#yeah this is main tag worthy I think

[rootspice]

When Dr. Vicedomini brings up how Jacks biological father is still alive when trying to convince him that he doesn’t have FFI, it’s very telling to me that Jacks first response is that of course. Bad people who deserve to die always continue to live. It definitely says something about what Jack thinks about himself that Jack thinks good people always die early and bad people outlive them. He describes his father as a hurricane that hurts people, do you think he thinks of himself in the same way. How many of his fathers traits both physical and in character do you think Jack recognizes in himself.

[robinsnest2111]

nbd just a handjob between bandmates ✌

inspired by @azzzryel s gorgeous vinikki art I've seen on my dash earlier tonight <3

[squipdop]

sorry im a god gale truther btw i DO think he should get to usurp mystra and ascend to godhood and i do think that should be an absolutely awful thing to happen to him but also literally everyone else. sorry

[guidingthulite]

i'm up to date with the super manga now

[zepskies]

The Honorable Choice - Part 3

Pairing: Dean Winchester x OFC 

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

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

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

**Pronunciation guide at the end!

Jacklesverse Bingo24 Prompt: @jacklesversebingo Western AU

Song Inspo: The Spirit Soundtrack

Word Count: 5.7K

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

🐎 Series Masterlist || Bingo Masterlist

🎙️ Listen to the podfic version here!

Part 3: Worthy

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I will protect you,” she says.

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

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

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

“Mila…”

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

Dean blinks. Well, that changes things…maybe.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

A waterfall.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

She smiles in relief.

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

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

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

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

“Mornin’,” he croaks.

Mila’s relieved face becomes touched with amusement.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Her brows raise. “No?”

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

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

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

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

Dean leans in slowly, giving her time to decide.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Really, I understand,” he says.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

That night, Mila dreams.

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

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

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

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

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

Her heart has already chosen.

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

He is Tahatan, Chief of their tribe.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Dean Winchester,” Tahatan says.

“Yes, sir,” Dean replies.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

She smiles more genuinely.

“Come,” she says.

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

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

“This one’s yours?” Dean asks.

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

Dean raises a brow. Ours. Really?

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

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

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

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

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

Dean thinks he understands. Short fuse, quick fizzle.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Show me,” he says.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Dean chuckles. “You sure about that?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I could get used to this,” he says.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Dean smiles back.

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

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

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

Pronunciation Guide:

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

Read the Sequel:

Dive into more Cowboy Dean with the sequel of this story, Outlander:

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?

▶️ Keep Reading: OUTLANDER (PART 1)

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[vettelsvee]

COME WHAT MAY SERIES Prologue (previous): A phone call and a new beginning

⋆ Hey everyone! I'm almost done writing the first part of Come What May series and, since many of you are waiting for it and, also, asking me when I'll be posting... here's the beginning of the chapter and its name! ⋆ Special tags to @hc-dutch @raavadakedavra @coffeedestroyingperson @evey-kuznetskova @bowielovesyou @chaoswithus @isotopemylove @iceman-kazansky @residentdemonhunter @astronomyandfrogs @herdetectivetheorist @prttylight @i-love-sirius-black7 @dreamauri for being interested in this series <3 And of course special thanks to @maripiastri because Come What May series wouldn't exist without her 😭 ⋆ Also... let me know if you'd like me to post the chapter this week instead of next one! I'm open to suggestions, comments and questions too 🤠

"Sometimes I wonder if, besides whether I deserve everything I've achieved, I'm actually doing good enough to keep it. I mean... do I deserve my position at Red Bull, or are they just keeping me because Seb was the one who got me in, and now I'm also Mark's girlfriend? And about that last part... am I really what my boyfriend deserves, or, like dad says, is it just a passing fling of a few months where I only want to sleep with him as some sort of stress relief? Seb says that, as long as Mark makes me happy, that's what matters, but... does Mark really make me happy? Or is it..."

"I'll open the door, Dad!"

Louisa's voice, your little sister, snapped you back to reality.

Carefully, you put away the diary your best friend gave you, and your main source of therapy, in the nightstand drawer. Then, you jumped out of bed with a joy you hadn't felt in a long time.

You walked over to your desk, gently moving aside the scattered notes you still hadn't cleaned up despite having finished the semester two weeks ago. You made sure you looked as presentable as possible. Your hair, which fell over your shoulders, was perfectly straightened, though your bangs needed a little fixing. You decided to apply some lip balm as well not just to keep your lips hydrated, but to give them a little extra shine.

Then, somehow nervously for reasons you didn't want to recognize, you decided to adjust your clothes focusing on your own reflection, trying to come with positive affirmations about how everything you got was absolutely deserved.

You knew all too well that Sebastian Vettel was your best friend but, somehow, you always tried not only to look as perfect as possible in front of him, but also to let him know that you were truly worthy of his friendship.

No matter how much the German had cherished you since you both met in 2008, when you joined Toro Rosso as an intern and he was one of the team's drivers, you always had the feeling of not being for enough for him... Of not being worth to be close to him.

Suddenly, the door swung open, revealing your two younger sisters.

"Why are you taking so long?" Amelie, 15, asked. "It's not like your boyfriend is the one who came..."

"Yeah, yeah! Why are you extra pretty today?" the youngest, Louisa, who was 8, chimed in. "Seb is already downstairs waiting for you. He's talking to dad and uncle Hans, and I think they're talking about soccer. It's super boring."

"Shut up, would you?" the middle sister scolded the youngest, giving her a light tap on the shoulder. "Ignore her," she said to you. "What they're really doing is trying to figure out why Sebastian came over today and, more importantly, why he's staying with us for a few days. Care to explain?"

Your eyes widened because, as far as you remembered the conversation you had, Seb never mentioned anything about staying with you.

"What do you mean staying with us? Seb really said that?"

"Uncle Hans thinks he's just your friend, but dad thinks you're sleeping with him at the same time as Mark," Amelie replied.

"How could I be sleeping with Seb?!" You shouted, pulling your sisters into your bedroom and slamming the door shut. "That's... that's ridiculous. Yeah, that's what it is," you finished, trying your best not to curse and, also, trying to calm your nerves.

"But if dad says it, it must be true, Y/N," Lou said, a little annoyed. "You know dad never lies to us."

That was a lie, and you knew it perfectly. However, for her was just... the reality you made her live in since Bernhard, your dad, told the three of you he was dying from cancer.

"Listen to me, both of you," you cut in, ignoring their words. "I need you to behave and promise me something."

Amelie and Louisa exchanged curious glances before looking back at their older sister.

"I don't want you to mention anything Mark related in front of Seb. No jokes, no offhand comments about how much you dislike him... Absolutely nothing. Got it?"

"Why can't I tell Seb that I don't like Mark even it's the truth? Do I have to lie to him?" Lou asked innocently. "You always say we don't have to lie."

"Well, because..."

"If you're doubting so much it's because you really are fucking Seb. Don't get me wrong, but..."

"Amelie, watch your mouth, you're not alone!" you shouted, cursing her off while glancing at the youngest of you three.

"What does fucking mean? Does it mean you're boyfriend and girlfriend?" Louisa asked again, curious and innocent.

"Seb doesn't have a girlfriend anymore, okay?"

Your statement left the other two stunned. Louisa had really liked Hanna since she had always been nice to all of you whenever you'd met. Amelie, on the other hand, started wondering why the German driver, who had seemed so in love with his girlfriend for years, had suddenly broken up with her.

"Seb isn't with Hanna anymore?"

[egg-emperor]

Do you have examples of eggman being gay in the games ???

Yeah I've posted them a bunch of times but now is another good time to bring them back in the tags, now that the long awaited rise of gay Eggman in fandom is finally happening. So while I could link the old post I'll do it again

There's actually a good amount of things in games, tie-ins, and spin offs that serve as reasonable basis to have the headcanon, which can't be said for most other sexuality hcs- the most solid ones are ones that have at least something in the media to point to

Earliest example is Sonic Adventure, where he has a hallway full of these statues of the torsos of the toned muscular male form in interesting poses. Better yet, they're located in HOT Shelter lol

This doesn't have any heterosexual explanation because Eggman is known for either completely replacing existing statues with statues of himself or defacing and slapping his face onto others.

When he completely makes them himself/replaces them entirely like the former, he also always gives them his accurate body shape, he embraces his fat and doesn't depict himself as buff. The only time this doesn't apply is when they're already existing statues he has defaced

Either way, the way these don't have his face or share absolutely any of his visage, especially when his logo and face is already all over the rest of the Egg Carrier too- including around the very area of the statues, tells us he really just wanted these statues of men that aren't himself... 🤨🏳️‍🌈

There's also this beautiful art from Sonic Channel which is ran by Sonic Team/Sega Japan as the actual creators and owners of the character, depicting him doing something you could just as easily see him doing at a pride parade, if he weren't preferably chilling in the comfort of his own luxurious pool room instead

Of course people who get real defensive and mad at rainbows being gay say "omg it's nooot you don't own rainbows waaa" but Sega of Japan are VERY vocal supporters of Tokyo rainbow pride and LGBT acceptance and support and not just in June for points. It wouldn't be far fetched for Sonic Team JP to do a nod towards it. But regardless of intention, I think lounging back shirtless with a giant rainbow shaved ice is pretty gay lol

And while they're spin offs and involve Mario/Nintendo so they can't be canon to the main games, he's also very gay in the Olympics too and they count as examples of him being gay in at least some kind of games too XD

Really just getting outright flirty with the men very blatantly

Him saying someone else has dashingly good looks alongside himself is especially gay and significant, coming from his extremely egotistical ass that would usually never say someone else looks good in any capacity. He could've just said only himself in his true self centered fashion

Agreeing to go on a literal sightseeing date with Bowser, saying it's a worthy way to spend his time, and strolling along happily with him

So yeah there were always signs and things that could be used as pretty solid basis for it. I honestly feel game Eggman had way more of a reasonable basis for it than jimbotnik for a long time since 1998 with Adventure, since Stobotnik honestly seemed pretty one sided for a while to me

I'm glad the movies are making more people start to consider gay Eggman but now all I wanna ask is for y'all to see how game Eggman was doing it long before it was recognized and considered cool! XD

[wellofdean]

OK, I was going to reblog this excellent post by @luckshiptoshore so go read it, because yes. Yes!! YES!!! But then when I got started my post got super long and I felt bad tacking it onto her post and decided to make my own in response to these tags:

#i am actually a bit obsessed by the whole hunting as queerness metaphor#it’s so clearly something everyone involved in the show is thinking about#supernatural

Gurl, me too! Like go back to the start! By the time Supernatural began, the backlash against the Joseph Campbell Monomyth-style mode of storytelling had already begun in the hallowed halls of USC film school, and yo: I was there at the time of Kripke's graduation, and my best friends from college are full scale big giant time filmmakers now, whose names I will not share on main because it's uncool, and I don't want that attention, but... yeah. I am referencing FIRST HAND SOURCES on this.

But, for a real source? The Oxford English Dictionary places the first use of the term "Queer Theory" in 1990, with Queer Studies as an option in the academy by 1992. I know the kids think it's a new-fangled thing, but Kripke graduated USC in 1996 (I graduated in 1995) and it was ALL THE RAGE by then. My friends read queer theory in their Critical Studies courses in the Film School, I read it in the College of Humanities getting my degree in Literature. By that time, you could not get through that school with any degree in any non-STEM subject without knowing about ye olde postmodern lenses, queer and feminist theory, and without knowing how to employ those lenses.

Queer refers to sexuality, yes, but the word's earliest use (again, according to the OED) is in the 1500's, meaning: strange, odd, peculiar, eccentric. Also: of questionable character; suspicious, dubious.

So, ok, in 2005, Enter Supernatural, episode 1:

Presented? Two brothers. One actively seeking credit in the straight world that is not available to him in the bosom of his family: Stanford, law school, hot co-ed girlfriend, the other bound to his fractured, wounded family by duty, yes, but also by love, living on the fringe, alone, fighting monsters, and chasing after his father's approval, and who has long since given up any dream of being 'normal'. Episode 1 presents Sam's call to adventure, which he refuses when it's just familial duty, honor and love calling him, but accepts when the show takes a very straightforward and very telling path by classically fridging his woman. Ok, now he's on board. Like John, whose motivation is another dead woman, his motivation is revenge. So far so straight!

Dean though: he's different. He is already on the adventure and he was not 'called' or given the option of accepting or refusing because he had no agency when his feet were set upon this road. He does not fit the straight world at all, because he is cobbled together out of love, duty, deep guilt, striving, desperation and fear. This is who he is now, in some elemental, incontrovertible way. It was not a choice for him, he was born to it. His mother is dead, and we later learn, she made the choices that brought them all to this fate. Dean remembers her idyllically, but he is not motivated by revenge, more than any other thing, he wants to be worthy. He wants his father's approval, his brother's love.

Enter Supernatural's main theme: fucked up relationships between men enmeshed in patriarchy, which will eventually expand to include fucking GOD HIMSELF.

And like, there are SO MANY CLEAR STEPS ALONG THE ROAD in season one, and I am not even talking about sexuality and gender here, but there is SO MUCH TO SAY about it in season 1. But I am not talking about that -- I am talking at a structural, narrative level, the whole thing is just fucking all the way queered, yo.

The big climax?

At the end of the season, Dean says: "I just want my family back together. You, me, Dad... it's all I have." He is Sam's mother, John's partner! His vulnerability and emotion is feminized and contrasted with Sam and John's more overtly driven by their more masculine/straight heroic revenge quest. John: "Sam and I can get pretty obsessed, but you always take care of this family." Only that's not John talking, it's Azazel, and Dean knows it is because his father would never forgive how soft he is, how he will always choose love and family over revenge. Then, in the end, the show makes a huge point of telegraphing that Sam is finally aligning with Dean by refusing to shoot Azazel because he's possessing John, and Sam just can't do that to Dean.

Sam and Dean are thus bound together and cemented into a marginalised path, living on the road, haunting liminal spaces and cheap motels, confronting the monstrous everyday. Sam is presented as the brains of the operation, he does research, logics his way through things (masculine) while Dean is the heart who acts impulsively and on instinct and intuition (feminine).

It later transpires that Sam has a piece of the monster inside himself, and Dean has to learn to love the monstrous, he has no choice, because Sam is his brother and then Cas... and, and, and!

Like... I could go on and on, citing ENDLESS EXAMPLES. This could be a literal book. Maybe one you need to read with a magnifying glass like my condensed edition of the OED. LIke, the queerness of Supernatural is DIZZYING and MYRIAD.

But basically? FROM THE START, hunting is a queered version of family, and within that, Dean is a queered version of a Campbellian hero. Hunting is a metaphor for otherness and liminality, and that's even before you say a WORD about sex. It starts in deviation from the norms of family, masculinity and expands from there on so many levels both in story and on a meta level. The story is flesh on queer fucking bones.

I'm so sorry, but anyone who thinks queerness was not BAKED INTO Supernatural and more specifically into Dean from DAY 1 has clearly never seen Dean's insane lip gloss in season 1, and vastly underestimates the cultural awareness of people who write shit in Hollywood, and also the other people who put pink lip gloss on pretty boys in Hollywood. Nothing that gets on your screen wasn't a fucking choice made and approved by a LONG LIST of people who know what they are about.

[jinnie-ret]

STRAY KIDS MYSTERY INCORPORATED: WHO ATE THE LUCK?!

episode one

ot8 stray kids

❀ genre: comedy, horror, fluff

❀ content warnings: mention of hypnosis

❀ word count: 2.9k-ish

❀ summary: all eight of them were settled down and cosy, ready to spend halloween together as a group, but it's felix's mistaken purchase that lands them where they are

a/n: hi everyone! Really excited to post this first part to my Halloween series of 2024! If you would like to be tagged then you can always reply to this post, pm me or even send in an ask! Hope you enjoy <3

SKMI: WHO ATE THE LUCK? MAIN MASTERLIST

“-like, nothing is screaming out at me right now,” Felix shook his head, lips pursed in concentration and eyes flitting back and forth as he scanned the shelves in the downtown video shop. The unfortunate phrasing caused Jisung to decide to scream into his ear and then frighten him in the process, Felix turning around and softly punching him on the shoulder. Jisung just chuckled in response.

“I screamed at you,” Jisung laughed again.

“What? I can’t hear anymore,” Felix rubbed the left side of his head, one of his hands covering his ear in protection. The two youngest, however, didn’t even bother to look over at the bickering of the sunshine twins. They had bigger priorities on their maknae line shopping trip.

“No, nope, nah,” Seungmin boredly ran his finger across some DVDs, bored of the same old Halloween films.

“Oh we should watch Nightmare on Elm Street!” Jeongin suggested, picking the case up off of the dusty shelves.

“Really?” Seungmin turned to Jeongin, curious of his choice, “Freddy Krueger just isn’t that scary though.”

“Yeah, he is,” Jisung shuddered, taking the DVD away from Jeongin and placing it back on the shelf.

“Hyung!”

“What do you find scary then, Seungmin-ah?” Felix moved away from where he had previously been browsing, and stood next to his fellow member.

Seungmin’s gaze drifted up at the ceiling as he tried to think of something that actually did cause him fear.

“And don’t say Minho hyung,” Felix cut in just as Seungmin had experienced a lightbulb moment.

“Dammit… Well, I don’t know, then. Even Groundskeeper Willy is creepier as Freddy than Freddy is himself. The Simpsons really went all out, but it wasn’t scary,” Seungmin considered for a moment, sighing at the lack of selection in the shop.

“Oh yeah! The Simpsons was so good. We used to have those Halloween episodes on DVD,” Felix clapped his hands excitedly at the memory.

“I think we used to have some on tape when I was younger,” Jisung added. The boys continued to chat amongst themselves, sharing childhood favourites as they reminisced over the titles they saw. However, it was that keyword, ‘tape’, that caught the attention of the kooky old shopkeeper, thick framed glasses with an orange beaded chain that contrasted greatly with her curly, grey hair.

She ducked into the back of the shop, which was sectioned off from the public area. Most would assume it was just where spare stock was kept to replace items that would eventually be sold, but it was also for her special collection of items - ones that only a few select people she deemed as worthy for the challenge would receive. After climbing up her mobile step ladder and grabbing her chosen artefact, she brought it towards the members, ready to persuade them to purchase.

“-there’s nothing saying we can’t pick something lighthearted to watch,” Jeongin suggested. Even with a plethora of options before them, they were stuck in a cycle of one idea being suggested and then shut down within the next minute.

“Perhaps I could be of assistance,” the old lady made her presence known, standing behind them with a big smile on her face and a tape machine in her hands.

“Oh! All of a sudden?” Jisung’s head whipped around so quickly he could probably qualify as something from The Exorcist.

“Annyeonghaseyo,” the other three proceeded to bow politely.

“I couldn’t help but overhear you discussing tapes, so I thought I’d show you something from out back,” she presented them with the tape machine in her hands, an old silver coating with a circular logo, ‘INTA’, plastered in the middle. The boys were none the wiser and thought she was such a sweet old lady, just doing her best to give good customer service.

“Oh wowww!” Felix nodded and grinned, taking the machine from her hands and looking at the object with fascination. Sure, it was computers and keyboards he liked to take apart, build and rework, but there was something entrancing about what he now held.

“Thank you, but we don’t have any tapes,” Seungmin tried to shut down the unneccessary payment.

“I have one that was specially released alongside this machine. Although, boys, I must let you in on a secret,” she whispered, making the boys share concerned yet intrigued looks.

“What is it?” Jeongin asked.

“There is only one version released in the whole world. I’ve got it here for you if you like? Have you ever watched The Scooby Doo Show?”

“What a sweet lady! I can’t believe she gave us a discount too,” Felix cheered happily, clutching a bag of goodies to his chest.

“She must have really wanted to get rid of this old VHS player,” Seungmin mentioned as they headed back to Hyunjin and Changbin’s place, the former being excited to decorate for Halloween.

“I don’t know, I think it was just good customer service. She heard us talking about tapes,” Jisung said in defence of the whimsical old woman.

“Hyung… you probably think good customer service is when the owner actually gives you your change,” Jeongin poked Jisung on the shoulder from behind, as he walked side by side with Felix.

“Yah! At least I didn’t nearly end up in a cult!”

Meanwhile, back at the Hyunbin apartment, the hyung line of the group were setting up the place to get ready for their spooky evening. Chan and Minho were tasked with getting food ready, the latter preparing the hot food and Chan doing his best to arrange the sweet snacks in an aesthetically pleasing way; he was instructed by Hyunjin to do so. Said guy was on decorating duty and he had roped in his cute housewife Changbin to do the heavy lifting.

“Why is this skeleton so heavy? It’s a skeleton!” Changbin whined as he carried the large structure into the lounge area.

“You said you wouldn’t complain,” Hyunjin tutted.

“Just tell me where you want it!” Changbin huffed, a tinge of desperation in his voice. He would have placed it down to give his muscular arms a break but he would have only been further scolded by Hyunjin for not treating the figure with more caution.

“Hmm, let's put it next to the TV,” Hyunjin nodded with approval, arms crossed and one hand cupping his chin as he appraised the haunting scene that had been created.

Intricately carved, orange pumpkins were illuminated by lit candles, projecting silhouettes of either sharp, scary faces or the Stray Kids logo (that last one was Chan’s hard work). They rested on a side table, which had fake cobwebs strewn up and across to the ceilings, even trailing over the blinds. The sheerness of these delicate furnishings were highlighted by the glowing green fairy lights hung alongside them, each LED encapsulated by a Frankenstein head. Minho had insisted on purchasing those, as it reminded him of the lyrics to Maniac. Everything else in the room was placed to only heighten the mood, little trinkets and knick knacks like black plastic bowls shaped like bats, light up skull heads and an oddly cute haunted house ornament, the words Oddinary House branded on the bottom of it.

“Perfect!” Hyunjin clapped his hands surveying his surroundings.

“Wow… this looks great!” Chan brought in some bowls of sweets, Minho on his toes with steaming hot plates of savoury foods to balance everything out.

“This smells so good,” Changbin groaned from the sofa now, ready to recharge after following Hyunjin’s commands for the past hour or so.

“Hands off, Dwaekki,” Minho playfully scolded, tapping Changbin’s hands so he kept them to himself, “the others aren’t even back yet.”

Just as if it was on cue, the other four boys returned, Seungmin being the one to unlock the door after earning the responsibility to borrow a spare key.

“Wow!”

“This looks sick”

“Woah the food smells good too!”

“It’s still hot too!”

They instantly made themselves comfy amongst the sofas and blanketed carpet, excited for their evening. The eldest in the group couldn’t help but be curious by the bag Felix was rummaging through.

“How many films did you buy?” Chan looked over Felix’s shoulders.

“Just the one, but you’ll never guess what else we got…” Jeongin trailed off.

Felix sneezed as he brought out the machine, and the somehow pristine encased tape of ‘Scooby Doo Mystery Incorporated: Who Ate The Luck?’.

“A tape machine? VHS?” Minho raised a brow, but couldn’t stop his curiosity.

“Isn’t it so cool?” Felix grinned widely, now kneeling in front of the TV to set everything up.

“I definitely didn’t expect this,” Changbin thought out loud.

“Neither did we, but Lixie seemed pretty excited about it,” Jisung shrugged, and Hyunjin shot him a knowing look. It was hard to say no to the sunshine boy, all of the members knew this and felt the same way.

“What are we watching?” Chan excitedly asked, rubbing his hands together giddily. He loved having these moments where although the members were separated through living situations, they would ultimately always come back together.

“Scooby Doo!” Felix brandished the tape and held it in the air proudly, like it was a prized possession. It certainly was… something.

“Wait… they have Scooby Doo in Korea?!” Chan gasped in shock. Even though he had been living in South Korea from the age of 13, he had no idea.

“Yeah, I loved that show!” Changbin nodded along, now thrilled at the idea of watching a childhood classic, rather than a horror movie.

“This really wasn’t what I was expecting,” Minho chuckled fondly, a part of him finding it cute and endearing that his younger members had returned with this as the pick of the evening.

“I wasn’t either but the lady at the shop said it’s the only copy of this version,” Seungmin commented, sneakily picking at the popcorn on the table.

“Wahhh! It must be special then,” Hyunjin snuggled into his blanket on the sofa, watching as the machine started whirring, a small glow around it after Felix pressed play.

“Sit here, Lixie,” Jeongin patted the spot on the floor next to him, holding a cushion to give to the other boy.

The tape started to load onto the screen, the Warner Brothers’ logo eerily emerging into view, a swirling spiral behind the text. The boys didn’t even realise the trance they were falling into, the feeling of being utterly relaxed and enraptured at the same time was something that they would have explained as their enthusiasm to the evening. Each and every set of eyes in the room had their pupils dilating, the black and white swirls from the screen imprinted on them. It was weird. There were no verbal instructions given to make them feel so hypnotised, yet with the disappearance of the production’s logo fading away and the increasing vividness of the spirals snaking around the screen, it took one click before the screen went black, and the lounge was empty. The VHS player continued to glow, whirring away, and all the snacks were abandoned, no one to enjoy them. The decorations - no one to enjoy them. Just like that, each and every member of Stray Kids had disappeared, only to be trapped in a world they had no idea how to navigate.

Five teenagers found themselves stuck in a police cell, in the local station of Coolsville, a district in the city of Miroh. They all shared looks, having the same feeling of disorientation. Why were they here?

Fred Jones didn’t know that he was once Bang Chan. He felt the same as normal in that sense. He had a light blue denim jacket, white t-shirt underneath and a cheap, orangey gold chain visible underneath the collar. Fluffy blonde hair sat atop his head, shifting ever so slightly each time he looked over the gang, trying to figure out a way to escape.

Daphne Blake didn’t know that she was once Yang Jeongin. She felt the same as normal in that sense. She paced back and forth in her tall, violet heels, albeit she was stumbling occasionally, which ultimately led her to resting against the wall, arms folded. She had to tug down her dress, and found herself fussing at her own hair, adjusting the lime green necktie to rest more comfortably.

Velma Dinkley didn’t know that she was once Seo Changbin. She felt the same as normal in that sense. Oddly, she was pushing up her thick black glasses more often than she would normally like to, and pulling at the sleeves of her orange turtleneck to accommodate for her toned arms. She stood firmly looking through the bars of the cell, a book clutched in her arms.

Norville Rogers, better known as Shaggy, didn’t know that he was once Hwang Hyunjin. However, he was none the wiser most of the time, and simply found comfort in clutching onto the arm of his dog hybrid friend Scooby Doo. He didn’t know that he was once Kim Seungmin. Here he was, wearing a matching pair of a brown jumper and slacks, that Shaggy’s dad had leant him after taking in the poor boy to the Rogers’ home. Shaggy also had hand-me-downs from his father, choosing to go for a pair of maroon trousers and a fitted bright green top that he stole from the top shelf of his mother’s wardrobe.

It wasn’t their identities they were worried about, it was more so the fact that they had been arrested when all they were trying to do was seek out the villains causing havoc in their district.

“Are you finished with the celebrations now?” the sheriff finally made his appearance, coming right up to them and making his appearance known.

“Oh come on, sheriff! You gotta let us out,” Fred huffed.

“Let me just stop you there. You see this badge?” the sheriff proudly tipped up the shiny star pinned to his white shirt, PJY engraved onto it, “you know why it’s here?”

“It came with the shirt,” Velma pointed out boredly, completely done with any interaction they’d have with the man.

“If there’s a crime, then I’m the one to solve it, not some teenagers who should be paying attention in school,” he was quick to inform them, “and, oh, by the way, I’ve told all your parents you’re here. Got them on speed dial. I’m sure they’ll be pleased.” With that he turned around, his black hair styled with a middle parting from the 90s flapping about as he smugly left the room. His see through plastic trousers crinkled audibly with each step, mixing in with the sounds of disgust from Daphne.

“How is he our sheriff wearing that?” she turned up her nose in disgust.

“Like, I don’t know ‘bout you, but I think we got other things to worry about,” Shaggy shuddered in fear, tousling his dark blonde hair back.

“Mom and Dad are gonna be so mad,” Scooby looked around worriedly. Shaggy patted the head of his friend, closer to being his brother, in comfort.

“We need to find a way out. I’m not too good with these things though… I much prefer trapping than escaping,” Fred sheepishly admitted.

“I can do this,” Velma stepped up, about to unclip one of her red bobby pins before another voice interrupted them.

“I’m not trusting another thing you’re doing! We’re gonna do this Scrappy style!” a shorter dog hybrid, who had been previously crouched down in the corner of the cell, stood up. He didn’t know that he was once Han Jisung but that didn’t matter as much as bothering Scooby, who he insisted was his cousin. The Rogers family weren’t so sure on that one. Scrappy… he was a bit more of a wildcard. The gang knew this well. Half the time they’d never see him, the other, he was tagging along with them in aid to solve mysteries.

“Haven’t you done enough, Scrappy?” Daphne looked down at the boy, scanning the letterman jacket he paired with some brown jeans.

“It’s not my fault we’re in this mess! If it wasn’t for Shaggy dragging my cousin and you all into this, then we wouldn’t be here!” Scrappy frowned, stomping his foot indignantly.

“I don’t think I’m your cousin, Scrappy,” Scooby looked at the fellow hybrid. There were an amalgamation of different species in Coolsville, most commonly humans, yet you did find that there were a lot of different mixed hybrids around too.

“Guys, come on, let’s not lose focus of our task at hand,” Fred had to remind them all, “we’re gonna get out of this, Scrappy too.”

“Great,” Daphne sighed.

In a dark, dusty room, a large screen was displaying what nobody else in the world knew was a brand new recording. An old lady sat down with a cup of tea, blissfully enjoying the events unfolding right in front of her, after pressing the ‘record’ button on her machine. She had done it again, fooled a sweet, trusting soul into playing into her deceiving schemes. There were still two of them yet to find their feet in their new roles, but she’d certainly have fun watching it all play out before her very eyes.

tagged: @night-storm7 @maisyyyyyy @imfoive @qwonyoung23 @linoalwaysknows @royal-shinigami @jolly04 @turtledove824 @yangbbokari @thisrandomgoofy15 @lieslab @hannamoon143 @arumlilyeclipse

[polysprachig]

Hello friend! I just came across your post about filling in old spaces in your polyglot journal via the bullet journal tag… could you say more about how you use your polyglot journal in general and what its intended purpose(s) is/are?

Thank you for the question, @northfaceho! ***(Read orange text for a short summarised version)

The purpose of my polyglot journal is to capture my process of learning languages, both for myself and to share with other people. It was prompted by a secret learning project I did in 2019 to make my other native language skills go from passive to active (and the subsequent desire to subtly strengthen my skills across my main 5 languages). This happened to coincide with my dissatisfaction with the general ‘Polyglot learns X# of Languages - Here’s How + Tips and Tricks’ kind of content you could—and can—find online. And the rich stock at the base of all my griping generally boiled down to one thing:

Fucking notecards.

No shade to anyone in specific—it was more a general trend I felt I noticed at the time—but the idea that someone who has acquired or is learning a football club worth of languages and who, moreover, is able to demonstrate their use of said languages across the 4 skills to various degrees of range and accuracy at their current stage of learning does so by *secret tip: using notecards* struck me as extremely… imprecise and decidedly non-tip-worthy. It’s not that I think these people were lying about using notecards to learn—not at all! The description was just focused on what I learn with not how I learn imho, and it begged the question: Well, what do you do with the notecards?

Because at the time, I only really used notecards in Old English, but not as flashcards for memorisation or playing vocabulary matching games, which I assume was used as shorthand in the content I kept seeing. No, once a year, I would take out some fresh notecards and write Beowulf verbatim from memory for the section I have memorised, then compare it to the orthography in the Howell D. Chickering dual-language translation. (I do something similar with Chaucer, but notecards are too small so I use a yellow legal pad instead. Still, the concept is the same.) And later, when I started learning Italian, I would prepare a notecard to keep on my desk during lessons which listed out the most common errors I knew I was going to make in that day’s class, based on my teacher’s recent feedback (usually incorrect pronunciation/word stress, Greek or French influence which isn’t correct, accidental uses of Latin, etc.).

And so I repurposed what I had hoped would be a travel journal into a polyglot journal and kicked it off with this statement of my intentions forgive the register:

This year, 2024, one of my main goals was to read the rest through, comment on my methods, mistakes, mindset, etc. etc., and fill in the gaps with scraps of loose studies and feedback from my teachers. Oh yeah, and start typing it all up to save my future self some time.

I’ll be posting a lot more from my polyglot journal in 2025, now that I’ve figured out how much time I can commit to it based on my schedule and the writing routine I’ve been testing out these last months. I want to make sharing it an adventure reflective of its many side quests and the actual time and input required to learn.

In essence, the journal reflects the planning, check-ins, learning notes, and process of my quarantine levelling up project and literary/poetic translation portfolio part 1, which are free to read here if anyone is interested:

The Merlin Project (Irish-English)—running with the question all my students asked in the pandemic, i.e. Can I learn a language from just watching TV? by writing borderline Merlin fanfiction

The tragic portion of my translation portfolio (English-German-French-Italian)—literary translations into English from Poliziano, Goethe, Voltaire and Kaiserin Elisabeth (Sisi); translations into German of Lord Byron, Mary Shelley and Percy Bysshe Shelley

The journal is not without silly and serious one-off language escapades as well, which I occasionally ventured out into when taking a break from the more major projects.

Thanks for reading if you’ve made it to the end!

[sonderinghiraeth]

Vacillator || Loki/Reader

[ A/N : This drabble is based off of my fanfiction, Drive Me Crazy on AO3. I don't know why but I am so attached to the dynamic the Reader and Loki carry. So, here's an odd, AUish, kind of one shot for them that takes place around the 7th chapter. ]

Word Count: 2.5k words

Tags: Nudity, Hurt not much Comfort, One-Shot

The sound of New York City echoed within the walls of your apartment as the front door clicked close. You took the sparing moment to lean on the old oak door, sighing.

It had been some odd two or three weeks with the God of Mischief squatting in your humble little home.

"Loki?" You called out, trailing down the hallway and into your bedroom.

He was no where to be found, a feeling that had begin to grow into one of prickly anxiety that replaced the soothing relief you would have felt just a week prior.

Were you and Loki a complicated situation? Absolutely, but it had become an almost welcomed adversity.

The apartment door opened and clicked close down the hall, and you quietly breathed a sigh of relief when Loki echoed your name.

"In the bedroom." You replied, fishing out some loungewear from your dresser.

Loki stepped into the bedroom, dressed in another set of casual clothes. You had no idea where he kept getting different pairs of clothes from, but you weren't going to question it.

Every time you saw him the past few days, something almost bitter lay on your stomach. He was going to leave, and he wasn't like some friend who would keep in touch. Sure, originally, you were enemies. However, Loki had slowly ever so surely been feeding you bits of him, turning the situation almost friendly. Like you said, it was a situation.

Still, you were but a second of a glimmer in his lifetime.

"Loki?" You asked, his name had began to settle on your tongue and turn from salt to sugar.

"Yes?" He mimicked with your name, resting at the foot of the bed.

You swallowed your restraint, the nerves that wrapped around your throat at even the very thought of the question you were about to pop.

"When do you think you'll go back home?"

Silence lingered, but Loki eventually clicked his tongue. "Eager to rid yourself of me?"

You sighed. "It's not that-" You interrupted yourself, putting your set of clothes down on the dresser. How could you possibly elaborate on yourself without sounding like some sort of pathetic loser? You couldn't.

"I just..." You still struggled to get it out, closing your eyes to soften the blow. "I don't want to get too attached to you if you're going to just pack up and leave in a few days or weeks."

He scoffed, rolling his eyes. "Whoever said this was a thing worthy of attachment?"

You frowned, the breath in your lungs becoming a pit at the bottom. "That's not it. Attachment isn't the best word it's- I don't know." You conceded. "We sleep in same bed for fuck's sake, voluntarily or not. That's worthy of some sort of conversation."

"It was nothing for the bed maidens to sleep with me on Asgard." He quipped.

"Yeah, well I'm not your fucking bed maiden." You retorted, jerking up your clothes from their spot on the dresser. "You forget we've never had sex."

"Only by my discretion." He stood up, grabbing your arm to keep you from escaping to the bathroom. "Don't lose yourself to your tongue." He whispered your name in warning.

You pulled your arm away, still retreating towards the bathroom door. "Stating facts isn't losing myself to my tongue. I'm going to take a shower."

Once the door was shut and locked, you took in a deep breath, hoping the exhale would rid you of all of your tangled feelings on that stupid god.

A shower felt far too harsh right now, and you just wanted to sink. One bath wouldn't hurt.

You turned on the water, setting it as hot as you could. Your rinky dink water heater only held heat for so long.

With the main light in your bathroom off, only the one amber bulb above your mirror illuminated the tiles. Steam rose from the water, beckoning you to enter and take yourself away, even for a moment.

It was hot, almost too hot, but you persisted into the water, wincing and raising yourself back up every few seconds to acclimate yourself before allowing yourself entirely into the tub.

This was where you felt safest. Now, if only you could enjoy a cigarette and maybe a glass of wine. Shit, you should've got those before you came in here, but you were too busy arguing and trying to escape from Loki to even think about it.

After a few minutes of staring at the cerulean tile ahead of you, you heard a fated knock on the door.

"What?" You called, peering over the side of the tub and at the door.

"Let me in." Loki spoke. muffled by the door.

You furrowed your eyebrows. "What? No. I'm naked."

"We took a shower together two days ago."

You sighed through your nose, contemplating your argument. "Yeah, but, this... This is different. You're clothed, I'm naked."

"If you let me in, you won't regret it."

You rolled your eyes. This damn guy never took no for an answer. You held your hands up to your breasts, leaning back in the tub. "Come in, I guess."

Even though it was locked, Loki found his way in. To your shock, he held a glass of wine and your Marlboro Golds, a lighter stacked neatly on top of them.

"Oh my God, don't tell me you can read my mind too." You looked up at him, and he held his usual cat's grin when he showed off his abilities.

"No, just painfully predictable and self indulgent." He teased, setting the glass of wine on the rim of the tub. "I shouldn't be doing this for you to begin with, it should be the other way around."

"Then you shouldn't have done it at all." You took a sip of your wine, and Loki made himself comfortable on the rug in front of the tub.

"Well, you seem to be in distress, and a sick maid is never a good maid." It was one of his array of excuses to treat you well, perhaps better than he would a regular person.

Silence lingered for a moment, with you avoiding eye contact and Loki almost maintaining it.

"Here." He gestured for you to come closer, and at first you shook your head.

"You're gonna drown me or something."

Loki rolled his eyes. "I am not, come here."

Still hesitant, you leaned your head over to Loki, who promptly guided you into the tub, his long sleeve button-up rolled to his elbows.

When he lifted your head back up, he was already reaching for the shampoo, dousing a little in his hand before taking them to your scalp.

"I think this is a little more than just treating a "sick" maid." You commented, however, you still leaned into his touch. You hadn't had a good hair massage in ages.

Loki scoffed. "Chastise me for being distant, chastise me for being close."

"The horror." You teased, smirking.

This was what you craved. Just these little moments of affection, and in all honestly, you indulged in it because everyone else in the damn world was terrified of this man. The Avengers were at the whims of luck to defeat him, and yet here he was, in your bathroom, shampooing your hair for you.

Loki tugged at your hair, guiding you back down into the bathwater and running his fingers through the swaths of your hair. Once he was satisfied, he pulled you back up, ringing your hair out before going to drain the tub.

"I haven't washed my body." You mentioned, going to stop him, but he grabbed your wrist.

"On Asgard, we run fresh water for the body."

You wanted to argue, but fuck, if you did, he would probably call you disgusting or something.

"Do you have any rose petals or lilac?"

You looked at him, almost like a "Are you fucking joking" look. He contained a smile, waving his hand. "Of course not." He muttered, turning the water back on once the initial water was drained.

Loki took your body wash to a loofa, sudsing you all along your back and just between the valley of your breaths, down across your stomach and all down both legs and arms. You felt like a child again in your mother's sink, but Loki took much better time in bathing you.

The more you indulged, the more you became frustrated at the assumption that later on he would pretend as if it had never even happened. He was like a damn cat. He would get just arms length of you and roll over onto his back to beg for love, just to prance off when you give in and walk the extra steps to pet him. Damn it.

"Are you ever going to riddle me why you always end up so close but so far away?" You whisper, looking up at him as he cupped water into his hands to wash along your back.

Loki rolled his eyes, though seemingly indifferent to the notion. "I am a god, you are mortal. Sexual relations thread into problems that are better left not spun at all."

You frowned. "I'm not talking about sex, Loki. I'm talking about like, affection. If anything, the affection is more killer than the sex. Sex to humans is… Frivolous to most. Affection is where it gets tricky." You argued, leaning back to aid him in his washing. "Besides, I thought gods were selfish and took what they pleased."

Loki spoke your name, a warning. "Don't force my hand."

"What? Is this my allowance?" You retorted, finishing your wine. "It's not like I'm on my knees begging you to marry me and run away into the fucking sunset. All I'm asking for is a little bit of clarity."

Loki exhaled through his nose, long and exasperated. "I can't afford to entertain you, or this. Take it all at face value. We are entertaining each other. I entertain you by way of acting mortal, you entertain me by way of acting preposterous."

He leaned down, assuring you were looking him in the eyes. His gaze was hard, unmoving, and arguably harsh in contrast to his usual elusive demeanor.

"If you love me, keep it to yourself."

It stabbed through you, and you could feel your heartbeat reverberating in your chest as your eyes flexed into something that mimicked heartbreak. You didn't love Loki, at least, you didn't think you did. However, his rejection seemed to kill something you failed to even realize was alive.

Maybe subconsciously you had loved Loki, or held out a soft glimmering hope that just maybe Loki deemed you an exception to his despising of humans. You weren't, and you never would be. It was exactly what he said it was, preposterous.

Despite the steam wafting off the ripples, the bathwater felt much colder now.

"I think I'm ready to get out." You muttered, standing up from the bubbles.

Loki promptly stood without another word, retreating out of the bathroom. The steam was suffocating, and you thanked it for fogging the mirror to shield you from the pathetic image of yourself.

Once dry, you changed into your pajamas and awkwardly made your way into the bedroom, Loki participating in his nightly activity of lounging on the bed with a novel in hand.

You made your way to your side of the bed, creating as much distance as possible. Loki seemed indifferent, turning the page to your copy of "This Side of Paradise".

You opted to stare at the wall, leaned against the headboard with the covers layered over your lap.

"You're sulking."

You rolled your eyes. "No shit. You just insulted me for a thing I can't help, multiple times might I add."

"There's no need to feel wounded then." He denied to look up from his novel.

"Then don't say it like that. Spare me some of the stupid boundaries of your pedestal." God, you were even talking like him now.

"I say it like that because I need to be cruel." He finally turned and looked at you, leaning on his arm.

"Why?" You knew the answer, but you wanted to hear him say it.

He snapped his book shut, his patience strained. Yes, this is what you were craving. You saw a crack in his resilience, and now you couldn't wait to shatter him.

Though, you didn't expect him to grab you by the jaw, forcing you to listen and see all of him. "Because you... Mortals make things messy. You expect too much, you feel too much, you're too involved." He took a beat, and his lips tightened. "If you knew what it meant to be involved with someone like me you would be ever grateful for that lack of clarity you so ardently press against."

Your chest ached, but the defiance in you consumed any pitiful feelings you held. Spite would make a monster of you. "Bullshit." You whispered. "I can take it, you know I can. If you didn't, then you would have never allowed yourself to get this close in the first place. You say it as if you weren't the one that barged your way into my life."

His gaze hardened into a glare. He spoke your name, another warning. "I will not stand at your grave, nor will I be the one to cause it. I am a god waiting to go home. This is your allowance, your entertainment. It is nothing more."

You laughed, humorless. "You don't get to make that choice for me, Loki."

"Oh, but I do." He assured, softening his grip on your jaw before it fell to the mattress. "Call me cruel, call me cowardly, call me whatever you'd like, but your murderer or demise will not be one of them."

That's when it clicked for you. Loki was afraid. He was afraid of not only himself but of himself when it came to you. He cared in the most twisted way he knew possible, and that was to be mean in order to not let you in. If he left you in, that's where things would get sticky.

He was a god. You were a mortal. He was right. This would never be anything more than entertainment to pass his time.

So you threw your white flag for the night, sighing and getting comfortable under the covers. "You're an ass."

It was Loki's turn to fetch a humorless laugh. "Tell me one I haven't heard."

You flicked your bedside lamp off, nothing but the city lights outside illuminating your shadows through your sheer curtains.

You could feel Loki shifting around beside you. For a moment, you expected him to get up and leave, but it never came. Instead, he seemed to turn and stare at the back of your head. You refused to give him the satisfaction of turning over to face him.

An hour must have passed when you felt Loki's cold hand ghost over your hip, gently inching you closer until your back was pressed into the outline of his chest. A nightly activity he had no idea you knew of that he indulged in. You still allowed it, for both of your sakes.

If this was all you could get out of one of the deadliest men on Earth, you would proudly champion it despite his cruelty.

You would allow this as your clarity, just for tonight.

[therottingstar]

Looking for JJK rp buddies!!

celestialgrotesque on discord! friend away!

Helloooo!! im celestialGrotesque and i am here to ask if anyone would like to be rp partners (also 18 n up) :3 Im 18, have little to no limits (except weird shit) and yeah Here are my mains - Megumi, Geto, Nobara, Choso my secondaryes - Yuji, Sukuna, Uraume, Mahito and mine "I love them, I can write them, but not that confident" - Gojo, Toji , mimiko and nanako (together, cant play them separately) ,Any other character really, just need to do research on them, kenjaku Ill tag the ships I like,,, so uh if this is in A SHIPP TAG,,,,,,,, AND YOU WANNA RP,,,,,,, big ol eyes QUALITY OVER QUANTITY RP!!

rp example belloww

Megumi hands felt as the warm water of the sink ran through them, carefully brushing the green side of the sponge against the small bowl he uttilized for dinner. As he washed the reminders of dirt away, he couldnt help but.... ponder. There was an emptiness weighing in the back of his neck, as he finished the dishes carefully placing them on the drying rack. He took off the small filter of the sink, trowing the disgusting wet pieces of food in the trash before finally putting it back in its place. Megumi washed his hands again, drying them in the nearby towel before running them through his hair. He took deep breaths, attempting to stabilize himself. But his thoughts grew erratic, his mind raced circles upon circles. It hurt. "hff.....huff..." He breathed, 'just like in therapy' he thought, sitting down back against the small cupboard under the sink. He covered his eyes with his hands, breathing as deeply as he managed. 'I must be the worst', he thinks. Today had been a particularly rough day for Megumi, he had a small disagreement with Nobara and Yuji, something considerably small for the two of them had ticked Megumi off, causing him to blow up on his friends. Why was Megumi like that? If he was to really think about it he was not worthy of his friends, Nobara and Yuji were sweet and strong people, people that didnt need him. And god how dare he shout at them like that. Hurt them like that. "Deep....breaths...." He felt iregular, out of control. His head was spinning and he felt like too much. The lights felt too bright and the world felt woozy. Weakly, he brings his hands together summoning the devine dogs, who carefully began comforting him. They put their weights on Fushiguro, carefully pushing down on him to assist on his regulation. It felt like days for Megumi, the breathlessness and spinning world stopping slowly but eventually, he felt ok enough to go to his bed. The two wolf-dogs hop on the bed aswell, snouts pressing against Megumi as he held his pillow, small tears forming in his eyes. He hated being weak like this. But- he would be ok. Thats something he knows. Thats something he was promised. He is going to be ok. THE FORMATTING IS FUCKED,,, BUT YOU GET THE JIST!!

[thewertsearch]

Ask Comp 28/6

It's in the recs list! I'm very much looking forward to this one.

I've certainly enjoyed what I've read so far - it's been nice to get back to the story's original protagonists.

The main mood of Act 5.2 is one of anticipation. We've been getting glimpses of the kids' Grand Plan ever since the Act began, and it very much feels like it's all building up to something. If Homestuck sticks the landing, and the Act 5 finale lives up to all this hype, then this might end up my favorite part of the story so far.

Yeah it's a session tag - although a 'reading session' is a little ambiguously defined, especially when I stop posting for a few hours and return later in the day. How long a gap does it need to be before it qualifies as a new reading session?

I've just been tagging every post made in the same day as the same session. It's not a perfect solution, but it'll do.

Wow, it started in 2010? I could conceivably have been reading Paranatural in school - although I'm glad I came to it a little later, so I wasn't constantly waiting for updates.

Big red peepers. I'll admit I didn't really think of this as a reveal, but I suppose it is our first true peek behind Dave's shades.

Based on this, it's it's probably safe to assume that all the kids have eyes matching their text colors. Has Rose been blessed with the legendary mutation, Alexandria's Genesis?

A few people mentioned this Squiddles meme. I like it, it's very Trunk & The Grunks.

I've really gotta catch up on those albums at some point...

I did wonder if Bro's sword shenanigans were something to do with Dave's Quest - like, maybe he was bequeathing his anime sword to his brother, to accomplish some objective. Now that Dave has his own Quest sword, I think that interpretation is less likely.

Symbolically though, I do think it's notable that Bro's sword is intact, and Dave's is broken. It ties into how Dave sees himself as a worse version of Bro, on some level.

As far as Jack is concerned, I doubt the game intends for him to have anything to do with Dave's journey. The whole point is that he's ignoring the game's rules - so if anything, his antics might start to break the Quests.

It sounds like the style was supposed to take readers aback - although I didn't find it particularly jarring myself!

Homestuck's art style is constantly changing, with this, the Earthbound sprites, and Hero Mode, among other things. Honestly, I had just assumed that the comic's art just fluctuated depending on Hussie's mood.

I quite like the HussNasty panels, and I hope Hussie keeps experimenting with the comic's art. It sounds like this is the beginning of a more general trend, so I'm hopeful that it will continue.

Oh, so it just straight up is Excalibur.

New theory about his Quest, then. It's about worthiness, and Dave is being tasked to 'prove himself' as a hero, despite his insecurities. This ties neatly into the next set of asks below:

Anonymous asked: my headcanon (partially supported by the text, as you've seen from rose's conversation with jaspers) is that each quest is designed to help you self-improve, so that you can responsibly preside over an entire universe. whether you agree with the game about the ways you need to improve is another story.

I've speculated that the Quests are teaching the Players how to sculpt their universe. Building on from this idea, then, these asks speculate that Quests are also trying to improve the Players as people, so that the nascent universe will flourish under their care.

It's an interesting idea - although it does beg the question of why Sburb is creating such flawed Players in the first place. If it's looking for self-actualized custodians for its universe, why did it create Players like the trolls, who wanted to rule over their universe like tyrants?

I guess it's possible that a flawed Player who self-improves is actually more resilient than a flawless Player who never needed to change. The former would potentially be more resilient, capable of adapting to the changing circumstances of their universe as it grows and evolves.

I wish! That's more of an aspirational schedule, really. I should probably delink it, if it's causing confusion.

I'm not sure whether this is Karkat's canonical birthday - but if it is, I like the irony inherent in the fact that he's not even a Cancer.

Yes - although I don't blame you for forgetting, since I don't think I've referenced it since the literal first post of the liveblog!

Oh, god, messages from 2024? Is Tumblr using Trollian as a backend?

Bizarre. I assume, then, that the trickster code was cut as well. :(

If we assume that Sburb did evolve, then it makes sense that it works this way. However, if it was created by some intelligent being, then holding the Players hostage like this seems pretty malicious.

I mean, there are ways to ensure participation in the game that don't involve destroying an entire planet. No matter how clear you were about the risks, if you asked the population of Earth for volunteers, you'd be guaranteed millions of responses.

All that said, if Sburb worked this way, we'd have a very different story. I understand why Sburb works the way it does, in the context of Homestuck's themes.

Speaking of Kingdom Hearts, I'd kind of love for Sora to visit a Homestuck world. His Keyblade upgrade could be the Wrinklefucker - and he'd have to unlock Vriska as a summon, right?

Do it. I've been rereading GtN this week, and as far as I'm concerned, Alecto can't come fast enough.

It is she. The million dollar question, of course, is whether Taylor is ultimately more of a constructive or destructive character.

I mean, I have an opinion, but resurrecting The Great Taylor Hebert Debate on this blog would be an exercise in hubris.

@wickedsick asked: The typically accepted name for Girl Egbert is June, after that one time Vriska spelt John with 64 O's and Egbert said they read it as a really long "June". [...]

Oh man, imagine being trolled by Vriska was your trans awakening. How would you ever recover?

Jokes aside, I like June, It's cute. I feel like if John transitioned she'd choose another 4 letter J-name like that, or a name from one of her movies, like Dana or Janine.

Come on - I'd be shocked if Homestuck didn't end with the straight characters getting outnumbered at least twenty-to-one.

Looks fine to me, I think. I assume the website just hiccupped - wouldn't be the first time!

It blows my mind every time I remember that Undertale came out in 2015. The beginning of the Undertale Era feels like it started simultaneously six months ago, and twenty years ago.

You open the TYPHEUS web browser and direct it to what is indisputably the most amazing website ever created.

Au contraire, my friend - Typheus showed up way back in Act 1!

[ I can't send them yet because they'd tell you a lot about the aspects, but someone sent classpect headcanons for discworld characters and they're SO GOOD - C ]

Damn it, I can't wait. Just based on what I've recently learned, I am convinced Rincewind would be the Something of Light.

[greynatomy]

haven’t posted in a while. lost some motivation on the other but will get back to it!

there’s is nothing sexual in this post so if you see the mature themes thing, ignore it cause it’s all fluff

this is a lisa manoban x male!reader instagram fix with shawn mendes as basically the face claim. lisa is from blackpink and i’ve become a fan after watching their coachella performances online. songs are a bop and are on repeat

let me know what you think of this one! send in some requests for things you want to see more as long as i have it open

-grey

———

liked by ynfan1, ynfan2 and 6,384 others

ynupdates yn is said to replace frank ocean at coachella weekend 2

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ynfan3 HOLY SHIT NO WAY

ynfan4 IM GONNA BE THERE

ynfan5 don’t disappoint us yn!!

↳ ynhater1 he’s not main stage worthy

↳ ynfan6 don’t hate before he even performs

liked by ynfan1, ynfan2 and 8,748 others

ynupdates yn arriving for coachella week 2

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ynfan3 HE SO FIIINNUHH??

ynfan4 He looks daddy

↳ ynfan5 he can be my sugar daddy

liked by ynfan1, bpfan1 and 10,847 others

ynupdates yn posted this video of lisa from blackpink on his story. ONLY LISA, not any of the other members!!

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bpfan2 OHMYGOD I AHHHH

ynfan2 any fan of yn’s know that he’s a big fan of bp… esp lisa

↳ bpfan3 wait really?!

↳ ynfan3 yeah! they met when blackpink first performed at coachella and been a fan ever since

↳bpfan4 that’s sick!!

liked by ynfan1, ynfan2, and 12,384 others

celebnews people had great things to say about yn yln's act at coachella. many said that it made up for frank ocean's disappointing performance, or lack thereof. he also performed a new, unreleased song called 'daydreams' and people are swooning.

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ynfan3 OUR BOY DOES NOT DISAPPOINT

ynfan4 all ya'll haters just hating

bpfan1 watched his act cause i heard he was a bp fan and i'm staying cause he is a vibe

↳ ynfan5 welcome new friend!!

liked by jennierubyjane, yourinstagram and 10,500,320 others

lalalalisa_m fun in the desert 🌵

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bpfan1 she posted yn and yn only!!

ynfan1 OMGGG I SHIP SO BAAADDD 🚢 🛳️

↳ bpfan1 i watched his act and IT WAS SO GOOD. i ship too

liked by bpfan1, ynfan1 and 15,374 others

bpupdates jennie posted the first one on her story, lisa posted the video as one of her instagram post slides and the last one was posted by a fan

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bpfan2 not lisa posting herself fangirling

ynfan2 awww they all watched the other's performance

liked by lisafan1, bpfan1 and 6,392 others

blackpinkupdates are lisa and y/n y/ln in a relationship? this tiktok has some ‘proof’

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bpfan2 lisa's post from earlier doesn't help with the rumors at all

↳ bpfan3 miss gurl just don't care

↳ bpfan4 she said fuck the management

ynfan1 he def hit that

↳ ynfan2 they could just be friends. they've known each other since 2019 and there weren't anyone saying anything then

↳ ynfan3 or they just hooking up

liked by harrystyles, lalalisa_m and 20,748,046 others

yourinstagram we actually said i do...

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ynfan1 OHMYGOD WHO IS ITTTTT

↳ ynfan2 HE DIDNT TAG ANYONEEEEE

hairstyles it was a great wedding mate. glad to have been your best man

↳ harryfan1 HARRY WAS BEST MAN

bpfan1 LISA LIKED OMGG

ynfan3 IM FREAKING OUT

liked by jennierubyjane, yourinstagram and 16,394,299 others

lalalisa_m ...about a year ago

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bpfan1 SHES MARRIED?? SHES FUCKING MARRIED??

jennierubykim AHHHHHHHH

sooyaaa_ YAAAY

roses_are_rosie WE BEEN KNEW

bpfan2 THIS IS THE BIGGEST FUCKING KEPT SECRET

↳ bpfan3 THE QUESTION IS TO WHOOOOO

ynfan1 HOLD UP HOLD UP! YN POSTED SOMETHING SIMILAR

↳ ynfan2 THEYRE MARRIED

liked by ynfan1, bpfan1 and 37,484 others

celebnews yn yln and lisa from blackpink are MARRIED. the two posted their own picture with yn's being "we actually said i do..." and lisa's being "...about a year ago" this came as a total shock to all yn and black pink fans all over as we have not seen them interact at all in the four years since they met. were you just as shocked by the news as everyone else?

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bpfan2 this was not in my list of things that would happed in the celeb world

ynfan2 they're the king and queen of secrets cause WOW

yourinstagram still can't believe she agreed to forever with me

↳ lalalisa_m @ yourinstagram how could i not?

↳ bpfan3 they're so cute ohmygod

↳ ynfan3 officially my favorite couple

bpfan4 DAYDREAMS IS ABOUT LALISAAAA

[arathergrimreaper]

I know I don't owe anyone an explanation of nuffin but I'm going to offer one anyway since most of y'all are cool:

I am...most likely going to be let go of from my job by the end of this month (both sad and happy news) due to the lack of federal funding we're going to to be receiving (you undoubtedly know why).

The clinic I work at, which has a separate grant that already went through either has to absorb my department into their own employee payroll or put us on unemployment. They don't have a role for me here I can feasibly do so it's the bricks for my keister.

This is going to affect all of our sister grantees in the other states as well (over 150 locations).

I'm not here to ask for money or writing to the senator of Ohio or anything like that (trust me, we've been doing that. i just sent an email to his case management office this morning basically begging him to do something and stop cowering like a...anyway).

I just want y'all to know I am going to be moving a fair bit of my more...cringe art to my main blog in the coming weeks because I am repurposing my art sideblog: iwouldliketoart for, well, making money with my art. I've got a Patreon in the process of approval right now for a webcomic I hope to make a regular thing and I plan on posting updates and where to get my poetry zine and stickers from (when I can decide where to host those for mail outs).

I'm not sitting idle and have been traditional job searching all over as well (for over 2 years now). I've gotten only one interview scheduled in the last month and it had to be cancelled when I looked up exactly how far I would expected to drive at night for a franchise that's clearly not hiring in my area right now.

Even remote work requires more experience and portfolio-worthy work than I have. Not that I even have my desktop to work on right now; I still have no money to get it fixed so it's been basically a paperweight since December. I'm thinking of getting into article or ghostwriting, but practicing that's taking time away from art and language learning.

Also trying to get the funds to go to web design classes via college loans again but that may fall through if I never get it.

I'll post when my Patreon is okay'd and keep y'all updated about that if you want to pop over and see what I have for sale but no pressure. I know it's fucking hard for everyone right now. I'm just going to be posting my fanfic and some of my questionable art from my art challenge year back on my main. It will be tagged eventually for the folks that follow my stories and what not, so you can block it, but yeah.

Stay freaky, please.

[chevvy-ryder]

Since my post yesterday I knew those thoughts would come back again, so I'll quickly write them down and explain what plagues me.

I am kinda afraid to post any written stuff here ‒ Ryder's chapter 4 specifically.

See, it always happens that the content I'm super proud of stays often unnoticed and even I got some tag comments that people will sit down to read it I rarely to never receive any feedback on the actual content itself afterward.

Most tag comments address the graphical way it was posted in the first place. At least this is how I receive it via my notifications.

I should not give a fuck about it, yet I do (working on this to overcome it eventually one day), as I know a few of my friends and followers do like my content and some told me in private about a few things.

But here is me wanting to desperately know how people felt reading about what we/I wrote so far!

I wanna know how they saw Ryder all the time since I created him and how they do see him now (after reading his take on Techno(ise) and previous chapters but especially when I post chapter 04).

I wanna know if my writing did move someone.

What was written stood out the most.

A favorite special detail.

A favorite sentence.

Stuff like that.

Recapping it all so far, we didn't really receive anything like that on the previous 3 chapters here with one exception.

I wanna know what people think of the Golden Demon of Kabuki.

How they see Vijay.

What they think of the fight scenes (they were so hard to write).

Do they like the dynamic of the characters?

What's the favorite chapter so far.

And so on.

The major thing I receive as a tag comment mostly is how incredible our/my work is ‒ yeah but what specifically? Just give me a detail that actually does tell me you have read it.

I project the tag comments mostly onto how it is packed as in the skill in graphic and layout design. The thing is, my choomzies, I know I am good at this ‒ I do not need to know my graphic skills are xyz good. This is a normal standard for me. Yes I understand a lot of people see it compliment worthy but it really is not what I seek after.

The real deal is the writing and the characters and their dynamics we both (@nervouswizardcycle and me) would love feedback on the most.

How do u see Arki? Vijay? Ryder? Hizumi?

The team's dynamic so far.

Who do you think is main protagonist in this?

What about the music we picked?

Anything.

Maybe I ask for too much, or maybe I should throw just the text onto ao3 without any graphics at all in hope to get the comments we seek after. But this story deserves more than just a text form given the magic of VP and digital tools we have.

I am super good in wishful thinking but reality hits you in the face every day anew.

Also: if there's anyone who feels the same about their work, feel free to tag/contact/send me your stuff, whether be it writing, vp or anything you wish to have a comment on.

I'm sick of this fast paced internet behavior our brains took on during the past few years. No one has time for anything at all (that still includes me too and I am working on it to be better). It's the main reason why I left so many discords now and don't participate on most social media platforms anymore either. Having 5 or more apps to post your content eats all the time and drains you. So I made the decision to focus on my own little server and tblr mainly now.

A small tip:

If I see a post with a lot of text over here (mostly when I get tagged on) I save it to my drafts so I'll always see it as a reminder to sit down and read through it. Bc if I just like it, and reblog it immediately with adding a tag telling the OP I need to find time to read asap, bru, I just won't do it bc it vanishes amongst my other likes/reblogs.

Dunno, but others maybe might add an extra tag where they go through it again to have it as a reminder?However, using drafts is the thing that works for me best when I want to read someones content on another day bc I got noticed or saw it but currently have no time bc of. eg. work.

Anyhow, enough babbling.

I'm off to play at bit Horizon. Thx for reading choom <3