will think on it,” he says.

Mila frowns, but she tries her best to accept this, for now. She thanks him respectfully and leans in to kiss his cheek. Tahatan grunts an acknowledgement and watches her go with another shake of his head, despite a small smile. Between her and his sons, they will keep adding years to his life.

On her way out of the Chief’s tipi, she runs into her cousin, Šóta. He walks with all the comfortable cockiness of a rooster among his harem.

“Good morning, sister,” he greets, even as he playfully pulls at her braid and tosses it into her face.

She flicks it away and meets him with an irritated frown. She’s in no mood to be teased, especially by him. “You’re still a child.”

“Ho-ho, hey now,” he chuckles, and he cuts off her path by standing in her way, crossing his arms. “Watch it. When I become Chief, don’t think I’ll let you talk to me so disrespectfully, my sister.”

“Just because you will be Chief one day does not make you wise,” she says. Her voice is as sharp as the snap of a blackberry vine. “And don’t call me sister. You have lost that right.”

Šóta finally becomes serious; he realizes that she means what she says.

“What are you talking about? What have I done?” he asks, more earnestly.

“It’s what you haven’t done,” Mila snaps. “If you were a good leader, you would take your father’s words to heart when he accepted my husband into our tribe. If you were my brother, you wouldn’t let the men mock him. If you were a man at all, you would do what is right. You would be guiding him right now, instead of letting the others ‘train’ him.”

She storms away from him, leaving Šóta feeling irritated, but also with an uncomfortable feeling beginning to churn in his gut.

Mila moves brusquely through the camp until she reaches the clearing edged by the forest. There the horses are fenced in. They’ve been given their food and water for the morning, so they’re rather frisky as they clop around and graze.

She looks for Mato. Baby is no doubt with Dean today, so the Kiger mustang keeps to himself underneath a large sycamore tree. His tail flicks when she approaches, and he turns to her with a sound of greeting. She allows her hand to run along his dun-colored coat as she draws closer.

“I need you, my friend,” she whispers.

She holds his snout, pressing her forehead against his as she squeezes her eyes shut against the burn of frustrated tears. Mato bumps her shoulder with his nose, softly whinnying. She smiles, sniffling, and rubs his cheek.

“Let’s go for a ride.”

AN: Well, here we go! Sorry for ending on some angst, but here we've got the pieces in motion for a fun-filled, four-part sequel. 😂💜 Dean and Mila are both struggling in their own ways while he tries to navigate this new world he's trying to live in.

And how do you think he's gonna react to the "mystery man" trying to win her back? 😬

Pronunciation Guide:

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")

Next Time:

But she feels a shadow at her feet as she ventures through the village. They are 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, she 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 is there, gently shushing her. She glares at him and tries to pull her hand out of his grip.

▶️ Keep Reading: PART 2

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(Going back to the regular Dean tag list, plus those who said they'd like to be tagged on this series!)

@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

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tamtuliko · 5 months ago

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My heart hurts for many different reasons.

1. Not related to series: people calling Jes homophobic because of his acting methods during NC scenes. He said he drank. Not that he was wasted, Jesus christ, but he drank to have courage. The dude went from thumb kissing to a$$ biting. Sorry that he needs a little push, okay? As if anyone could do better than him. Tf they are questioning the acting method of a very popular, well-known, very successful actor. Didn't know that they were Oscar winning actors themselves. It makes my blood boil.

2. Bible losing his sh*t as well. They made him say things that he didn't even want to share. Like WTF. But Maan, him getting finally angry and taking it out was hot. I'm happy that he had the courage to voice his thoughts.

3. Jes and Bible being unhinged babes. I'm ready to go to war for them. Respect the actors and their acting method and, as a viewer, criticize their acting and result, not the method, especially when we are just viewers, people, viewers. Who tf gives us the right to question the method of acting of actors? Our job is to see results. If we want to start criticizing then let's go and win Oscars or start being in the production team or I don't know, be in the same industry as them.

4. They flirted in front of our salad. Kids...

About 4 minutes.

This:

Do I even need to talk about this??? Great, never forgot this. Omg, I can't believe that they made us stupid for 6 episodes.

This:

Greats idea of Tyme is same. Big brother, kind, safe zone, taking care of him, playing with him.

Kill me now.

P.S.

Just to put it out there:

Some actors who performed under the influence of ALC: Margot Robbie, Nicolas Cage, Billy Bob Thornton, Sandra Bullock, Nicole Kidman, Cate Blanchett, Sarah Paulson, Fred Astaire, The Beatles, Jack Nicholson, Robert Shaw, Carrie Fisher, Harrison Ford, Brad Pitt, Edward Norton, Natalie Portman and Mila Kunis during their NC scene, Robert Pattinson.

Now give me my bottle of red wine. I can't copy with all angst.

#4 minutes the series #4 minutes #bible sumettikul #bible wichapas #4minutes #biblejes #jesbible

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tired-truffle · 2 months ago

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Even the Gods Cry For Us

A Viktorxfem!reader fic

Chapter Word Count: 2.3k

Part 4/17

Tag list: @im-just-a-simp-le-whore @potatointhedirt (if anyone else would like to be tagged with future updates let me know!)

"PYLADES: I'll take care of you.

ORESTES: It's rotten work.

PYLADES: Not to me. Not if it's you." - Anne Carson

Warning: Panic attack (kind of?)

Masterlist

A whisper, faint at first, but growing louder with each passing second. It curled around the base of your skull, a sinister caress that sent beads of sweat trickling down your spine. That voice, you knew it all too well - it had haunted the edges of your consciousness ever since that fateful day when you first came into contact with the Hexcore.

"Mila..." it hissed, the breathy syllables of your name elongated and distorted. "You cannot resist me forever. I am a part of you now, just as surely as the teeth in your skull and the organs in your belly."

You shuddered, your fingers tightening around Viktor's as you fought against the invasive presence worming its way into your thoughts. The Hexcore's voice was poison, sweet and almost sentimental as it dripped honeyed promises into your mind.

No, you thought to yourself, tucking your face into Viktor’s chest - the blue jolts of your magic that sustained him tickling your cheek. I won't let you control me. I won't let you turn me into a monster.

The Hexcore's laughter echoed through your ears, a grating, discordant sound that set your teeth on edge. "Oh, my dear, sweet Mila," it purred, the false affection in its tone making your skin crawl. "You already are a monster. The power within you and the runes that mark your flesh are my gift to you, my claim upon your soul. You belong to me now, whether you like it or not."

And just as abruptly as it had appeared, the presence dissipated, leaving only a faint echo of its malicious laughter behind.

You shook your head vigorously, the cold sweat that had formed along your skin settling at the small of your back, your unease sitting in the pit of your stomach like lead.

You didn’t have the energy or ability to tell Viktor at that moment. You would later, of course, you weren’t about to get in the habit of keeping secrets from him. But in that particular instance, the gravity of the situation demanded a level-headed approach. You needed to have your wits about you when you inevitably broke the news that the Hexcore was finally awake and able to speak to you.

Forcing a smile, you leaned up to press a kiss to his lips. "We should get some rest," you whispered, trailing your fingers along the line of his jaw, metal meeting flesh. “I don’t know about you, but I’m pretty tired after all that.”

Viktor studied your face for a moment, searching as if he could sense the unspoken anxiety that churned beneath the surface. But he simply nodded, his arms tightening as he pulled you close.

“Sweet dreams, lásko,” he said as you nestled into his embrace, letting your eyes drift closed. Exhaustion tugged at your limbs, the fear, the magic, the ever-present threat of the Hexcore - it all coalesced into a bone-deep weariness that settled into your marrow.

“Lásko,” you mumbled, feeling clumsy in your pronunciation, “what does it mean?”

“Love. I think it suits you.” His voice rumbled low in his throat, and your heart warmed. Yes, it suited you just fine.

The city of Piltover was known for its mild climate, never experiencing any terrible heat waves. Even the Undercity, often considered a grimy and crowded place, shared in this moderate weather. The air was comfortable, warm enough not to necessitate heavy winter coats, but cool enough that one could comfortably wear shorts without sweating through them.

It seemed, somewhere in the middle of the night, that had all changed.

Your skin was slick with sweat, a thin layer of moisture coating every inch of your body. The heat radiating from within was suffocating, as if you had been trapped in an overheated sauna for hours on end. Your mind felt hazy and disoriented, like a fog had settled over it, making it difficult to think clearly - or at all. Every breath was laboured and each movement felt like an overburdened task. You groaned your discomfort as you vaguely registered movement beside you - or perhaps under you, it was difficult to tell - a hand on your shoulder, shaking you gently, saying something you couldn’t make out.

Your eyelids struggled to open as if Jayce’s heavy training equipment weighed them down. The world remained blurry and unfocused. The hand moved to your forehead, then slid behind your ears, a noise of dismay accompanying each touch.

A blessedly cold and damp sensation pressed against your forehead, drawing a shuddering sigh of relief from your parched lips. The cool sensation was a blessing against the feverish heat that radiated through you, chasing away the worst of the discomfort.

Through the haze of exhaustion and sickness, you could just make out Viktor's face hovering above you, pinched with worry as he adjusted the cool compress. His lips moved, forming words you couldn't quite grasp, their meaning slipping through your fingers like wisps of smoke. But the cadence of his voice, low and soothing, washed over you like a gentle tide, lulling you back towards the welcoming pull of sleep.

Darkness and light danced across your vision, a technicoloured display that swirled and bled together like watercolour paint on a well-loved palatte. Faces, familiar yet strange, hovered at the edges of your sight, their features fuzzy and indistinct. Viktor's voice, a distant echo, threaded through the haze, a line tethering you to the waking world even as you drifted in and out of consciousness.

Time lost all meaning, minutes and hours bleeding together until you could no longer distinguish one from the other. The fever burned through you, a raging inferno that consumed everything in its path, leaving only ashes and confusion. Your thoughts scattered like leaves on the wind, fragmented and fleeting, impossible to grasp for more than a moment before they slipped away again.

In the brief moments of clarity, you could feel the cool press of a damp cloth against your forehead, the gentle touch of Viktor's hands as he tended to you with a devotion that made your heart ache. His fingers, flesh and metal, brushed against your cheek, your hair, your lips, each touch a silent promise that he would see you through this trial no matter what it took.

But even his presence could not chase away the visions that haunted your fevered dreams. The Hexcore's whispers, once a distant murmur, now roared in your ears like a monstrous beast, drowning out all other sounds. Its seductive and insidious voice filled your mind with images of power and destruction, of a world remade in your image.

You saw yourself, wreathed in violet light, your eyes glowing with an otherworldly radiance as you stood at the center of a whirlwind of energy. The runes that marked your skin pulsed and writhed, alive with the Hexcore's nefarious power. And at your feet, kneeling in subjugation, were the people of Runeterra, their faces upturned in a mix of awe and terror.

"This is your destiny," the Hexcore purred, its voice a slimy caress against the shell of your ear. "Embrace it, and all the world will be yours to command. You would have the power to keep Viktor alive. Forever."

You wanted to scream, to rage against the lies that poured like cyanide into your mind. But your voice was lost, swallowed up by the fever. Your body, once your own, now felt like a foreign thing, a vessel for the Hexcore. And you had done it all to yourself.

Eerie silence greeted you. Gone was the comforting buzz of Viktor’s presence, the floorboards quiet without his movement. Panic leaped into your throat, adrenaline mixing with the Shimmer in your veins and propelling you upwards - though it did little to stop your head from spinning or your vision from spotting out. Your shoulder collided with a wall, sending a dull thud reverberating through your body. But you persevered, pushing onward.

As far as you could tell with your limited sight, the room was empty.

“Viktor,” you tried to shout, but it came out as a barely intelligible rasp.

No one answered your call.

With shaking limbs, you pushed yourself away from the wall, struggling to maintain your balance as you stumbled towards the door. Your movements were unsteady, like a puppet controlled by an unskilled hand. The world tilted and spun around you, a dizzying spread of muted colours and shifting shadows that made your stomach churn and your head throb.

Each step took more effort than it should, your body heavy and uncooperative as you forced it to move. The fever hadn’t left, turning your blood to acid and your skin to paper-thin parchment stretched over brittle bones. Sweat beaded on your brow, salty trails trickling down your face and stinging your eyes, but you blinked them away, your gaze fixed on the door with single-minded determination.

Just a few more steps, you told yourself, just a few more and you would be out of this room, out of this suffocating silence and into the world beyond where surely Viktor would be waiting for you. He wouldn't leave you, not like this, not when you needed him most.

But as you reached for the doorknob, your fingers brushing against the handle, you pulled up short. There, carved into the dust and cracking paint of the door, were words that made your heart stutter and your lungs empty.

Back soon, stay calm. -V

The letters were unmistakably Viktor's, the precise, angular strokes of his handwriting as familiar to you as your own. He had left you, slipped out while you were lost in the throes of your fever dreams, off to find…you didn’t know, but it had to be important, or else you were sure he wouldn’t have gone. Medicine, most likely, something to break the fever.

A sob welled up in your throat, equal parts relief and despair. He hadn't abandoned you, not truly. But the thought of him out there, alone and unprotected, while you lay helpless and weak, sent a hot spike of fear through your chest. What if something happened to him? What if he encountered trouble?

Gritting your teeth, you twisted the doorknob, the rough wood biting into your palm as you wrenched it open. The hallway beyond was a yawning chasm, the stairs a treacherous descent.

Your legs gave out beneath you, your body crumpling like a withering flower, its petals wilting and its stem bowing. The hard floor rushed up to meet you, sending a sharp jolt of pain through your already aching limbs as you collapsed against the doorframe. It pressed into your spine, digging into your shoulder blades.

An all-consuming panic clawed at your throat, constricting it with each short gasping breath. Your chest heaved as if trying to push out the fear that threatened to choke you. Viktor was out there, alone and vulnerable, while you were too weak even to stand, let alone go after him.

Tears pricked at the corners of your eyes, hot and stinging as they spilled down your cheeks. The salt mingled with the sweat that already coated your skin, leaving bitter tracks through the grim. A guttural sob tore itself from your throat, raw and ragged, a sound of pure despair that echoed in the empty hallway.

What if something happened to him? What if he encountered trouble? Ran into someone who meant him harm?

As despair threatened to overwhelm you, a strange feeling tickled at the edges of your awareness. It started as a gentle brushing against your legs, like the whisper of a soft breeze through tall grass. But as the seconds ticked by, the sensation grew more insistent, more tangible, until you could no longer ignore it. With great effort, you lifted your head, your gaze drifting down to your legs.

Vines, thick and green, slithered up your body, curling around your legs like living ropes. Each tendril seemed to sprout from the floorboards beneath you, pushing through the cracks and crevices as if answering some unspoken call.

With a frantic burst of energy, you attempted to scramble away, your fingers clawing at the ground as you desperately tried to push yourself up and out of their reach. But your body refused to cooperate, your limbs heavy and unresponsive as the vines continued their relentless advance.

They wound their way up your torso, slipping beneath your shirt and curling around your waist like a lover's embrace. The sensation was unusual, not quite painful but not entirely comfortable either. It was as if the vines were searching for something, probing and prodding at your skin as they sought out the hidden pathways of your body.

They climbed higher and higher, winding around your chest, your shoulders, your neck. Tendrils brushed against your face like serpents seeking warmth, tracing the curve of your cheekbones, the arch of your brows, the soft swell of your lips.

Your arms, once free, were now pinned to your sides, the vines wrapping around them in a tight, unyielding grip. Your legs, already weak and unsteady, were now completely immobilized, anchored to the floor by the writhing mass of greenery that had sprouted up around you. Even your head, which had lolled to the side in your exhaustion, was now held fast, the vines cradling your skull in a vice-like grip. You tried to twist away, to wrench your head to the side, but their grip was unyielding, holding you fast as they explored every contour of your features.

Your breath came in quick, sharp gasps as the vines tightened their hold, constricting around your chest like a serpent's coils. Each inhale was a struggle, your lungs burning with the effort as you fought against the crushing pressure. Stars danced at the edges of your vision, bright pinpricks of light that flickered and swam in the gathering darkness.

And still, the vines grew, their tendrils weaving together into a living cocoon that enveloped your entire body. They pressed against your skin, cool and slightly damp, their touch both soothing and terrifying in equal measure. It was as if they were trying to absorb you, to draw you in and never let you go.

And you were powerless to stop them.

Next Chapter

A/N: Did anyone ask for a cliffhanger? No? Please forgive me.

You can join us in the discord chat and berate me for my evils.

#angst with a happy ending #fluff #humour #viktor x reader #arcane viktor #machine herald viktor #viktor x you #tooth rotting fluff #eventual smut #mage #magic #hexcore #hurt/comfort

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someprettyname · 8 months ago

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✨GF FC INDIGO AWARDS 2024 PT 5✨

Some points to note before you move to the event visualizer :

🟣 My anchoring style is highly energetic and bubbly so you can imagine me doing a lot of hand gestures, changing pitch and tones of my voice, moving around on the stage a lot, etc. Hehe.

🟣 The theatre/event venue has been engineered by the best engineers of the world, with the most modern technology. The petals of the lotus can close or open to hide or reveal the night sky. It can also change its colours. For tonight, it's indigo!

🟣 The "OUTFIT CHECK" were clicked in different places (according to where the member was spotted first) hence the different background.

🟣 I didn't want to write too dialogues on yall's behalf but I can't really bother you with every small detail, so I hope whatever dialogues I've made up are not too out of character!

🟣Ignore the contradiction of same blue locker entering the scene multiple times, pretend there are a few copies of each member 🥰👍🏻

🟣 Ignore the outfit mismatch in the edits (any edit after the outfit checks please, our editing skills only go so far 🙏🏻 )

🟣 I highly suggest that you listen to songs as you keep finding them being embedded in links for added feels and extra hype! 🔥

🟣 The performances where multiple songs have been used is supposed to be a mashup. You can imagine the mashup to be as you please! The songs I've bunched together are for the sole purpose of creating a particular vibe, so as long as to they are fulfilled it's all good! 😌🤝🏻

🟣 The posts are scheduled at a gap of 3-4 hours each, this event is going to be spread throughout 2 or more days. Feel free to go feral in the comments/reblogs/community my mates. 🔥

🟣 I hope you enjoy this! Tagging all the attendees here :

@glue-thief @getosugurusbangs @bueris @soleilonthesun @galaxynajma

@sid3buns @mariyumemi @pinkinsect @refrigeratedboombursts @satosuguhastakenovermylife

@10renz0 @simp-simp-no-mi @boinin @sharkissm @milkteansugar

@thebestsetter @merlucide @jujutsustraycats @kurona-theshark @nskiyuriz

@asarajaa @writingonthewalls1832 @hooudie212back @sadao-tsuki @milaisreading

@8-xnny @licoririce @rinitoshisgirl @luvingshidou @duckydee-0

@kuro-min @gojoracle @marcsnuffy @filecurropt0 @riririnnnn

@wroophruh @sanaexus @melodiclune

Previously on INDIGO AWARDS :

Electrifying performances by TEAM YOUNG SIX & TEAM PRANCE AND PROWESS!! 🎇

"FUCK YOU APOLLO."

- Najma (@/galaxynajma) : Winner of GF FC HONORARY INDIGO AWARDS 2024 FOR DIVINE PREDICTOR.

A heart touching moment after GF FC HONORARY INDIGO AWARDS FOR CARING MOTHER.

.·:*¨༺ ༻¨*:·. .·:*¨༺ ༻¨*:·.

Soleil : That almost made me cry. A mother's love is truly like a beautiful poem isn't it?

Nami : It truly is Soleil. I can't begin to tell you. My favourite part is seeing my daughter score those supaaaa goals ❤️

Soleil : Which reminds me, don't we have a poet's club too?

Nami : *chuckles* Of course we do Soleil. And every poet deserves to be acknowledged and appreciated too don't they?

(*They share a knowing look*)

Soleil : Of course! Of course! It's the art by the artist which captures the essence of a culture and holds significance in history. It's a very crucial part to society.

Nami : Indeed! 😁 Shall we do it, then?

(*They nod at each other with a smile*)

Nami : Please welcome on stage @/milaisreading for....

Together : GF FC HONORARY INDIGO AWARDS FOR BEST POET!!!

(*The grand doors open up and Mila is seen walking out, onto the main stage with a satisfied smile.*)

Milaisreading : (*Looks at the flashcard in her hand, which reads the name of winners*) And the award goes to.....

🥁

Milaisreading : ISH, NAMI AND SOLEIL!!! Huge round of applause please!!

(*Soleil and Nami hug each other with a huge grin and wait for Ish to join them before they walk up on the stage together to recieve the award.*)

(*Nami and Soleil push ISH to the mic encouragingly*)

Ish : Alright. (*chuckles nervously*) I escaped the last, guess I can't keep running away.

Ish : (*inhales deeply*) It is my greatest pleasure to be standing before everyone present here today, and an even greater honor to have been awarded amongst all of my fellow members, who are at the least equal, if not on a higher standing than me. So... I'm not one for many words, therefore I'd like to conclude this by thanking everyone who has made this possible and has supported me throughout. Thank you."

(*The audience cheers on him loudly*)

Nami : (*pats his head affectionately, grinning*) See? It wasn't so bad.

Nami : Well for me, i started writing poetry when I was 14 and in a very stressed and dark phase and it gave me a pathway to vent and express what I couldn't to anyone, without any fear of getting judged. Besides, art beautifies pain and hides under layer of poetic lines and that's exactly what we all need sometimes isn't it? I'm really honoured to be holding this award right now. I don't think any other award in the world can ever compare up to this. Thank you so much! 💛

Soleil : A very special thank you to the CF GIRLFRIEND, their dedication and affection are incomparable. I feel very lucky to have such a passionate and loyal community. Your positive energy and enthusiasm are contagious, and I cannot express enough how much I value your presence and participation.

Nami : PUT YOUR HANDS TOGETHER LADIES AND GENTLEMEN!!! (*throws her hand holding the award up in air in victory*)

(*Soleil and Nami return to the MC counter, setting the award down and grinning*)

Soleil : Nami? Doesn't it feel like we're....missing something?

Nami : Yeah, right? (*Frowns*) I wonder.....what are we missing, Sol?

Soleil : Hm. We honoured the caring mothers....but the poetry of a parent's love is always incomplete without their children isn't it?

Nami : You're always speaking facts aren't you? 😁 Of course!!

Nami : Ladies and gentlemen, it's time you put your hands up for VAL (@/glue-thief) who'll be announcing the honoured ones taking home GF FC HONORARY INDIGO AWARDS FOR PERFECT WARD tonight.

[Yes ward is technically a child. Yes I'm trying to be professional. Yes, thank you for putting up with it.]

Glue-thief : *inhales* GF FC family tree is....complex. To say the least. By any chance, the one's who are being graced with this award tonight are....

(*Camera cuts to Hooudie and Nami*)

🥁

Glue-thief : RIRI AND BILLY!!

(*They both stand up finger-gunning at each other from a distance, laughing and striding to the stage together.*)

Bueris : Well, I am very happy to be a little angel for ma and ma <333 (and the several aunts and uncles I didn't realise I had until a few days back <33)

Riririnnn : Hehehe, my cheeks are going to explode from blushing so much. I'll really like to share this award with my beloved twin, @/bueris, and dedicate to Mama @/someprettyname and Mama @/hooudie212back 'cause they are the ones who raised us so well!! Bestest Mamas in the world<333

(*Camera cuts to Nami who's grinning affectionately and Hooudie who's clapping enthusiastically in the crowd*)

Nami : On the behalf of hooudie too, you both are the best kids one could ask for! ❤️

(*Camera cuts to Hooudie who is found nodding in agreement and cheering continuously, seemingly very happy*)

Nami & Soleil : (*nod at Val who was walking back after handing out the award*)

Nami : Now that we're on the topic of love, I think it would be unfair to let this mention go. Especially after the recent revelations. To have a successful relationship is one hell of a job in itself let alone having a wounded partner. Someone who has gone through a lot of trauma and hardships in the past. And while the awardee for next award might say it's just her job as a partner to support her lover in every circumstances, I'd argue she's doing an amazing job at it, hence worth something honouring. Besides, their story is absolutely inspiring!

Soleil : Ladies and gentlemen, make sure the cheering doesn't stop for this one : GF FC HONORARY INDIGO AWARDS FOR THE MOST PATIENT PARTNER.

(*Loud cheering and clapping can be heard as IZZY (@/luvingshidou) appears on stage for handing out the stage. A perfectly choice, given she understands what it takes to be a patient partner. She is THE SHI-FERAL-DOU'S WIFE afterall.*)

IZZY : I really do agree with what you said! The award is going to none other than....

(*Once again, the suspense silence has been ruined by Shidou cheering at the top of his lungs on the stage*)

🥁

IZZY : NAJMA!!!

IZZY : CONGRATES BABE! YOU DESERVE IT <3

(*Kaiser hugs her and pats her on the back encouragingly with a grateful smile as she leaves her seat to get the award.*)

Galaxynajma : I’ll forever be there for Kaiser <3 even when we had our small breakup era I still very much so cared for him .. I hope he gets better with his mental health soon and I’ll be there with every step. This one's for you Mihya!

(*Camera cuts to a happy (surprised? Me too.) Kaiser cheering and clapping.*)

Soleil : What an absolutely lovely vibe 😍

Nami : You don't say, Soleil. I almost shed a tear. It's only fair if we have an equally lovely performance, don't we? A performance which can remind us all of that feeling we all get when we first fall in love.

Soleil : Now who's speaking facts? 😁

Nami : Well well 😆 don't I always? 😎

Nami : LADIES AND GENTLEMEN PLEASE PUT YOUR HANDS TOGETHER FOR TEEEEAAAM INNOCENT SUMMER!!

[ links : dumb dumb - choreography | hype boy | attention | what you waiting for - choreography | OMG ]

Soleil : What an absolutely lovely performance! I loved it 😍

Nami : Truly! But soleilllllll (*pouts slightly*) now that we're on the topic of "Lovely" I can't get this one person out of my head.

Soleil : Chigiri?

Nami : SOLEIL!!!! 😳

Nami : When someone's on your mind 24/7 you're not 'reminded' of them. Because they were already there :>

[ Please don't roll your eyes, guys. I can feel it from here. ]

Soleil : 🤭🤭 then who?

Nami : wellllll 😁

Nami : She's a super close friend of mine and really REALLY sweet and lovely! I've hung out with her several times and the chemistry between her and her husband? Oh my god. It's beautiful. That's what inspired the next category of award I have up my sleeve!!!

Soleil : NOW I AM CURIOUS!!

Nami : Then I won't keep you waiting at all!! 😁😁

Nami : Ladies and gentlemen, we have coming up on stage, our beloved manager, @/riririnnn for the next award of the night : GF FC HONORARY INDIGO AWARD FOR SWEETEST WIFE!!!

(*Indistinct hooting can be heard while @/riririnnn walks up on stage and takes over the mic*)

Riririnnn : A very good evening to one and all present here! ^_^

Riririnnn : Happy to see all these smiles and happy faces, it looks even more beautiful from up here, I'm tempted to take up the job of anchoring now! Haha!

Riririnnn : Coming back to the topic, I think we all are amazing and sweet partners and there is something to learn from each of our stories, but the one taking home award for tonight is.....

(*The camera cuts to a few members, holding their breaths.*)

🥁

Riririnnn : HOOUDIE!! 😄

(*Hooudie sigh and smiles, while REO is all smiles and shine as he pats her on her back encouragingly. They share a quick hug before she walks up on stage.*)

Hooudie : OMG! OMG! Okay wow these awards all sound so nice! SWEETEST WIFE? KEASJLK AWWW that's so cute💗 I'm glad you guys like me and Reo!! I'm so happy with this one!!

Nami : [ secretly hoping Reo doesn't buy off the award show now ]

Soleil : Of course Hooudie! You deserved this one! ^_^

Nami : Yeah definitely!!

Soleil : But....Nami?

Nami : Yeah, Sol? What is it? 👀

Soleil : We honoured the bravest warriors for the safety and peace their strength brings to our community, but isn't someone who survived a very traumatic incident equally strong?

Nami : Soleil :0

Nami : You aren't wrong. You aren't wrong at all!! But before that.... (*Does a wierd moonwalk on stage and turns to the audience dramatically*) RIRI!! 🫵🏻

Riririnnn : 😳

(*A valet hands her a mic.*)

Riririnnn : Yes, mama?

Nami : Certain hushed whispers say "Breakfast" by Dove Cameron has motivated your appetite for certain boyfriends and girlfriends of our members. Why is that so? Why do you eat men for breakfast?

Riririnnn : Nibbling and playfully biting is my love language, and sometimes I just get overboard. In my defence, I was left unsupervised :3 Mamas were gone somewhere, so I was free and my spirit decided to be wild!

>>> The first one I ate was Ness. (*Camera cuts to a very fidgety Ness.*) @/getosugurubangs had made a brilliant of him! I just wanted a smol nibble, guess it wasn't that smol. Bleh :p

>>> Next was Loki! I really love chocolate! (*Camera cuts to a very subtly traumatised looking Loki, who's clinging on to Merlucide.*) And I mistook him as a chocolate cookie, so I ate Cookie Loki :3

>>> Then Sae 'cause he was left unsupervised :3 (*Camera cuts to a bored looking shy but he's afraid and traumatised on the inside. He's scoffing to cover that up.*) @/soleilonthesun had became a oompa-loompa, so I just seized the opportunity!

>>> Next was Chigiri. I just wanted to eat a cherry! (*Camera cuts to chigiri who is sighing and pinching the bridge of his nose. He looks terrified and disturbed too.*)

Nami : But Riri!! That's bad manners, you shouldn't swallow other people!!

Riririnnn : Bleh! :p

Soleil : Anyways, (*holds Nani's shoulders to stop her. This bickering was pointless.*) we should now welcome on stage @/asarajaa for announcing the winners of GF FC HONORARY INDIGO AWARDS FOR CRANIUM C R O N C H SURVIVORS.

*A warrior theme plays over the speakers as @/Asarajaa takes over the mic.*

Asarajaa : We all know who these people are, so without wasting anymore time, put your hands together for....

🥁

Asarajaa : NAJMA, RIRI AND IZZY!!!!

(*The crowd erupts into loud applause and hooting. Shidou is seen going feral and shouting incoherent words, while kurona is seen clapping for Riri and Kaiser looks proud.*)

Galaxynajma : I don’t know how to feel about winning a award for that awful awful injury I went through but I hope I can spread some awareness about cranium cronch survivors all over the world. Staying in the hospital was a dark time in my life and I hope I never experience it again.

Luvingshidou : Yeah pooks! It was a dark time, but I'm glad I had y'all to help me get through it! <3

Riririnnn : Oof, the cranium C R O N C H incident :( Such a traumatic experience </3 It's an honour to receive such a glorious award and getting to share it with @/galaxynajma and @/luvingshidou who were there with me during such a traumatic time! And thank you so much to @/getosugurusbangs for putting an end to this nightmare! You are a very strong one!!

Soleil : It indeed was a dark time full of horrors for each and every one of us. I'm glad we got through it! But now that we're onto survivors we can't go without honouring our dear medics can we?

Nami : ABSOLUTELY NOT! So let's welcome on stage @/thebestsetter for giving out THE GF FC HONORARY INDIGO AWARDS FOR BEST MEDIC!

(*The speakers fill the place with happy beats as @/thebestsetter takes over the mic.*)

Thebestsetter : The 2 medics we all know we are talking about, the one who'll be taking home this honorary award tonight are....

🥁

Thebestsetter : @/kurona-theshark & @/rinitoshisgirl!!!!

(*The medics in question find each other through the crowd, bump their fists and walk on the stage together.*)

Kurona-theshark : (*looks at the award in her hand. Is quite speechless*) i am...well...i am happy to get this award i'd try my best heal and save the members of gf fc!

RINITOSHISGIRL : so for best medic i did NOT expect that but I'm very thankful! <3

Nami : Well, we are thankful to have you both too! 😁✨

Soleil : Hmmm. I think, another thing I and the audience would be really grateful for is a nice performance to change the pace and mood ~

Soleil : Don't you think?

Nami : Hm? Change the mood? 🤔

Nami : Oh wait! I HAVE JUST THE PERFECT PERFORMANCE IN MIND 😃💡

Soleil : Really? 🤩

Nami : I AM 100% SURE EVERYONE WILL LOVE IT!!

Soleil : ooooohhhh 👀👀

Nami : Ladies and gentlemen, please welcome on stage my beloved long lost newly found brother : ASH!!!

[ links : I wanna dance with somebody | girls just want to have fun | dancing queen - lyrics ]

.·:*¨༺ ༻¨*:·. .·:*¨༺ ༻¨*:·.

Stay tuned for more such amazing performances and awards...!

[ organiser : @/someprettyname

script writing credits : @/someprettyname

proofread by : @/melodiclune

editing credits : @/soleilonthesun ]

#girlfriend fc #gf fc #girlfriend cult #fc girlfriend #gf cult #Gf fc : indigo awards arc

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akwolfgrl · 1 month ago

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Pakan no omega part 4

Viktor had been up for quite some time working and waiting for Yuuri to wake up. It was quiet a slow morning over all, nothing to crazy happening, no one needed to die or be tortured.

He looked up at Mila as she knocked on the door before entering, “Guess whos up and in the kitchen?” she asked with a grin.

Viktor quickly put everything away, ignoring Mila's knowing smirk, “Have you seen Makkachin yet today?” Typically, she was his fluffy shadow when he was home, but he hadn't seen her today. She had a bad habit of getting herself in trouble by eating things she shouldn't.

Mila smirked at him, “She's with Yuuri, he's been here less than a day and already stolen both your hearts,”

Viktor couldn't deny it, didn't want to deny it either. He merely grinned, “If anything comes up let me know I'll be in the kitchen with my mate.”

When he got there, Yuuri was shutting the door behind Makkachin, cheeks rosey from the chilly spring air. He needed better spring wear than what he was wearing. The jeans hugged his lush curves, his wider hips, and his lean legs. Viktor wondered if he was wearing the matching panties to the lace cami he was wearing. The said cami brealey hid the tiny tummy, that if Viktor had his way would be much larger soon, Swollen with his cum first, then his babies.

Yuuri turned to face him, causing him to jump slightly, “I didn't see you there Vik…Nikiforov-san,”

Makkachin ran to him tail, wagging eager for attention, Viktor stoked her fur as he smiled at Yuuri. “Call me Viktor or Vitya, I see you've already stolen my Makka.” He teased, pleased that they were already getting along so well, “Hope she wasn't too much of a bed hog.”

Yuuri blushed and bowed, stuttering out what Viktor assumed was an apology, “G-g-gomen'nasai! (I'm so sorry) I didn't mean to steal your dog,”

Viktor made his way over to him, tilting his head up by the chin Viktor smiled gently, “It's fine, I'm glad she likes you, to tell you the truth i was a bit worried you were more of a cat person. Like Yuri is,”

“Yuri? I used to have a miniature poodle,” Yuuri spoke still blushing but looking less scared and panicked.

“Hmm yes, he's like a little brother to me. But I suppose having the same name might be confusing. I'll just call him Yurio. He's always going on about getting a new nickname. He'll complain, of course, but that’s nothing new.” Yuuri's stomach growled, causing Viktor to chuckle, “I've interrupted your breakfast,”

“It's okay, I can just make something for both of us,” Yuuri hid his face, “If you want that is, you must be busy after all,”

“I'd love to!” he wrapped his arms around Yuuri, hugging him tightly. His omega was just too cute and perfect. Viktor let him go after a moment, Yuuri's face was redder than before. “What are we having?”

“Is it okay if I make something I usually have for breakfast?” Yuuri asked, stepping out of his embrace.

“Of course! It's your kitchen now. Anything you want to make, I'd be more than happy to eat,” Viktor told him.

Yuuri nodded and gathered stuff, “I'm making Tamago kake gohan and miso soup. It's a simple egg and rice dish,”

“Can I help? I'm great with a knife,” Albeit it was usually on human flesh rather than vegetables.” Yuuri smiled at him and handed him a cutting board, knife, and vegetables. Makkachin sniffed at the food couristly, “Idi voz'mi svoyu igrushku (go get your toy),” Viktor ordered, watching as she ran off with an excited woof.

“What's she getting? I only understood some it,” Yuuri asked over his pot,

“Her toy, you'll pick up more Russian just by being here, but if you need a tutor, I can offer you my services. I only ask for a kiss in exchange.”

Even Yuuri's ears turned red, but he nodded nonetheless, “Okay, thank you.”

Makkachin came back shortly afterward with her toy. She settled underneath the table as they went back to cooking. Viktor put music on and watched as Yuuri's hips swayed to the music. It was mesmerizing.

Yuuri started searching in the cupboards. He pulled out the devise his mother had sent over, and the scent of a happy omega filled the room, overpowering the smells of Yuuri's cooking, “It's mom's rice cooker I thought she threw it out. She said it was broken,”

Viktor could have easily bought a hundred rice cookers, but none of them would have made Yuuri as happy as the one he was clutching. A large beautiful smile graced his face. Yuuri shyly kissed his cheek, “Thank you, Vitya,”

#yuri on ice #Pakan no omega #yuuri katsuki #viktor nikiforov #viktor x yuuri #fanfic #alpha beta omega #alpha viktor #omega yuuri

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hearts-4-milashka · 6 months ago

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I did this all for Daniel. I got rid of [redacted] and [redacted] for Daniel. I’ve always loved Daniel. So why do I- [static noises]

#hearts for mila <3 #hearts 4 daniel

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airshipvalentine · 6 months ago

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I have seen you post about it forever and yet I still haven’t been able to parse what it is or what it’s about. What’s Fremont County?

HAHAHAHA i was wondering how long it would take for someone to ask this!!

fremont county monster hunters is a monster of the week rpg campaign i've been playing sporadically for the past 2.5 years. (and when i say sporadically i mean we've played 4 arcs in about 6 or 7 ~6 hour sessions over the past two and a half years). and because of how long we go without playing (and because we are moderately obsessive people), we get reeealll hiatus-brained in the interim. i am irrevocably obsessed with it.

the premise is that the party is a group of people who can see through the Glare (like the Mist from pjo), who all attend fremont county community college in *mumble mumble* pacific northwest america. i always imagine it as northern california but i honestly don't know if there's a more specific location?

there's a prophecy involving the world ending in fire, and the five people who are there for it. (presumably to stop it, but the prophecy is pretty vague and the only person who has access to it recently lost their clairvoyance) but before that happens, we fight vampires and stuff

that's the short version. i'm gonna talk more about it though bc i can talk about this campaign forever

i play shay song, photo/journalism major first, reluctant Chosen One second. he found a meteorite sword in the woods a few weeks after his dad died under mysterious circumstances, and he's been fighting monsters ever since! he's down to earth and moderately neurotic, and desperately wants to just be normal. (sucks for him though, because that is straight up not going to happen)

also in the party are:

shamsiel, the divine. she's a cherubim sent by The Bureaucracy, a consortium of angels that's essentially a corporate office. she's been tasked with protecting shay and ensuring the prophecy comes to pass. she's a fish out of water who doesn't exactly know how to interact with people, and she's devoted to her cause above all else. i talk about her and shay most on here bc her player is also on tumblr (hiiiii sofie)

levi, the monstrous. a obnoxious rich boy and literal demon. he's sent by his demonic father to do ?????? carry out his demonic bidding? it's unclear. he likes to hang around the party and make passive-aggressive comments and be helpful when it's convenient for him. he's also shay's roommate! they had a homoerotic streak going that was probably a thinly veiled excuse for my partner an i to flirt with each other in the most roundabout way possible before we started dating. he also kidnapped a beloved npc in the most recent session! we're gonna beat him up

anna baker, the spellslinger. absolute sweetheart and heart of the party. she started learning magic and took on a superhero moniker to fight monsters and crime! (<- this doesn't come up nearly as much as it should, btw. i want a tales of ba sing se episode about cold turkey asap) oh yeah, that moniker was "cold turkey". her catchphrase is "you're about to quit crime... Cold Turkey." she's the best.

claire fitz, the mundane. currently in the "denial" stage of realizing she's a lesbian. she's a culinary arts major who carries around a fireaxe. she's kind of weirded out that she's part of this prophecy, but she's very capable and helps about as best she can. she's also lying to all her high school friends! they all think she's going to yale right now! what's that about???

and mila, the seeker! former cheerleader, constant conspiracy theory enthusiast. she's 100% convinced that aliens are real and will do her best to make sure you believe too. psyched beyond belief that she was right and monsters are real. will hold your hands and say "i don't need you to believe. i just need you to trust me and open your mind to the possibilities." kind of miffed that she isn't part of the apocalyptic prophecy, but it's fine.

also, notable npcs!

don powers, shay's former soccer nemesis. business major. kind of a dick, but we're trying to reform him. buried the hatchet with shay recently due to, uh, a common enemy forming. canonically in love with alder as of arc 4.

alder caine, don's roommate. my favorite. got into some shady deals with demons, and now they're hunting her down! levi kidnapped her in the most recent session!

nin, former clairvoyant. elected to give up their powers recently, with aid from the bureaucracy. it was sus as fuck! also dating anna. they're cute

there have been four arcs so far

from rush till prom, the vampire frat arc

the vengeful spirit stick, the cheerleader ghost arc

the switching hour, the doppelganger bottle episode

the deck of many flings, the tarot/love spell episode

ok that's the broad overview. i could talk about this for hours but i will leave it at that :) there's an in-character twitter feed i made though

#persimnon #ask #fremont county tag

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wh333333333atlyyy · 6 months ago

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samila is legit the definition of enemies to lovers. Dear ppl who run those accs please make samila cannon please please please they need to be in love 🙁🙁

#enemies to lovers #Hearts 4 mila #Sammy the ghost hunter

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hearts-4-milashka · 3 months ago

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what..? why were you saying that stuff??

Mila... I just want to talk...

#sammy the ghost hunter #hearts 4 mila

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zepskies · 5 hours ago

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Outlander - Part 4

Pairing: Dean Winchester x OFC

AN: Happy Birthday, Dean Winchester!! 🥳 Now, the actual grand finale…

Jacklesverse Bingo24 Prompt: Western AU

Song Inspo: The Spirit Soundtrack

Word Count: 6K

Tags/Warnings: 18+ only. Protective Dean, survival situations, blood and violence, angst, fluff, and spice.~

🐎 Series Masterlist || Bingo Masterlist

Part 4: One People

Dean straps on his bow and arrow, but first he takes up his gun from his thigh holster. Then he saddles up Mato and climbs up on his back.

The horse is raring to go, and for once he responds to the firmness of Dean’s tone and trusts him enough to obey his commands.

Šóta, Otaktay, and the other men do the same with their horses. Soon, they’re thundering down the hill into the village.

It’s already chaos.

Dean recognizes the blue uniforms of the U.S. Cavalrymen tearing through tipis and shooting with rifles and revolvers. They must’ve tracked Šóta and his men back to the village.

Men and horses are the main targets, but women and children are getting caught in the crossfire. Šóta purposefully knocks his horse into an officer who had his weapon aimed at Misae and her two daughters. Otaktay guides them in the opposite direction, pointing the way to escape into the forest.

Dean rides onward through the village. He and Mato leap over fallen bodies and horses, and Dean shoots at an officer who would’ve shot him first. He has to be careful with his bullets though. He only has two left.

He fights his way to the center, all the while searching for any sight of Mila’s dark hair. It’s almost impossible to see with so many people running and screaming and fighting. But when he hears a familiar voice, Dean cuts to an abrupt stop.

Chief Tahatan rides his horse, white and dappled black. He wields an ax as the horse rears up on his hind legs and lets loose a powerful bray. Just ahead of him is Colonel Sanderson, flanked by Benny and another officer. The Colonel holds a rifle poised in his hands.

“Stop!” Dean shouts.

He rides hard towards the scene. He takes aim with his gun, and he shoots. The bullet clips Sanderson in the shoulder. Yelling in pain, he recoils from the force of the bullet and misses his shot.

Dean’s just not fast enough.

The Colonel’s bullet ricochets off the ground and hits Tahatan’s horse. The animal whinnies and buckles, and he brings Tahatan down along with him, rolling onto his side and crushing the Chief’s legs and most of his torso under the horse’s weight. Dean hears the crunch of bone as the Chief utters a stifled grunt.

Gritting his teeth, Dean brings Mato to a short stop in front of the Chief. Dean aims his gun at the Colonel. By now, the man is clutching his bleeding shoulder and staring at his former captain in disbelief. Benny is maybe a little less shocked to see Dean, but there’s conflict in his eyes—happiness mixed with turmoil.

The other officer is Jack Kline. He recognizes Dean too, with wide eyes and a gaping mouth.

“You…” Sanderson trails. He blinks, his brows furrowing. “Dean Winchester.”

Other officers come to join him, both on their horses and on foot. A few of them have wrangled women and their children, along with a few men. One man is dragging Mila along by the arm, even though she pulls and struggles against his hold. He has a long, jagged cut over one closed eye that streams with blood, and Dean doesn’t have to wonder how it got there. The man holds Mila’s own knife to her throat.

Dean’s heart falls into his stomach as he meets her gaze. Hers is angry, until she finds him. Her brown eyes are relieved and hopeful, but then worried for him. Dean reads it all there. He knows her face as well as he knows his own.

“Now this is what we call an interesting development,” Sanderson says, dragging Dean’s attention back to him.

Dean only feels moderately better when Šóta, Otaktay, Chatan, and a couple of the other men come to flank him on either side. Weaya manages to shuffle away from the officer at her back, just to go to Tahatan. He’s still lying there under his horse, breathing shallowly. Šóta itches to climb down from his horse and go to his father, but he can’t allow Dean to stand on his own.

“Apparently your death has been greatly exaggerated, son,” Sanderson says. He glances at Benny, who wears a grim, guilty frown.

“I’m not your fucking son,” Dean says, his voice laden with grit. His hand tightens on his raised gun.

Sanderson tsks at him while Jack wraps a rag tightly around his arm to help stem the bleeding. Afterwards, he adjusts his blue jacket and his Stetson.

“Is this really how you’ve been living for all these months? Like a dog, sleeping in the thatch with the fleas,” he remarks as he glances around. But his gaze stops on Mila. His brows crunch together as recognition dawns in his eyes.

“Ah, now I see why,” he says. He reaches for his pistol at his belt and points it at Mila, like it’s merely an extension of his hand. Dean’s jaw clenches. Chatan and Šóta become even more tense; their horses shift in place, picking up on their riders’ unrest. Sanderson notes their reactions, and finally Dean’s too.

“Instead of putting this savage bitch down, you took her for yourself, didn’t you?” Sanderson wonders aloud. His face breaks into amusement, as his deep chuckle echoes in the clearing. “You threw it all away. A promising career, your respect as a man, and even your life. A traitor to your goddamn country. And for what?”

His thumb pulls back the safety on his revolver.

“Enough, you bastard. You deal with me,” Dean tersely demands. He slowly lowers his gun, and his last bullet. “Let her go. Let them all go, and you can have me. Court martial me. Hell, put me in front of a firing squad, or put me down like a dog if that’s what you want… But let them go.”

Mila breaths in sharply. She stares at Dean like she wants to protest.

“Ah, but ya see, I didn’t come here for you,” Sanderson says. Without taking his aim off Mila, his shifts his gaze down to Tahatan, who struggles for every breath. “I’m gonna wash this land clean, from here to the West Coast. However long it takes.”

“Colonel!” an officer calls out. He approaches on a horse, though he leads a man by a rope that ties his wrists behind his back.

Dean’s eyes widen in shock. It’s Cas, and he has Sam as his captive. Sam is dirtier and more disheveled since Dean saw him off not too long ago. He’s lost his hat and his horse, but he doesn’t look afraid when he meets Dean’s gaze, then the assessing Colonel.

“Mr. Winchester. I should’ve known,” Sanderson says dryly. “Here to reacquaint yourself with your brother? Though I’ve got a feeling you already have.”

“What’re you gonna do about it? Kill me?” Sam says. “In case you’ve forgotten, I work for the government too. I’m a prosecutor for all the surrounding counties in Kansas City.”

Sanderson raises a brow. “Is that supposed to intimidate me, son?”

“It should, Colonel,” Sam says. He nods at his brother. “The world already thinks he’s dead. Fine. But there’s plenty of people who know I traveled to Fort Laramie. People high up in the chain of command. If you hurt me, my brother, or these people, someone’s gonna hear about it. And soon.”

“He’s got a point there, Colonel,” Benny says.

“You shut the fuck up!” Sanderson barks at his captain. “You’re lucky I don’t shoot you down where you stand. You and Novak. But believe you me, I’ll be dealin’ with you later.”

Sanderson continues to seethe. He thinks hard about the decision he makes next as he stares down at Sam, and then back up at Dean. He grits his teeth, his mustache twitching. Dean holds his breath, though he briefly meets eyes with his brother.

Slowly, Sanderson lowers his weapon away from Mila. Dean can breathe again, if shallowly. He doesn’t drop his guard though. In fact, he watches Sanderson even closer.

“I’ll give you dirty mongrels one hour to clear out of here,” Sanderson says, his eyes narrowed. “Anything left gets tied down and burned to charcoal.”

With that, he sharply tugs on his horse’s reins. He commands his men to fall back, and like the soldiers they are, they obey. Benny and Cas both cast Dean a backwards glance—one that tells Dean that he still has the loyalty of his friends. He now realizes that Cas brought Sam back for a purpose; it wasn’t to hurt him, but to help him. Hell, he wouldn’t be surprised if the whole “capture” was Sam’s idea.

After the soldiers clear out of the area with the Colonel, Dean and the other men dismount from their horses. He beelines for Mila, gathering her into the safety of his arms. Then he spares a hand to grab his brother’s shoulder as he smiles.

“I think I’m more glad to see you the second time,” Dean remarks.

“I’ll take that,” Sam says. His grin is infectious, but Dean returns his attention to his wife. He touches her cheek and runs his assessing gaze over her body. He frowns as he examines the thin cut along her neck where the soldier pressed the blade of her knife.

“You okay? Are you hurt?” he asks.

Mila shakes her head. “I’m fine.” Though she inspects him the same way with a wandering hand across his chest. Dean takes that hand and gives her a reassuring smile.

It falls when he hears Weaya crying. She sits beside three other women, including Šóta’s mother.

“Father,” Šóta says lowly. His voice is a rasp as he kneels beside Tahatan’s broken body, holding his hand. The chief manages to raise his head slightly. He looks at his son, and then his gaze travels. Eventually, it falls on Dean.

Tahatan smiles.

“Under this sky,” he says. “We are one people.”

He takes three more labored breaths before his eyes close. Šóta lays his father’s limp hand over his chest, which no longer moves.

Šóta’s mother gently raises her husband’s head to remove his long headdress. Among other things, it’s made of leather, glass beads, horsehair, and eagle tail feathers. Each feather represents a warrior’s honor earned in war, like a soldier’s insignia.

With shaking hands, she places it on Šóta’s head. He takes a deep breath, and he looks up at the many tear-stained faces that mirror his own.

“We have to go,” he says.

Sam stays to help mobilize the tribe. He helps a mother join her children into one of the caravans, then he and Otaktay heft rolled up tipis and supplies into the back of it.

“You are a law man?” Otaktay asks him.

Sam nods. “That’s right.”

“Make better laws,” Otaktay says, and walks away.

Sam is left with a bemused look on his face. Dean comes over and thumps him on the back.

“Making friends?” he says dryly.

“Don’t think so,” Sam replies. He shakes his head and follows his brother over to the second caravan.

“Eh, consider yourself lucky. That guy pretty much hates my guts,” Dean whispers.

Sam raises his brows. “What?”

Dean explains the story in its simplest, briefest terms. Meanwhile, the mood around their packing is somber and quiet.

For Mila, it feels wrong. It’s wrong for them to have to leave the river where they’ve tilled and nurtured the land for three generations. It’s wrong to leave Chief Tahatan’s body wrapped beside Takoda’s on the hill without at least one proper night of mourning. She feels her grief down to her very core, but all she can do is sit in the caravan beside her mother and hold protective hands around the small swell of her stomach. Her tears fall silently down her cheeks and dissolve between the indigo beads on her dress.

She only raises her head when Chatan comes to check on her and her mother. He touches Mila’s cheek, drying her tears there. He leans in to kiss Weaya’s hand.

“We leave soon,” he says.

“Where is Dean?” Mila asks.

“Helping Šóta,” Chatan replies, but he stops short and corrects himself. “He helps our Chief.”

A few moments later, the caravans begin to move as the horses pull with the reins. Šóta leads at the front with a few of the warriors, but the rest of them ride strategically around and behind the caravans. Sam and Dean fall back to ride beside Mila’s caravan, where Chatan sits at the helm. Sam has been given the horse of a fallen warrior, while Dean rides Mato.

Despite how low she feels, Mila smiles at the sight of her horse allowing Dean to ride him, even with a saddle and bridle.

“Mato is being agreeable,” she remarks.

“You sound surprised,” Dean says, teasing slightly. “Told you I’d get him to trust me eventually.”

“More like wear him down,” she quips back.

“Hey, he impregnated my mare. Without my say so, I might add. I’d say we’re proper father and son-in-law.”

“Yes,” Chatan chimes in wryly. “That is what that means.”

Mila scoffs at him, but the gleam of good humor in his eyes amuses her. She smiles as she rubs a hand over her belly. Dean smiles too. It’s strange that he can still do that after a night like tonight, but seeing Chatan do it, along with Sam, and Mila, and her mother too, it gives him hope for them—for all of them.

Until the first gunshot fires into the air.

Dean freezes. His body coils tight, and he turns to look sharply over his shoulder.

He shouldn’t be surprised that Colonel Sanderson went back on his word. His cavalrymen are gaining behind them on horseback, hooting and hollering like it’s a game for sport. His jaw clenching in both anger and determination, Dean tells Chatan to speed up the caravan. He locks eyes with Mila for a moment.

Be safe, he tries to say with that look.

Then he gives Sam a nod; together they speed up to alert Šóta at the front.

“They’re gaining on us,” Dean says, gesturing behind them. “We need to lead them away from the caravans and pick ‘em off—as many as we can.”

Šóta nods in grim agreement, but he has a moment of hesitation as he considers Dean.

“You go with the caravans,” he says.

Dean shakes his head. “No, I’m ending this. Once and for all.”

“You are willing to fight your people?” Šóta asks.

The set of Dean’s determined face doesn’t change.

“I’m protecting my people,” he says. He looks to Sam. “Stay with the caravans. Make sure they get across the river.”

Sam agrees, and the men split ways. Dean turns Mato away from the group along with Šóta and Otaktay, and a few other warriors. The caravans continue with Sam to help guide them. Mila clings to the edge and watches with growing dread as her husband rides farther and farther away from her.

Dean can’t allow himself to look back. Instead of drawing his gun, he reaches for his bow strapped to his back and an arrow from his quiver. He takes aim at the first soldier he sees raise his gun, along with a steadying breath, and he shoots his arrow before the other man can fire. The arrow embeds itself in the man’s chest and knocks him clean off his horse.

Šóta and Otaktay follow suit. They shout out yips and battle cries on the air as they take aim. The soldiers begin to scatter out of their formation. They weren’t expecting the Lakota to go on the offensive. Sanderson has conveniently let his men ride ahead of him, but Dean hears him giving the orders from behind. The Colonel has his left arm wrapped in a sling while he holds his gun aloft.

“All right, mustang,” Dean says to Mato, tightening his hands on the reins. “Remind ‘em why they should be scared a’ you.”

He gives the stallion a subtle kick. It’s just enough for him to pick up into a full gallop. Dean tucks his head down and lets the horse speed forward like a bullet carving across the plain. The soldiers take aim, but that’s when Šóta and Otaktay join in from behind. They begin to take down the uniformed men, one by one as they weave between bullets.

Dean tears between two officers and unbalances them. Mato, with his big head and chest, bulldozes straight through them. They shout in surprise and fear, and one of them even topples off his horse. Dean banks left and turns Mato around to finish what he started.

He retrieves his knife from his thigh holster and slices into one man’s neck, making him choke on his own blood. Dean forcefully takes the rifle off another man, and after flipping it around, hits him dead between the eyes with the butt of it—once, then twice until his nose breaks. He careens back off his horse into the dirt. Dean wracks the rifle and shoots the man for good measure.

The sound of a safety clicking back alerts him and turns his head, but he’s too late.

An arrow flies into the officer’s throat.

Dean looks over sharply. He finds Otaktay, lowering his bow.

Dean’s eyes widen. The other man just saved his life.

Dean nods in thanks, and Otaktay slowly returns the gesture. The moment is cut short, however, when Dean sharpens in alarm. Instead of opening his mouth to warn, he knows he has no time, not even to grab another arrow. He just throws his knife.

It carves through the air and hits Jack Kline where his arm meets his shoulder—his shooting arm that would’ve clipped Otaktay with his pistol. Jack falls off his horse and hits the ground hard, the air leaving his lungs in a hot rush. He groans in pain while clutching his arm. It’s not an easy wound, but he’ll live…as long as Otaktay doesn’t kill him first. Still on his horse, he towers over the younger man with another arrow notched.

“Wait!” Dean shouts.

He meant what he said about finishing this, but now looking at Jack, all Dean sees is a kid following orders. He doesn’t deserve to die like this, hundreds of miles away from home, just trying to make something of himself.

Otaktay looks up, wasting a precious second. Another beat, and a bullet tears into him, almost forcing him off his horse. Dean grits his teeth and speeds forward. Šóta rejoins them in time to help lead Otaktay away; he’s been hit in the side. There’s no telling how deep, but all Dean can focus on is the path ahead.

He comes face to face with Colonel Sanderson.

Dean raises his bow and arrow and ducks his head against another bullet, still shooting off his arrow. It misses its aim at the horse’s legs, but it spooks him enough to whinny in distress. It begins to buck off the Colonel.

“Whoa!” he shouts, trying to take back control of the horse. Dean rides in close and cracks a fist across Sanderson’s face. His head whips back with a pained grunt. Dean grabs his wrist and twists, until he feels tendons popping and the gun loosened from the other man’s hand. Then, Dean brings his elbow up into Sanderson’s nose and spills blood.

“Fuck!” Sanderson growls. He manages to land a punch of his own with his left arm, despite how it makes his shoulder bleed again. Dean recovers from the blow to his cheek and goes to grab that wound, digging in his fingers hard. He’s satisfied by the howl of pain Sanderson lets loose.

Dean doesn’t care if it’s a dirty tactic. He’s taking any opportunity he can, because right now, it’s not about his honor. It’s about protecting what’s his.

But Sanderson fights back just as dirty. He grabs Dean by the back of his neck and headbutts him, so hard he sees stars. Sanderson lands one more kick to Dean’s chest that almost sends him off of Mato. Dean has to grab on tight to the saddle and pull himself up, just in time for a lassoed rope to circle around his neck. Dean’s eyes fly wide in alarm. He slips his hand between the rope and his neck just in time before it tightens—because Sanderson tugs hard as he urges his horse into a gallop.

“Aw, sh—” Dean is yanked off Mato. He lands hard in the dirt, before he begins to be dragged across it.

Once again, the current is strong across Little Cheyenne. The first caravan has more horses to pull it through, but the caravan that Chatan is trying to lead starts to take on water. Mila and her mother sit behind him, along with Misae and her daughters, Tahatan’s widows, and Eyota and her husband.

The colt is doing his best to keep going, but Baby and two of the other horses are struggling in the pull of the river. They’ve hit a deeper patch under the water, and now it’s all the way up to Baby’s chest. She can’t handle the weight of the caravan along with the river’s current.

Sam comes closer with rope in hand, but Mila can see in his eyes that he’s trying to decide what to do. She grasps the edge of the caravan to pull herself up, and she points to the black mare.

“She needs help!” she calls out to him.

“Mila, sit down!” Chatan orders.

Mila turns back to her father with a determined set to her face. She knows his ankle has never healed entirely right. If he tries to do what she’s about to do, he’d probably fall into the river and get trampled by the horses. She knows what she must do.

She carefully stands up all the way and moves to the edge of the caravan, ignoring her father and mother trying to stop her. Sam’s eyes grow wide, but he tries to come in closer to support her. She steps out onto Baby’s back and slides into an astride position. The frigid water climbs up Mila’s dress and reaches her waist, making her shiver, but she ignores that too. She reaches out for Sam.

“Throw me the rope!” she calls out.

Sam follows her lead and does what she says. Mila not only catches the rope, but loops the ends of it around Baby’s bridle and around her chest. It’s hard work, especially because Mila has to tread water just to get the rope around the mare’s wide chest, but Sam helps her as much as he can.

When they’ve finished securing the ropes, Sam pulls ahead. With his horse leading Baby, she gets the momentum she needs to climb out of the dip, and eventually, cross the rest of the river.

Mila is sopping wet by the time they make it to the other side. Her braid has come loose, and so her hair becomes a black curtain around her face. She clings to Baby as she catches her breath, stroking the horse’s neck.

“Good girl. Big, strong girl,” she soothes. “Your father will be proud of you.”

Speaking of, Mila turns to look back. Across the river, the men are still fighting off the soldiers that sought to finish what they started last night. Mila scans with narrowed eyes for Dean.

“You all right?” Sam asks. He sidles up next to her and grasps her shoulder to make sure.

“Fine,” she breathes.

But she hesitates on a sharp inhale. Her brows furrow as she tries to make sure of what she’s seeing. Her mouth drops open in shock.

“Sam!” She points out the shape of a man she thinks is Dean. Sam follows her line of vision and becomes just as alarmed at what he sees.

Mila immediately takes her father’s knife from her shoe and cuts the ropes that bind Baby to the caravan. Mila puts her fingers to her lips and whistles sharply instead of kicking the mare. Baby sharpens to attention and heeds the command, just like she’s done for Dean a hundred times before.

Mila guides her back through the river.

Dean is being road hauled across the plain. He hits every bump, rock, twig, and dry patch of dirt in several yards as he twists and struggles to break free.

He lost his knife to save Otaktay, and he’s probably lost all his arrows along with his bow. Dean grits his teeth, as he can hear Sanderson’s insane hooting and hollering on the wind whipping past his ears, and not much else.

He doesn’t know where Šóta is, or if even Otaktay’s still alive, but his last thoughts aren’t about them. Instinctively, he thinks of his wife. It’s not even a coherent thought. It’s just her name, her face, her hand on his heart.

And the rope snaps.

Dean grunts as his momentum slows. He rolls across the dirt and grass to a stop. He probably has road burns and cuts and bruises all down his back, but at least he can stare up at the morning sun and breathe.

Heaving for free air, he tugs the rope from around his neck and shoves it off. He hears familiar horse hooves galloping his way. Somehow, he manages to raise his head.

Now, either the sun is playing tricks on him, or a black shape is thundering towards him.

Apparently, his eyes aren’t lying to him. Baby slows to a stop, and Mila climbs down from her back. Mila rushes to his side and kneels beside him after putting away her knife. She takes his face into her gentle hands.

“Dean?” she says, her voice tinged with desperation.

He grabs onto her wrist and smiles weakly, looking up at her soulful brown eyes.

“You’re not supposed to be here,” he says.

She sighs and shakes her head, despite the tears in her eyes.

“Be quiet,” she laughs. Dean just grins.

She cups the back of his neck and guides him up slowly into a sitting position. His back is a bloody mess, but they’ll deal with that later.

“You all right, brother?”

Dean’s smile drops. He clutches at Mila’s arm protectively, but he looks up at Benny Lafitte. His horse shifts in place. Dean finally notices Sam is there too, with his gun trained on Benny. But Benny’s gun is raised right back at Sam.

They’re joined by Colonel Sanderson. He wears a self-satisfied look on his face as he approaches with his pistol held aloft.

“Well, well,” he drawls. “Ain’t this a picture. Traitors and savages.”

Mila keeps her back to the Colonel; she stubbornly defends Dean with her body, even though he’s gathered her to his chest protectively. With his right hand, he subtly reaches for the gun holster at his thigh. One last weapon. One last shot.

He shares a look with Mila, silently asking her to trust him. She gives him a subtle nod.

“Captain Lafitte,” Sanderson addresses Benny, even though his gaze is straight on Dean and Mila. He holds Sam in his periphery. “Now’s the time to take a stand. Are you gonna serve your country and put these three in the ground where they belong, or are you gonna join ‘em?”

Benny stares back at his superior officer. He thought he understood before, but today is when he truly understands why Dean made his choice.

Benny lowers his weapon down to his side.

“This ain’t the law,” he says. “This ain’t justice. It’s just pride, plain and simple. Your pride, Colonel.”

After a moment of genuine surprise, Sanderson rolls his eyes. He shifts his gun off of Sam and points it at Benny next.

A trigger fires, but the bullet that hits its mark is not the Colonel’s.

It’s Dean’s, and it hits Asmodeus Sanderson between the eyes.

Dean lowers his silver, smoking Colt down at his side, where Mila moved just in time for Dean to take his shot. He holds her to him now, taking in deep breaths.

Benny and Sam both look to Dean with shock still in their eyes, but before either of them can say anything, they notice Cas stumbling over on foot with a wounded Jack Kline leaning heavily on him. They’re flanked on both sides by Šóta and Otaktay. The latter has a cloth tied tight around his middle. His bullet wound just looks like a nasty graze.

The other warriors that remain follow behind, and they have Mato and Baby in tow by their bridles.

Dean realizes that Cas and Jack are the only other survivors from the rest of the unit. Šóta has taken them prisoner. He orders the other men to force Benny off of his horse. They shove him closer to Cas and Jack.

Dean quickly tries to raise up onto his knees, though it’s hard for him to stand. Mila helps him the rest of the way, and he keeps his arm wrapped around her shoulders.

“We will make an example of these,” Šóta says, nodding at Cas, Jack, and Benny. They look rightly nervous, shifting their gazes towards Dean.

Dean raises his hands to placate Šóta (and hopefully reassure his friends).

“Šóta, I know these guys. They were my men,” he says. “They were just following the Colonel’s orders.”

“And what does that mean to me, Dean Winchester?” Šóta says. He climbs down from his horse, his headdress of feathers tousled as a breeze rushes through.

“It means they won’t follow us,” Dean says. “They won’t tell the Army what actually happened here. They’ll keep their word if I ask them to. So I’m asking you…trust me. Trust me like you’ve trusted me before.”

Šóta seems to consider it, even though he doesn’t exactly like the idea. Otaktay seems to like it even less.

“We won’t betray you, Chief,” Benny says to Šóta, and to the other warriors. “We respect you, and we don’t want any more trouble. For us, or for Dean.”

Šóta considers this with a tilt of his head. Before he decides, first, he turns to Otaktay. Other than Dean, he’s now the man Šóta trusts most.

Otaktay looks over at Dean. Between them, there’s an understanding. Finally, there’s also respect. Otaktay returns his gaze to his leader, and he nods.

Šóta expels a deep breath. He addresses the three soldiers.

“Go. Go in peace, or next time, there will not be peace,” he says.

The soldiers breathe in relief.

Dean steps forward with Mila’s help. There he shakes each man’s hand. He’s said goodbye to Cas and Benny before, but somehow, this feels even more final than the last.

Benny and Cas are given back their horses. They help Jack up first, then Cas climbs up with him. Benny mounts his own horse, and Sam, Dean, and the Lakota watch them leave the way they came.

It takes days to cross the plains and maneuver through the mountains, but Šóta leads the rest of the tribe to safety within Sioux territory. They find a place to settle along the Big Cheyenne River, northeast of the Black Hills.

There they will learn the land and what to plant and forage there for the late autumn harvest, as summer ends. There is where they will honor the dead who couldn’t make the journey. There is where their traditions will be celebrated, old and new.

Like today. The men have painted each other with blue circles around their faces and blue lines across their foreheads, chins, and cheekbones. The women are painted similarly in red. It symbolizes change in its many forms, but most of all, it symbolizes new relationships, and new responsibilities.

Today, it’s Huŋkápi. The Making of Relatives. This ceremony formally welcomes Dean into the tribe by marriage. It also recognizes Sam as his brother, and so, it acknowledges Sam as a friend to their tribe as well. They are now all family. One people.

Dean sits with his brother around the large firepit, where a roasted boar is already half-eaten. Dean has shared a lot of meals with these people, but somehow, this one is the best he’s ever eaten. Maybe it’s the company, he thinks, as he laughs at some old story Sam is trying to tell.

“No, no, no, that’s not what happened. Let me tell it—”

“What, so you can make stuff up?”

“Oh, I’m making stuff up?”

Mila giggles quietly, but it’s enough to earn Dean’s attention. She sits at his left, and he turns to her with an amused smile.

“What’re you laughing at?” he teases. His arm wraps around her waist and pulls her in.

“You,” she replies. “You and your brother. You’re worse than me and Šóta.”

Dean chuckles and shakes his head. He points over at her cousin, their esteemed Chief, who’s busy making shadow creatures with exaggerated voices to impress the kids. Right now, it’s a big grizzly bear that threatens to eat the closest child.

“Worse than the grizzly?” Dean says.

“Hmm, maybe not,” she says with a laugh.

That evening, Dean is glad he convinced Sam to start sleeping in his own tipi. He agreed to stay until Mila has the baby, but while Dean is grateful to have his brother here for a few more months, he still wants some much-needed privacy with his wife.

He “helps” her undress for bed, all the while distracting her with lingering kisses across her neck and shoulders, winding his fingers into her long hair. He wraps his arms around her and cups her full breasts from behind, satisfied by the arousing way she moans.

“They’re heavier,” Dean whispers in her ear, gently squeezing her breasts. She hums in response. “Your thighs and hips are thicker too, nice and soft for me.” He squeezes those too for good measure.

“I am changing,” she admits. “Are they good changes?”

“Hell yeah,” Dean says, his lips moving against her throat. He gently turns her around and guides her down to lay on the bedding and furs. He palms at the best change of all—the growing swell of her belly. She’s gotten bigger, and growing a little more each week. Dean really wants to meet his kid.

He dips down to lay a path of slow, tender kisses down between her breasts, and over her belly. Mila smiles and threads her fingers through his hair. It’s getting long, brushing past his ears.

“Do you want a son, or a daughter?” she asks him. It’s not the first time she’s asked, but she wonders if his answer will change now, after everything they’ve gone through to get here. She finds that her own answer hasn’t changed.

Dean shakes his head. “I don’t care. Either one.”

All he wants is for the baby to be healthy, and for Mila to be healthy too. He moves back up to claim her lips. When he kisses her like this, he hopes she knows what he’s really saying. Just in case, he says it anyway. He says it out loud to her for the first time.

“I love you,” he says. He pauses, then smiles a little. “You know, you’re the only woman I’ve ever said that to.”

She smiles, because she knows. With her hand over his heart, she knows.

And when their son is born a few months later, she has a dream. She dreams of an eagle’s wings that shift from white to gold in the light.

Dean plans to give him a name he picked out weeks before, Elijah. It was his father’s middle name. But she will also give their son a name.

Ikíphi, the name her uncle, Chief Tahatan, gave Dean Winchester himself.

Because one day, she knows her son will be worthy of it.

AN: And there we have it! A more definitive end to Dean and Mila's story. 🥹

For those of you who read and enjoyed this, thank you so much for sticking with me through this sequel of The Honorable Choice. This was an idea that wouldn't let go of me once I started, and it's the first time that I've written something like this. 💖💖

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")