#mostly lines from Army of Darkness

[texas-gothic]

The first part of watching the Evil Dead musical is finding out, holy shit, there’s an Evil Dead musical.

The second part of watching the Evil Dead musical is realizing that the Evil Dead musical fucking sucks.

[punkshort]

The Farmer's Daughter

Pairing: Marcus Acacius x f!reader one-shot

Summary: Forced to sell your body after your father's farm went under, you find yourself hand picked to service the Roman army on their latest battle away from Rome. What you didn't expect was to be selected to share General Acacius's room for the duration of the journey.

Warnings: language, smut (18+ MDNI), heavy talks of prostitution, mentions of SA but none occur, reader is a (new) prostitute, virginity loss (no blood mentioned just some discomfort), descriptions of battle wounds/blood, food and alcohol consumption, one bed trope, enemies to lovers-ish, unprotected piv sex, thigh riding, angst, possessiveness

WC: 10.2K

Dividers by @saradika-graphics

A/N: I know by this point his character is mostly referred to as Acacius in the film but I'm sorry, I can't wrap my head around someone moaning that name in bed. So let's just ignore that, okay?

How did this happen? Why did fate play you such a cruel and twisted hand?

When you were younger, you expected to be married off to be a housewife to a solider. From what you heard growing up, it wasn't a terrible life. The men were gone most of the time which allowed the women to run the household and raise children in peace. Unfortunately, your mother died during childbirth and your father, a humble farmer, passed away too early in life, leaving you and his few workers to keep the farm operating for as long as possible. To make money, you spent much of your time at the market, selling the food you made on the farm and the goods you weaved and molded from the scraps.

It wasn't enough. You lost the farm after a handful of years and you were on the brink of becoming destitute. Already you were malnourished and dehydrated, but as hard as you tried, you couldn't find work.

That was how you found yourself in a long line of women, standing silently with your heads bowed and your hands clasped as you were all throughly inspected by a senior officer of the Roman army. They were choosing their group of whores to hire to accompany the men on their next battle across the sea. You were left with no other option but to sell your only remaining asset. The thought turned your stomach, but the idea of starving to death was worse.

One by one, women were hand picked to step forward and exit the room. All in all it had to have been close to forty whores hired to service an entire army.

The odds were not in your favor if you were picked.

It came as a relief when you ended up not getting chosen. You breathed a deep sigh and lifted your chin, scanning the room of remaining women and senior ranking soldiers. You would make do somehow. At least you wouldn't be spreading your legs multiple times a night for different men after they've spent the day fighting and working up their appetite.

You turned to follow the women back out onto the streets of Rome, no doubt searching for another way to sell their bodies, when you heard a deep, familiar voice call your name. You froze in disbelief, wondering who could possibly know you, and then you slowly turned.

It was General Acacius. The fearless leader of the Roman army, but you knew him from your stand in the market. Whenever he was home from battle, he always found you and purchased more than he could possibly need, feeding you and your farmhands for weeks. He never said much and neither did you, but you had grown fond of seeing his greying curls and dark, smoldering eyes approach your stall, albeit with a new wound or scar to show for his travels.

You did not even realize he knew your name.

His eyes drifted up and down your worn tunic, noticing the stains and rips and your poor fitting sandals. Your gaze flickered nervously around the room at the other men impatiently looking to wrap up their work and begin their long journey, but remained silent, deferring to the general.

"You will come with us," was all he said, his voice booming in the small room. Your blood ran cold and panic seized your throat.

"But the choices have already been made-"

"I am paying. I believe I am allowed to decide how many whores we bring along."

You clamped your mouth shut, brows furrowing in anger. How foolish you were to assume he was a man of honor, a man who wanted to help you when he bought your meager wares in the market. As it turned out, he was no better than any other, only out to seek pleasure between your legs.

At that point, you knew better than to argue. Your fate was sealed. Begrudgingly, you forced yourself to follow after the other chosen women, walking past the high ranking officials who sized you up as you went.

The army was to travel by ship. Or multiple ships, to be exact. The women were counted off and told to stand in smaller groups, one handful of whores for each ship of hungry soldiers. When your group was assigned, you heard that familiar powerful voice come out of nowhere once again, stopping everybody in their paths.

"She is to travel on mine," General Acacius announced. A few men exchanged confused glances and Acacius grew irritated. "That one," he clarified, pointing directly at you. The other men quickly nodded and shuffled you into another group, and you thought that would be the end of it, but then he spoke again as the others began to board.

"She will stay in my chambers."

If the soldiers were surprised, they hid it well, but you didn't. You whipped around and glared at him defiantly, a litany of disrespectful curses on the tip of your tongue. Thankfully, you remembered your place and who you were speaking to and caught yourself before you got killed, but as you turned to board the ship, you noticed an amused smirk play across the general's lips.

A young solider shoved you into the general's quarters, ordering you to not go through his things or they would cut off your hands, then slammed the door shut, leaving you all alone. The rest of the women had gone below deck, most likely to a shared room that was filthy and freezing cold. You, on the other hand, had a beautiful soft bed and a roaring fire to warm yourself by a small wooden dining table. There was a bookshelf tucked into the corner and your fingers itched to pull the books out and examine them, but you didn't dare. Instead, you sat on the small cushioned bench next to the only porthole in the room, tucking your knees against your chest protectively while you waited for the inevitable.

Sleep took hold of you at some point while you waited for the general to retire. The last thing you remembered was the open sea and the glorious golden sun beginning to dip just below the horizon. When you awoke, it was dark, the only light in the room coming from the fire. You rubbed the sleep from your eyes and unfurled yourself from your bench to look around, then nearly yelped when you found the general quietly sitting at the table pouring himself wine.

Your heart raced violently in your chest, knowing full well what he expected of you. And despite offering yourself up earlier that day as a whore, you had decided you would not do it for this man. Because this man came to your booth in the market under the guise of kindness that turned out to be a lie, and it simply did not sit right with you.

"I will not lie with you willingly," you announced boldly with your arms crossed. The general quirked an eyebrow and took a long sip of his wine.

"When was the last time you have eaten?"

You scowled, body vibrating with energy and ready for a fight only to be met with indifference.

"I am not hungry."

"You will eat or you will die," he said, avoiding your eye and standing to collect a plate of food by the door. He dropped it onto the table and pointed angrily at it. "Eat."

"Why?"

"You need your strength, you are frail."

"You do not like your whores thin, then?" you shot back. Acacius clenched his jaw, eyes still cast down. "You wish to fatten me up so you have something to hold onto when you force my legs apart?"

"That is enough!" he roared, fiery eyes finally finding yours and pinning you with an intense stare that had you trembling. "I will not be forcing you to do anything except eat. Now sit down, do not test my patience."

It was a combination of fear and hunger that made you obey, sinking down into the chair opposite his where the plate of lukewarm food awaited you. Acacius sat down and picked up his goblet, watching you from over the rim as you slowly began to pick at the food. You both remained silent while you ate and he drank, the only sound to be heard was the crackling from the fire and the distant laughter and yells from his men in the galley below.

He was right. You hadn't eaten in days. It was no wonder you fell asleep so quickly earlier. You wanted to express your thanks, but you were too stubborn. Instead, you finished your food and put the plate in the basin of water by the door before looking around the room once again. It was easily the nicest room on the ship. You had to imagine most of the soldiers would be sleeping in hammocks stacked on top of one another down below, but the general had the biggest, softest looking bed you had ever seen in your life.

But there was only one.

He watched you from his place at the table, studying your face as you worked out the mechanics.

"I will not force myself upon you if we share the bed," he said, dragging your attention back to him. He was still in his armor, all shiny and clean from the public celebration that took place prior to the army's departure.

"Why am I here, if not to pleasure you?" you asked. You sounded calmer than before but you were still very much on edge.

"You believe I would find pleasure in forcing myself upon a woman?" he questioned before draining his cup. You thought about it for a moment and shrugged.

"Perhaps. Yes."

He stared down at his empty chalice, your heinous opinion of him rolling around in his head and making his chest ache.

"Well, I do not," he proclaimed, standing up quickly and causing his chair to almost topple backwards. He began to unhook his heavy armor, dropping it into a pile on the floor until he was down to his tunic.

"If we were to lie together, it would be because you wish it so," he said softly with his back to you. You swallowed thickly.

"What am I to do here, then?" you asked as he began to turn down his sheets. He slid his tired body into bed and sighed.

"Whatever you like. So long as you stay in this room, you will remain unharmed."

You blinked rapidly, desperately trying to put the pieces together.

"That is all?"

"Yes. That is all. My only wish is you are safe and fed."

You couldn't help it. You had to ask.

"But... why?"

But the general rolled onto his side, effectively ending your conversation and leaving you wondering what you had gotten yourself into.

That first night, you did not share his bed. You slept on the bench by your porthole, curled up small, arms wrapped around yourself protectively until the sun rose. When you awoke, the general was gone, but a plate of food was left on the table for you.

The first week on the ship went exactly the same. You stayed in his chambers, staring out at the sea or sleeping until he returned way past dark with some food for you and a tired look in his eye. And every night, you slept on the bench, still far too distrusting of him.

The second week, the general brought a game with him at dinner time. Two cups and two wooden dice. The idea was you had to guess what you would roll. If you won, you got whatever you bet on the round. It wasn't that entertaining at first since you had only the clothes on your back and nothing else, but what you did have were stories or songs or a slight of hand trick your father taught you when you were young.

You wouldn't realize until much later that it was his way of getting to know you better.

"You released all the cows from the pasture?" Acacius repeated in disbelief. You giggled and nodded.

"I was only six years old! I thought they were being held against their will!"

Acacius laughed, the sound making you grin like a fool and your cheeks warm.

"Alright," he said once he got ahold of himself. "Go on."

You picked up the die and tossed them into a cup, giving it a firm shake and smiling when he shot you a playful wink.

You clapped the cup firmly over the table and before you raised it up, you announced, "One three and one five."

"What is your wager?"

You nodded towards his bookshelf. "One of your books."

He looked up at you in shock. "You can read?"

You gave him a fake look of disgust and nodded. "Of course I can read."

"And you have been here this whole time without picking up a book?"

"Your men told me they would cut off my hands if I touched what is yours."

His face softened and he sat back in his chair.

"No one will touch you," he told you firmly. You stared at one another, the heavy moment weighing between you, the implication of his words impossible to deny. No one will touch you because you are his.

To break the tension, you smirked and said, "So I suppose that means I do not need to wager the books?"

Acacius grinned and shook his head. "Too late, little one."

You rolled your eyes and lifted the cup, pouting when you saw two six's.

"Your turn," you said, pushing the cup to the side.

Acacius collected the dice and dumped them into the cup, shaking it while looking at you curiously from across the table and admiring the way the light from the fire flickered over your beautiful face.

"You can still take a book."

You perked up but shook your head. "That is against the rules of the game, General."

"I make the rules. Take a book tomorrow," he insisted before slamming the cup down. His large hand gripped the top of the cup, keeping it pressed tightly against the table.

"Your wager?" you asked, cocking your head to the side.

He swallowed, wondering if he should say what he wanted to say. The fear that you would pull away from him again fought against the insatiable attraction he had harbored for you for years. But the wine must have won the fight because he said, "One kiss."

Your eyebrows shot up in surprise and for a moment, he thought he made a horrible mistake. But then you squared your jaw and narrowed your eyes and said, "Go ahead."

He grinned, pulse thrumming excitedly in his throat when he said, "One one and one four."

But when he lifted the cup, his face fell. A three and a six.

"Ah, well," he said, shoulders drooping. He yawned and stood to collect the dice. "Better luck tomorrow."

Before you could stop yourself, you stood as well and leaned up to peck a chaste kiss against his scruffy cheek. He looked at you in surprise and you gave him a crooked grin.

"For the book."

He smiled and nodded, doing his best to hide his disappointment as you got yourself ready for bed. You had a small pillow and thin blanket to curl up with by the porthole, and it irked him that you wouldn't take more. He feared you would catch a sickness and your malnourished body wouldn't be able to fight off an infection, but you were so stubborn that he couldn't convince you otherwise.

However, the third and final week at sea had you shivering on your bench. Acacius could hardly sleep knowing how cold you were. He could hear your teeth chattering from across the room.

"I beg of you, please sleep in my bed," he said one night as you began to make your little nest by the porthole. You shook your head.

"I am fine, I swear it."

"You are not fine. Please, I will not touch you, you have my word."

You chewed on your lower lip and looked over his shoulder at his warm, plush bed. He could see your resolve begin to falter, so he offered to sleep on the bench in your place.

"No, do not be ridiculous. You have an army to lead tomorrow, you cannot be tense as a knot because you slept on a too small bench."

"I will if it means you are safe and warm," he said softly, his vulnerability taking you off guard.

"General-" you sighed, but he cut you off.

"Please. I promise I will remain on my side of the bed. Just stop being so stubborn for once in your life."

You scoffed and propped your hands on your hips. "For once in my life? And what would you know of it?"

He squinted at you and crossed his arms. "I know more than you think. I know you would not quit until you broke in that filly when you were twelve years old. I know you nearly pushed a boy down a well when he tried to kiss you in front of the whole school. I know you argued with your teacher over the correct spelling of amaranth and I know you poured every last bit of yourself into a dying farm just to keep the memory of your father alive."

Your jaw hung open in surprise, taken aback by the way he stored all of the little snippets of your life you had given him over the past two weeks only to end it with his own observation of you at the market.

You could feel yourself growing weak for him, the temptation to give in too much to bear. He had been slowly wearing you down since you arrived and perhaps he was right, perhaps you were far too stubborn because the last thing you wanted to do was go back on the proclamation you made that very first night.

So, you chose to be defiant.

"Fine," you snapped, swiveling on your heel and stomping towards his bed. "If you wish to share your bed with a whore so badly, then so be it."

Acacius rounded the bed and slipped in beside you, making sure to leave plenty of space.

"You and I both know you are no whore."

"Oh, you know so very much about me, I forget."

You tugged the heavy blankets up to your chin and tried not to audibly sigh at how comfortable it was in his bed.

"If you are a whore, tell me then: how many men have you laid with?"

You clenched your jaw, angry that he was able to figure you out so easily. Instead of answering, you rolled onto your side, your back to him, and muttered, "good night."

Acacius grinned and closed his eyes, proud of himself for besting you.

"Good night."

The following morning, you awoke earlier than usual. When your eyelids fluttered open, the first thing you noticed was the ache in your bones was gone. The large, soft bed had been enough to cure you in just one night.

Not something you planned on admitting to the general, of course.

The second thing you noticed when you sat up in bed was that the ship was not moving. It was completely still, and you could hear loud, quick footsteps outside your door and above your head. Men were shouting to one another and the clink of swords and armor were echoing throughout the halls. Then, through the walls somewhere above you, you heard the general's deep, booming voice yelling orders to his men. You threw off the blankets and hurried to the porthole, your eyes widening when you saw land and small boats being lowered into the water.

You had arrived at whatever distant land the emperors demanded Acacius claim for Rome, and the soldiers were getting ready to depart for their first fight.

You chewed nervously on your nail, curled up against the wall and peering out the window for hours until the very last boat sailed away. In the distance, you could see the general's broad back covered in armor, his dark curls fluttering in the sea breeze and his massive sword tucked dutifully at his waist.

He had left for war and didn't even say goodbye.

Why would you care if he said goodbye? Maybe if they all die, you could escape to shore and be free, find a new city and make a home for yourself.

Even you had to admit that fantasy was foolish. No matter where you went, your fate would always be the same. You had no money, no prospects, no skills and no family. Your destiny was already written and it was a miracle your first attempt at prostitution landed you in the cushy quarters of Rome's surprisingly respectful general.

Your nerves kept your feet moving all day. You tidied up the general's desk, sorting his papers and maps. You scrubbed at the dishware until they sparkled and you made the bed, fluffing up the pillows and tucking in the loose edges until you had nothing left to do. The room was as neat as possible, not a single item out of place, and yet you still floundered around looking for something to occupy your busy mind.

When the sun began to dip and his room grew darker, you went around lighting candles to allow for more light. You were in the middle of lighting the last candle when you heard a timid knock at the door.

Nobody had ever come to his chambers the entire three weeks besides the general himself. You swallowed anxiously, wondering who it could be and if you should answer when you heard a woman's small voice from the other side of the door.

You decided it was safe and opened the door a crack to find one of the whores you had boarded the ship with waiting on the other side with buckets of water and a basin.

"For the general," she said softly. You nodded and dragged the buckets into the room, trying not to stare at the bruises and dirt littering her dry skin. Your stomach twisted with guilt after she left and you locked the door. The other women were living like cattle and you were living the life of luxury. Not only was the general not forcing you to fuck him, but you were giving him sass at every turn.

It was a harsh reminder of your fortune, of what your life could be like. The thought of living the life of the women below deck frightened you, so you had decided that evening when the general returned, you would give yourself to him to show your appreciation, as well as out of fear he would soon get rid of you if you didn't give him what he wanted.

You remained at your post, staring out at the dark sea until you could see the bobbing of lanterns making their way across the black expanse, letting you know the men were returning for the night. You rushed to warm up his water over the fire, dumping it into the large basin. You poured some scented oils into the bath just as the door unlocked and opened, revealing a very filthy and exhausted looking general holding two plates of food.

"Good evening," you said, standing obediently. Acacius paused at the door, confused by your formality before closing it with his heel and setting down the food at the table. "I have a warm bath ready for you, General," you added, pointing towards the basin. He nodded tiredly and began to work on the hooks of his armor. You rushed forward to help him, once again taking him by surprise until he was stripped down to his red tunic.

"Would you like to eat or bathe first?" you asked. The general sighed and looked longingly at the bath.

"I will clean myself while you eat," he said. He pointed towards the table and motioned for you to turn around.

"May I assist you instead, General?" you asked with your back turned. You could hear the shuffle of fabric falling to the wooden floor and then a sharp hiss when he sunk down into the warm water.

"Assist me with what? Cleansing myself? I believe I can manage," he chuckled. You turned around to stare at the back of his head, his body now submerged in the water and hidden from view, but you could still see his shoulders and arms. They looked bruised and bloodied.

He didn't notice your eyes on him, of course. He was busy scrubbing the dirt and blood from his skin while he looked around the tidy room.

"It is very nice in here, you did not have to straighten up."

It was the least you could do and you knew it but said nothing.

Instead, you shakily lifted your worn tunic over your head and let it crumple to the floor. Nerves fluttered in your stomach as you slowly approached him, the general completely unaware as he continued to scrub his skin.

"I can think of another way to assist you," you said nervously as you stepped into his eyeline. His chin tilted up and he did a double take when he saw your naked form standing before him. His cloth dropped into the water and his jaw fell open in surprise, eyes wide and greedily raking over your body.

"Wh- what is this?" he stammered, gaze glued to your chest. Your fingers fidgeted at your sides under his scrutiny.

"I thought I would show you my appreciation for your hospitality," you explained. "I would like to repay you in some way for choosing me to share your quarters."

A small smile tugged at his lips as he eagerly reached forward, then stopped when he registered your words. He looked up at you questioningly, excitement falling from his face when he asked, "What do you mean, repay me?"

You shrugged and took a hesitant step forward, close enough now so he could reach out and touch your cunt if he chose.

"I realized today my fate could have been much harsher," you explained. "I have not been showing you my appreciation and respect, and in return, I wish to give you my body to use as you see fit."

Acacius frowned and turned his head away, searching for the cloth so he could continue cleaning himself.

"I do not want your body as payment, I believe I told you that weeks ago."

"You said we would not lie together unless I wished it so," you protested. "I now wish it."

"You wish to lay with me out of obligation, not desire. That is not something I want."

Embarrassment and confusion flooded your mind as you slowly stretched your arms across your exposed body, trying to hide yourself out of shame.

"I apologize-"

"Get yourself decent and eat," he commanded without looking up. His voice sounded hard and cold and for some reason, it made you want to cry. You did as you were told, dragging your dirty tunic over your head and sat quietly at his table to pick at your food. You were confused and ashamed, sitting in the tense room with him while you tried to work out what he wanted from you. The idea of wanting a man out of desire never occurred to you. You had grown up under the impression women of your station did not get to experience the luxury of desire, and instead came to terms early on in life that you always had one asset to use at your disposal.

Not one time did you ever imagine being with a man out of affection or love.

"I apologize," you tried again after he had dried off and joined you. He had changed into a clean, white tunic and was clenching a similar one in his fist.

"You may use this," he said, ignoring your apology yet again. He thrusted the tunic towards you and you fumbled when you took it from his grasp. "The one you are wearing looks as if it might fall apart the moment you step outside and feel the sea breeze."

"Thank you," you murmured, fingertips brushing over the soft and expensive material in your lap.

"I will also call for more water tomorrow so you may wash yourself," he said before biting into a chunk of bread.

Your cheeks went hot with shame, still feeling guilt over the mercy and generosity he had shown you.

"I do not know what it is to desire someone," you said after a few quiet moments. Acacius continued to chew and kept his focus fixed on his plate. "I never imagined it would be a part of my life. May I remind you we come from different worlds."

He grunted in response but you noticed his shoulders begin to relax.

"I understand. But you must stop treating yourself as a whore. You are so much more than that, I have seen it with my own eyes. And to watch you debase yourself, to think so lowly of yourself, breaks my heart."

Your breath caught in your throat and you felt tears begin to well up, quickly threatening to spill down your cheeks. How could you have been so wrong? How could you not see the man for who he really was? He was a man who was gentle, kindhearted, protective and most importantly, cared very deeply for you. To what extent, you were unsure, but if he wanted you to desire him and he saved you from being used by countless other men, he certainly must have harbored stronger feelings than you ever thought possible.

"Alright."

His dark eyes flicked up to yours when you spoke.

"I will not debase myself," you said flatly. The corner of his mouth twitched before he looked back down at his food.

"Very well. I am pleased that has been sorted," he replied before shoving his plate off to the side and standing to collect the cups and dice. "Shall we play a few rounds before bed?"

You grinned and nodded, gathering up your plates and dumping them in the water by the door to clean later before joining him back at the table. And somehow, the awkwardness from the evening faded away after a few rolls of the dice.

It had been two weeks docked off shore on some foreign land. You hadn't left his room in over a month and you were beginning to feel insane. You told him as much early one morning when he was dressing for battle. It was still dark outside. Acacius had mentioned he wanted to arrive on shore before dawn so that he might get into position under the cover of night.

"When I return tonight, I will take you up on the deck for some fresh air," he promised as he cinched up his armor. "Do not leave this room when I am not here."

"Why not? Are your men not with you during the daytime?" you asked from his bed.

"It is not my men I worry about," he explained, sheathing his sword after lacing up his sandals.

"Then what do you worry for?"

"I worry about everything," he confessed. His hand was on the doorknob poised to leave, but he stopped to turn to you one last time. "I do not trust the soldiers from this city not to try to climb aboard the ships whilst we are gone. It is important the ships appear empty."

You nodded in understanding before burrowing back in his sheets and he couldn't help but smile at the sight of you looking comfortable and radiant in his bed.

"Behave, my dove, and we may dine on the deck tonight," he said, making you smile wide. He slipped quietly out of his room and locked the door behind him, fearful if he lingered any longer, he may not leave the ship the whole day.

You spent the afternoon reading and bathing and cleaning the general's dirty clothes in the extra water he had brought up after he left. You weren't sure how it happened, but the two of you had fallen into a life of domesticity amidst war without even sharing so much as a kiss.

What surprised you the most was you enjoyed it. You enjoyed tending to his things and cleaning what you could during the day, and then caring for him at night when he returned all bloodied and tired.

It had not once crossed your mind that he may not return until it happened.

That night, you saw the lanterns bobbing over the water, your signal to begin heating up his water for a bath. Your hair smelled like the expensive oils you poured into his water from your own bath earlier. You smiled to yourself when you thought of smelling like him, and him of you.

Heavy footsteps landed on the wooden floorboards above your head and outside your door. At first, nothing seemed amiss. Acacius usually didn't come to his room right away. He typically visited the wounded soldiers in the infirmary, making sure they were well tended to and fed before doing his rounds, assigning a night crew, and then finally gathering food for you both before retiring for the evening.

But more time passed than usual. You could tell because your stomach began to rumble and his water grew lukewarm. You paced around the room, ears straining to hear the voices from the other soldiers, trying to discern anything from their muffled conversations.

It wasn't until two hours went by that you heard a sharp rap at the door and a man's voice echoing on the other side, announcing he brought you food.

Your blood went cold and you wondered if you should open the door, but then you remembered Acacius told you he wasn't worried about his own men, the underlying message being that his soldiers would never touch what was his. So after a moment's hesitation, you swung open the door.

"Here," a young man said, shoving one plate of food towards you. His face was stained with dried blood and dirt and you frowned before taking the food and thanking him softly.

"Where is the general?" you asked timidly.

"He fell in battle," he grumbled before turning away. Your heart plummeted as you reached out and grabbed his shoulder, taking him by surprise.

"What do you mean?" you exclaimed. Fear and adrenaline mixed with something foreign coursed through your veins as you felt your lower lip tremble. The solider shook you off with disgust before stepping back.

"He was struck down. Last I saw of him he was lying still on the battlefield."

When he saw the look of despair on your face, he took pity on you.

"Others were assisting him, his body will return to Rome," he assured you before giving you a firm nod and disappearing down the long hall, leaving you to collapse into a fit of sobs behind the locked door.

The feeling you had in your chest was similar to the way you felt when your father passed, but something was different. It felt like a piece of you went dark, like you may never smile or laugh ever again. Grief consumed every fiber of your being and you found yourself crawling into his bed, face streaked with tears so thick you could hardly see your hands reach for his pillow. You pulled it tightly against your chest and you curled up around it, muffling your wails until your head began to pound and your body felt weak.

You drifted in and out of sleep, tossing and turning until the room grew cold and the fire dissolved into embers. You stood and wrapped a blanket around yourself, sniffling and shuffling over to the fire to stoke the flames wearing the general's spare tunic he had gifted you. After a few minutes, the fire roared back to life and you sat back with a heavy sigh.

Just as you were wondering what you would do come morning and how you would ever be able to move on without him, you heard footsteps approaching. You whipped around in fear and tightened your grip on the blanket. With the general no longer around to protect you, you had assumed the other men would eventually come looking for you, but you had to admit you didn't expect it so fast.

You curled yourself into a ball on your old bench, staring at the doorknob, expecting to see it jiggle and eventually forced open from the other side, but to your surprise the lock clicked quietly and the door slowly creaked open.

When you saw the general appear, limping and bloodied but still alive, you practically screamed. You jumped to your feet and rushed over, moments away from throwing yourself into his arms before you caught yourself.

"Acacius," you whispered in disbelief, the informality slipping easily past your lips for the very first time. He gave you a tired smile and locked the door behind him.

"I apologize for missing dinner," he said. You laughed as two fresh tears trickled down your cheeks. Your hands hovered nervously over his armor as if you weren't sure where you could touch him.

"Apology accepted," you replied before gingerly unhooking the armor around his shoulders. He groaned with relief when you lifted the heavy metal off him and set it against the wall by the door to polish another time. When you turned back around, you gasped at the blood that had seeped through his tunic, staining the yellow fabric a dark red.

"You are hurt," you whimpered, then hurried around his room for clean cloths, healing oils, and salves he kept in his desk. "Take that off and sit down. Allow me to tend to your wound."

He wordlessly lifted the ruined tunic over his head, wincing slightly when the wound at his side pulled, and he sat down at the table just as you instructed. You collected some of the unused water from his bath and set it over the flames to warm up before scooping up some more and setting it on the table next to him.

"They stemmed the bleeding on the boat," he explained. "It just needs to be cleaned and perhaps -"

"I will handle this. You just rest and eat," you told him, pushing your plate of uneaten food in his direction. His eyes fell onto the food and he frowned.

"It is untouched," he said, "why did you not eat?"

"How could I when I thought you were dead?" you snapped as you brought a soaked rag to his side and began to gently pat at the nasty looking gash.

Acacius took a bite of food, the flavors melting onto his tongue and making him groan. He didn't realize how hungry he was and before he knew it, he had eaten all of the food except for the grapes. You were leaning across his lap, bandaging up his wound with intense focus. He sighed contentedly, basking in the warmth from the fire and the soft touch of your hand on his skin. He could already feel his strength beginning to return.

"That should hold," you said, sitting upright to inspect your work. He glanced down and raised his eyebrows at the neat little bandage you had adhered to his wound.

"You did a very good job. Where did you learn such things?"

You shrugged and began to clean up the salves and oils. "On a farm, many accidents happen. You learn quickly how to tend to a wound."

He smiled and sipped from the wine you had poured for him while watching you move around the room, disposing of his soiled clothes and rags and then bringing the bucket of warm water over to the table with a fresh cloth.

When you pulled the other chair closer and sat, fitting your legs between his knees so you could reach him, he began to protest.

"You do not need to -"

"I want to," you said, cutting him off with a warm, wet cloth on his aching shoulders. His eyelids fluttered with a groan, leaning back into his chair and giving in. It felt so wonderful to be washed by your hand, to have you so close and safe while tenderly caring for him. It was all he had been dreaming about for years, ever since the first day he saw you at the market.

"So many scars," you whispered, swiping the cloth down his broad, strong chest. His breathing stuttered when you reached his stomach and he tensed.

"I have been in many battles," he murmured with his eyes still closed. You hummed to yourself and continued to work, diligently and carefully scrubbing away the layers of blood and grime until you cleaned everything you could see.

"Can you lean forward, General?" you asked, "I would like to cleanse your back."

He nodded and with a grunt, sat upright so he could lean forward. You stood from your chair and positioned yourself behind him, taking great care with every swipe of your cloth, afraid of unearthing a new wound under all the filth.

"Back to general now, are we?" he asked.

Your hand paused on his shoulder blade. He sensed your confusion and he chuckled.

"When I first arrived, you called me Acacius," he explained.

"Oh," you breathed before continuing your work. "That was disrespectful, I -"

"No, I quite liked it," he said before you could finish apologizing. "You may call me Marcus when we are alone, if you prefer."

Your eyes widened and although he couldn't see you, he could tell you were surprised.

"That would be highly irregular," you finally said softly, putting down the wet cloth and picking up a bottle of perfumed oil. You sprinkled a few drops into your palm and you rubbed your hands together. "That name should only be used by those closest to you."

He opened his mouth to respond but when your slick hands found his shoulders and your fingers began to dig into the knots in his muscles, he moaned and felt himself go lax.

"Oh gods, that feels incredible," he rasped. The deep timber of his voice sent a wave of arousal right to your core. You continued to work on his back and shoulders, privately marveling at his broad frame and firm muscles under his scarred, bronzed skin. He was truly something to behold. So strong, handsome, and fearless. Yet also kind and gentle. The proximity of his body and the ricocheting emotions you had experienced that evening had you reacting to him in a way you never had before. It was confusing and strange yet also exciting, and the noises you were drawing from his mouth with every roll of your thumbs was causing a dull ache to form between your thighs.

You blinked and cleared your throat, trying to shake the heavy curtain of lust that clung to you.

"What happened out there? One of your men informed me you were dead."

Marcus sighed and sat up straight, the angle causing you to drop your hands from his tight shoulders. One of his massive hands reached back to take yours so he could lead you to stand in front of him, between his knees.

"They had called a truce. They requested to discuss terms of surrender, so I called off my men and went to speak with their king," he began, his hand still engulfing your own as he gazed up at you with his soft, dark eyes. "It was a trap. They ambushed me when I got out of range. It must have been twenty of them," he continued solemnly, his thumb brushing against your wrist as he spoke. "I slayed them all, one by one, but once I took down their final solider, an archer took aim from the wall. I was able to dodge the arrow but I was not quick enough," he chuckled and looked down at his wound. "I am not the young man I once was."

"I cried for hours," you admitted quietly. His eyes darted up to yours again, holding his breath as you spoke. "I had never considered you would not return to me at the end of the day. However, when I got word you had died-"

You paused when a sob got lodged in your throat. You knit your brows together, hoping to stave off your tears while Marcus patiently waited. Eventually, you gave him a watery smile and lifted your free hand to cup his cheek.

"I felt a grief I never thought I would feel again," you said, voice shaking. His eyes searched your face, watching the way your anguish rolled through you at the memory. He swallowed tightly and, with his other hand, gently gripped your waist.

"Tell me," he whispered, "did you feel these things only because you feared for your safety if I was not here?"

You shook your head as one singular tear trickled down your cheek.

"No," you breathed, "it was because I felt like a part of me died, too. Because I could not imagine my life without you."

When you saw the joyful look in his eye, you quickly closed the remaining distance between you, leaning down the rest of the way and slanting your mouth desperately over his. He moaned and dropped your hand so he could cup the back of your neck, pulling you even closer so you were forced to straddle his lap.

"Do you know what you do to me?" he groaned amid kisses that were growing increasingly messy as the heat between you grew. "How badly I want you? How long I have waited?"

Your mind was blank. You couldn't think of a single thing to say, but Marcus didn't give you a chance to respond, anyway. His tongue slipped past your lips, greedily swirling in tandem with yours and forcing your jaw to open wider. The hand on your waist dropped to flatten against your lower back and he pressed you forward so not even a sliver of moonlight could sneak between your bodies.

Underneath your gifted tunic, you were bare. When you joined the other whores all those weeks ago, they told you there was no use for undergarments, that the men would just destroy them if you bothered to wear any, so just like all the others, you never did. It had never been a problem until that very moment, when Marcus had you writhing in his lap, hips stretched wide and cunt free to rub against his thigh. When you first made contact with his leg, the firm muscle brushing against your sensitive clit, you jumped in his lap and moaned into his mouth.

"Tell me, sweet thing," he murmured when he finally broke the kiss. You were panting heavily, eyelids drooping with need as you gazed down at him. "I know you have not sold yourself to a man, but have you ever laid with one before?"

You shook your head and wrapped your arms around the back of his neck, holding him close. His lips brushed up against your throat and he began to suck on the sensitive skin there as both of his hands fell to your hips. Gently, he rocked you back and forth, sliding your slick, bare cunt over his thigh. He heard you sigh and smiled against your skin when your head dipped backwards in pleasure.

"Does that feel good?"

"Yes," you whispered, voice raspy and thick. "Oh, yes, it feels... heavenly," you told him with a sigh.

"Good," he grunted, "keep going. Do not stop until you come. I will need you soft and wet before you take my cock."

"Yes, General," you replied obediently, making his cock jump behind his thin loincloth.

Marcus tugged at the back of your loose tunic, stretching the material across your breasts so your hardened nipples poked through. With a low growl, he lunged forward and wrapped his mouth around one, cloth and all. His teeth added a surprisingly tantalizing amount of pressure that had you gasping for air as your hips quickened their pace over his thigh. You must have been leaving streaks of arousal all over him but something told you he didn't mind.

"You desire me, yes?" he questioned when he switched his attention to your other breast. You nodded feverishly, face tilted towards the ceiling as you chased your pleasure.

"Yes," you gasped, "yes, Ge- Marcus."

He groaned so loudly you thought he might wake up the whole ship.

"Fuck, say that again."

You smiled and circled your hips faster, grinding down onto his thick leg. You were so close, you could taste it.

"Marcus," you whined, "oh, Marcus. I cannot wait to feel you inside of me. I just know you will make me feel so good, will you not?"

Suddenly, his hand was back on your neck and his mouth was pressed tightly against the underside of your jaw, not unlike a wild animal pinning his prey against his sharp fangs. You could feel his hot puffs of air fanning across your skin and his teeth scraping your throat. His intensity might have frightened you if you weren't on the brink of an earth shattering orgasm.

"I will make you feel so good, you will never want to take another lover again," he said darkly. The hairs on your arms stood up but you continued to rut yourself as fast as you could against his thigh, your own chest heaving as you fought for air. "And if I have it my way, you never will," he added.

His words were what tipped you over the edge. You cried out his name and clutched at his shoulders for support as your orgasm rolled through you, covering him with your slick.

Your body was still trembling in his arms when he lifted you up and carried you to the bed. You blinked rapidly in response, poised to argue with him about potentially reopening his wound, but before you could get a single word out he had tossed you onto the sheets and climbed on top of you, caging you in.

"Before I ravish you, my sweet, what do you know of coupling?"

You scoffed. "I am no fool, I know how it works."

Marcus chuckled at your snark and sat back on his heels to peel your tunic over your head, exposing yourself entirely to him. A groan rumbled through his wide, bare chest as he stared down at you hungrily, all spread out and ready for him.

"I cannot lie. Ever since you first stood before me naked, your beautiful body has consumed my every waking thought."

"It shows incredible restraint, then, for you to share a bed with me each night," you teased, eyes dancing playfully as he stripped himself of his loincloth.

"You have no idea," he growled, falling back onto his forearms. The tip of his nose nudged against yours affectionately. "I have waited years for this, my sweet."

The idea of any man pining after you, let alone the mighty General of Rome, was a strange and foreign concept.

"I am just the daughter of a poor farmer," you muttered, fingers brushing his peppered curls behind his ear.

"Your station means very little to me," he replied, looking down between your bodies so he could notch the thick head of his cock at your opening. "The heart wants what the heart wants."

Your pulse quickened when you felt the slight bit of pressure he applied. Knowing how it worked was one thing, experiencing it for the first time was another.

"I-I was told it may hurt," you said meekly. Marcus's eyes found yours and he tenderly cupped your jaw.

"Yes, that is true, but I promise it will not last long," he assured you. You swallowed and nodded before spreading your legs wider and hooking your ankles around the backs of his thighs.

"Tell me if it is too much," he murmured. He pressed your foreheads together, lips hovering above yours, ready to soothe you from the pain.

"Go on, then," you said bravely.

Slowly, he breeched your opening and sunk one inch inside of you. You gasped and dug your heels harder into his thighs, but Marcus held steady.

"Speak," he demanded after a few seconds of listening to your heavy breathing.

"It stings," you admitted, "but it is not... unpleasant."

He nodded and pecked a chaste kiss against your lips before giving you another inch. You whined and squirmed a bit but once you settled, he took it as his cue to continue. It went just like that until he finally found himself fully seated inside of your tight heat.

"The worst is over, my sweet," he told you.

You wiggled underneath him, moving this way and that until you got used to the feeling of him inside you. Your hands wrapped around the backs of his biceps and you stretched your neck so you could bite and nip playfully at his prickly jaw.

"I enjoy being full of you," you admitted shyly, eliciting a grunt from the back of his throat.

"Good," he grumbled before drawing back his hips and slowly easing himself back inside your warmth. "Because I intend on having you full of me as much as possible. I fear I will never have enough now that you have given me a taste."

Your jaw dropped open when he began to move faster, gently and steadily working you open, carving a space for himself inside of you forever. The only thing you wanted was to have him as close as you could, so you wrapped your arms around him and buried your face against his neck, molding your bodies together as one.

"My sweet girl," he panted, mouth hunting for yours. "You feel better than I ever dreamed. So fucking tight and wet. I cannot believe my fortune, that you would give yourself to me. I wonder if I did indeed die in battle and have ascended to the heavens."

The stretch was divine, his heavy length dragging in and out of you and nudging against a spot that made your stomach clench and your head grow fuzzy.

"Do not say such things," you scolded him breathlessly. His hips stilled for a moment, waiting for you to continue. "Do not jest about your death. My heart cannot handle it."

His eyes softened and his mouth crashed against yours with a groan, overcome that you would feel so strongly for him. He began to roll his hips again but kept his mouth latched onto yours, swallowing down your whimpers and moans.

"I will never leave you," he whispered against your lips. His thrusts grew quicker but he tried his best to be careful and not drive himself too deep for fear of causing you pain. "I will always return now that I have you waiting for me. I shall be invincible in battle."

You laughed lightly, dragging your mouth down his throat and tasting his freshly perfumed skin.

"Was that all it took for you to become immortal?" you teased.

"Yes," he hissed, "a cunt as snug and perfect as yours is all a man needs to give him purpose."

His hand slithered between your back and sheets, pressing his palm firmly against your spine so you arched underneath him. His knees spread wider so he could get better leverage, and he began to roughly snap his hips. You gasped and grabbed onto his hair, giving it a sharp tug and making him groan. It was lewd yet somehow romantic, hearing the sound of your skin slapping together in the otherwise quiet room.

"Does it hurt?" he managed to ask through clenched teeth.

"No," you whimpered inbetween the soft moans he drew every time his cock slammed back into you. "Oh gods, Marcus, please-"

"What do you need, my love?"

He sounded breathless, his voice slightly strained, and your chest burst with pride. You loved the idea of being the one who made such a strong man so very weak.

"I- I am not sure," you admitted truthfully. "It feels so wonderful, but it is different than before."

As it turned out, you didn't need to figure out what you needed because Marcus knew. Somehow, he managed to know your body better than you. He knew how to make it sing and thrum just for him.

His hand snuck between your bodies and the pad of his thumb found your clit. He rubbed firm, slow circles over the sensitive bud, and his name instantly flew from your mouth, loud and wild. You likely could be heard from shore, but Marcus never shushed you. In fact, he smiled and worked his thumb faster, drawing out more delicious moans with every stroke.

"You are so beautiful," he murmured while sucking a mark into your neck. He could feel your lower belly begin to tense and heard your breath waver, so he circled his hips faster, cock greedily plunging in and out of your soaked cunt, chasing his release with reckless abandon now that he could feel you were close.

"I have obsessed over you for years. Dreamed of having you all to myself, just like this," he continued. He could sense his words had a great effect on you. Your walls fluttered and pulsed around him when he admitted his deepest secrets, so he kept talking.

"Long nights spent on the cold ground in the middle of war, I would dream of you. I would wonder what you would be doing back in Rome. I would pray you did not find a husband while I was away."

Marcus gasped when your cunt gripped around him so tightly that it took his breath away. "The thought of you belonging to another was enough to drive me insane," he groaned before capturing your lips with his.

"I am yours," you rasped when he pulled away, and when your eyes locked, he could see the adoration he felt for you reflected right back. "For as long as you will have me, I am yours."

Marcus's eyes slid closed in bliss after hearing the words he so longed to hear. "Come for me, my love. Come for me and when we return home, I shall make you my wife. I will take care of you. I promise you will never go hungry again."

Your hands grappled with the back of his head, fingers threading through his unruly locks as you pulled him down for a searing kiss. He muffled the sounds of your orgasm, cries of his name dying in your throat while your body bucked wildly beneath him.

It only took a few moments before he joined you. With his hand roughly squeezing your hip, he yanked you towards him. His body stilled, pumping you full of his seed while your tongues danced together in tandem until his shoulders sagged and you began to shake.

Marcus flicked the sheets so he could toss them over your trembling bodies. He planted kisses along the side of your head and jaw, then brushed the hair away from your face until your breathing leveled and your eyes reopened.

"Are you alright?"

You nodded and gave him a weak smile. "I am tired."

Marcus withdrew his hips, sliding his softening cock out from your clutch. You cried out in pain and he instantly jolted out of bed to soak a clean rag in some leftover warm water, then hurried back to press it between your legs.

"Better?"

"Yes," you sighed. "Thank you."

He gave you a quick kiss and slid back under the covers. He wrapped his arms around you, pulling you into his chest so he could nuzzle your hair and murmur sweet nothings in your ear.

"Must you leave me in the morning? Can you not spend just one day recovering from your wound?"

Marcus kissed your bare shoulder and shook his head.

"The war is almost done. Tomorrow, I will make them surrender so we may sail home and start our life together."

You grinned and burrowed deeper under the covers. "Did you mean that?"

"What is that, my love?"

"When you said you would make me your wife," you said sheepishly. "Or was that just your mind getting lost to desire?"

"No, I meant every word," he said before rolling over and snuffing out the candle next to the bed. "When we return to Rome, I will make you my bride. You will bear my children and I will watch them play in the garden with you by my side."

You hummed and closed your eyes. "That sounds lovely."

You had very little idea of the politics in Rome and how the highest ranking general of the Roman army could possibly announce he was going to wed a poor farmer's daughter, but you knew deep down if Marcus wanted it, he would somehow make it happen. You knew this because his determination always won, on and off the battlefield.

After all, you were living proof of it.

[theglamorousferal]

The Anti-Ecto Acts have been repealed.

War with an infinite army of the dead and concepts of existence has been avoided.

Damian was glad. On opposite sides of the battlefield is not where he would have wished to reunite with his twin.

She was stubborn enough to become a ghost.

To have to face her, still so small, because she never had the chance to grow would have wrecked him. To have to explain to the family why he hesitated with that once ghost would have wrecked the rest of them too.

Damian was glad the war was averted. Maybe he could ask the ambassadors for the Infinite Realms to pass along a message to his sister’s spirit? Maybe he could help her find peace?

The five ambassadors were coming to the Watch Tower today, and Damian had convinced his father to let him come. He had agreed mostly because the five appeared to be around Damian’s age. This admittance had made Bruce’s mouth form a thin line of displeasure at the thought of young adults being the party chosen to speak on behalf of an entire dimension. Damian knew the displeasure is at the thought of the responsibility thrust upon the shoulders of ones so young, not at having to face younger people on even footing.

They had zeta’d in earlier that day and Robin was making use of one of the training rooms when Batman came to get him for the meeting. He will admit to himself that he was nervous about this meeting. He wasn’t sure if it would be appropriate to ask to send a message to his sister, but he did want to at least try.

The door to the larger meeting room swished open in front of him and he took a seat to Batman’s right. He sat there trying to collect his thoughts when he felt his hair stand on end more than usual. The temperature dropped and a bright green tear in reality formed at the other end of the room.

White fingered gloves appeared at the center of the tear and seemed to pull it wider, large enough for them to fit through with their armor. They floated about two feet off the ground and stood seven feet higher than that. They cast an eerie white glow and their eyes glowed the same bright green as the edges of the tear. Another being floated from the tear, this one just as tall with bright yellow eyes and a teal glow. Another wore a helmet to prevent anyone from seeing their eyes, but they had a red glow to them as they glided in on a hoverboard, they were still nearly six foot tall. The next was shorter, with a pair of goggles that glowed an unnatural blue and had glowing circuitry with hieroglyphics running along that arms. The last entity stepped out.

Damian knew that face. He had mourned it the last ten years.

Purple eyes, a genetic anomaly, but ones he would never forget. The same dark hair as him, thoughts flowed more like Mother’s. She had gained Father’s complexion, always fit to burn if out for too long.

There was just one thing. That face never reached that age. That face never grew to be a teenager, yet alone an adult. Why was this specter wearing his sister’s face?

[crappymixtape]

because of you • part one

PART II • PART III • PART IV • PART V • EPILOGUE // REQ -> @sattlersquarry ❝ an enemies to lovers fic with Steve? 💙 maybe they have to put aside their differences to fight upside down stuff and realize they actually have a lot in common 👀 • 18+  | ( 2.1k – little bit of king!steve, mostly angst with a dash of fluff, enemies to idiots in love, steve x reader )

B E C A U S E O F Y O U • P A R T O N E 🎶 good girls ( john carpenter remix ), chvrches

“Why is she even here?”

“Steve!”

A loud smack cut the air in two as Robin slapped a hand against Steve’s shoulder, rendering the rest of group there in Max’s trailer silent.

Your arms were crossed tightly over your chest, cheeks burning under his gaze, lips twisted into a scowl and trying hard to hold back the daggers you wanted so badly to throw at him.

“She doesn’t know what the hell we’re up against! How’s she supposed to–“

“Steve, none of us knew either, cut her a break.”

“Cut her a break and then what? We all get eaten by a fucking melted people monster?”

“That’s not fair–“

“It’s fine! It’s fine, Nancy,” you cut the girl off, standing quickly from your spot on the couch.

They’d been talking like this since you showed up. Like you weren’t right there in the room with them and honestly you kind of wished you weren’t anymore.

“I need some air,” you grumbled before giving Steve a pointed glare and shouldering open the front door.

The air outside was crisp as you sat down on the front stoop. Not a cloud in the sky and sunlight washing everything in soft golden light, but it all still felt so dark. Like it was harboring thick shadows. Long, spindly, and pitch black. Waiting to wrap their twisted fingers around you.

Waiting to dig into you and squeeze tight.

Waiting to lift you twenty feet into the air and snap your bones like twigs.

Waiting to leave you for dead.

And here was Steve fucking Harrington asking what right you had to be there. Asking what purpose were you gonna serve amongst this “holier than thou” joke of an army. Steve, Robin, Nancy and Eddie had already gotten their asses handed to them by what they’d called demobats, Steve arguably needing serious medical attention, and they wanted to go back? It took everything you had to not leave right there on the spot.

Hell, maybe you should, you thought for a minute. You didn’t owe them anything, especially Steve, but you did owe it to your best friend. The one who basically had a hit out on him. The one who wouldn’t hurt a goddamn fly, but all of Hawkins had already decided he was guilty and you weren't about to leave him.

Eddie.

❝ SO SAVE YOUR BREATH, GIVE A LITTLE OF WHAT YOU HAVE LEFT – DO THEY KNOW SOMETHING I DON’T? ❞

You met him two years ago under the bleachers at the Homecoming football game. It seemed like the perfect place to smoke the joint you’d messily rolled in the car right before you’d come into the stadium and apparently you’d been right, but someone else had already laid claim to it...

“Hate to break it to you sweetheart, but this is kind of my spot.”

He’d been all black leather and denim. Dark curls and clove. Silver rings and chains and heavy boots and maybe you should’ve been more intimidated, but the smile lines at the corners of his mouth gave him away.

“Don’t see a sign anywhere,” you’d shot back, no hesitation. Looked over at him all skeptics and attitude and took a long drag from your joint. Blew the smoke off in his direction and it made him grin like an idiot.

“Been sellin’ weed down here for like…the last three years so–actually, yeah. What the fuck, man. Someone owes me a sign.”

...And that was it, you were a goner. Laughing mid-toke and coughing so hard you cried and it made him feel so bad he gave you a baggy for free. Eddie "the freak" Munson and you – best friends.

Skipped all the stupid dances and football games with you. Paraded around the lunch room like an idiot with you. Threw fries back at the jocks for you when they called you a loser and sat on the floor in the bathroom with you when you cried.

So fuck “King Steve” Harrington.

You had every right to be there, probably even more than he did and you were gonna tell him to his face, but—

“Can I sit?”

The sudden sound of someone else made you jump.

“Jesus, Eddie.”

“Sorry,” he chuckled and sat down next to you. Gave you a sidelong glance and a small lopsided smile. “He’s really not so bad–”

“You’re joking. Right? Tell me you’re joking.”

The boy hummed, dropped his gaze down to the rings wrapped around his fingers and twisted the one on his thumb.

“He doesn’t want me here. None of them do,” you grumbled, frustration fed further by his non-answer and it pulled his eyes back up to you.

“Hey now, that’s not true–”

“Yes it is! Even Nancy looks at me like a kicked puppy.”

That pulled a laugh from him. Made him scoot closer to you and bump his shoulder into yours. “Listen, sweetheart,” the nickname made you soften, but you tried to keep your scowl in place, “We’re all in over our fuckin’ heads, hm? And Stevie boy…he’s seen some shit. He’s just trying to–”

“Just trying to what? Be a complete dickhead about it? Mission accomplished.”

Eddie sighed and roughed a hand over his face. Rested his elbows on his knees and laced his fingers together. He knew what you felt because he’d felt it too. Knew what it was like to get laughed at and mocked in the lunch room. Knew how it was supposed to be between him and the other boy. Hell, he nearly cut Harrington’s face off with a broken bottle a few days ago, but one thing was clear.

Change was possible and Steve Harrington was proof, he just wasn’t great at showing it.

“Alright. He could be less of a dick,” he conceded, propping his chin in his hand and looking at you with his big brown eyes. How could you be mad at that?

You mumbled under your breath about that not being the only thing, but fine, okay, only for you, Eds.

Reaching over he flicked at your fingers and looked at you from under his curls with a stern pinch between his brows. “He’s helping me, sweetheart. They all are. Shit, without them I’d probably be in jail already. Or in Carver’s trunk,” he tried a laugh, but it fell short at the end with the weight of his words and it made you grab at his hand and squeeze it.

“Shut up,” you chided softly, no heat behind it. The anger that had been swelling in your chest all but extinguished.

Silence settled between the two of you then, heavy and tinged at the edges with worry. With everything that was at risk and it started to gnaw at the pit of your stomach. What if you couldn’t fix it? And even if you could, this Vecna asshole was about to end the world anyway so what the hell did it matter?

How were a bunch of kids going to do anything about it?

“Ahem,” the door knocked into your back and jolted you back to earth. Pulled a gasp from you and when you looked up over your shoulder you felt your anger return ten fold. “We’re leaving, geniuses,” Steve announced, pushing at you with the door.

“Least you know you’re an idiot,” you mumbled under your breath, standing up from your spot to glare at him at eye level.

“Real cute,” Steve shouldered past you on the stoop, took the last two steps in one go and turned to face you both as he landed on the grass. “For you, Munson,” he said, throwing a mask at Eddie, “Courtesy of Mayfield.”

“What’s that for?” you couldn’t help asking as Max appeared at your side and pointed so casually – too casually – at the mask.

“Gonna steal a Winnebago. Get that on, dingus. Let’s go.”

“Nice,” Eddie grinned up at the red-headed girl and yanked the mask on over his head, “Thanks, Red.”

“Let’s go,” Steve urged, waving his hands at everyone to get out of the house and you felt your heart racing.

“Steal a Winnebago? Eddie. Fuck that–”

“Honey, I’m already a wanted man–” Eddie cut you off and readjusted the ridiculous looking mask a bit. “–c’mon,” he said, tugging at your belt loop to get with it.

“I–that doesn’t mean you can just steal–”

“We’re way past that,” Dustin chimed in, shoving past you just like everyone else, “Besides, if the world’s gonna end anyway, what’s it matter?”

Shit. The kid had a point. It was probably fine. It was just a trailer. Maybe you could give it back afterward? You needed it more than they did. Right?

“Dammit,” you grumbled under your breath, now the only one still standing around. “Wait for me!”

❝ THEY TELL ME I’M HELL-BENT ON REVENGE, I CUT MY TEETH ON WEAKER MEN, I WON’T APOLOGIZE AGAIN ❞

The first time you ran into Steve Harrington was sophomore year. In the hallway before Click’s class. You were cramming everything into your bag, but struggling with your history book when you heard it coming.

Tommy Hagan’s stupid laugh.

Your stomach sank, eyes glued on your things and trying to ignore it. He was in your science class the year before along with his ditzy girlfriend Carol and they always made sure to get a spot in the back just to make out.

“Need some help?”

When you finally looked up at him he’d stopped right in front of you, the grin on his lips sharklike as Carol smirked out from under his arm. Another boy you didn’t know was standing just behind them wearing a stupid member’s only jacket, half unzipped, and had hair that sat perfectly in place. Too perfect.

“That looks heavy, hm?” Tommy said grabbing your book, voice all saccharine sweet and sharp around the edges. Flipping through the pages he pulled a face, clicked his tongue and weighed it in his hand, then made a show of dumping it on the floor. “Whoops. Sorry!” he half-laughed and your cheeks burned.

“Bite me, Hagan,” you snapped back, bending down to grab your book, and it only made his grin grow wider.

“Ooo. She’s fiesty today, Stevie. I like it.”

And then he chimed in. Stevie. The had-to-be-douchebag that everyone called 'King Steve.'

“Probably on her period,” he said scoffing a laugh, all confidence and bravado and the look on his face was so smug. Thought he was so clever and funny and when you finally turned around it was to take the two steps up to him in one.

“Really? My period? So original.”

It made him swallow hard. Adam’s apple bobbing in his throat as he blinked back the flicker of surprise glinting in his eyes. He took a quick glance at Tommy like he didn’t want to disappoint him and then hardened his expression. Crowded down over you and nodded.

“Explains you being such a bitch.”

And it took the air from your lungs. Stuck in your sides sharp like a knife and you felt your throat tighten as Tommy and Carol snickered, but you wouldn’t let him have the satisfaction. Not here.

“Yeah. Bet you wish you had an excuse for being such an asshole,” you cut at him and it pulled an Oh shit! out of Tommy as he doubled over laughing, Steve’s mouth dropped open in shock.

Your feet couldn’t carry you away fast enough as you shoved your book in your bag and turned to leave, but you refused to run. Refused to let them see weakness, and as Tommy yelled down the hallway after you about tampons you raised a middle finger high in the air to punctuate just how much you hated them all.

Eddie met you in the bathroom after that, the one nobody used on the other side of school, and you told him everything. He let you have the joint he had tucked behind his ear for emergencies, listened to you and told you they weren’t worth it. Especially not Steve. Because even though Tommy started it, Steve was the one who dug in. Could have left it alone but didn’t and that was what really got you.

How obvious it was he knew how shitty they were being, but went along with it anyway because he had to maintain his status. Had to uphold how ‘cool’ he was and keep the line in the sand drawn between him and ‘the freaks’ like you.

So he wouldn’t get a second chance.

And he wasn’t worth your time.

Not then and sure as hell not now.

[ NOTE: THIS IS PART ONE OF A THREE PART SERIES, PART TWO AND THREE TO COME SOON ]

crappymixtape™ • steve harrington masterlist // stranger things masterlist ♥️ reblogs and comments keep me going, friends! ily! ♥️

[rheanyraaaa]

Water Lilly (Part 2)

Robb Stark x Frey!Reader (F)

Enemies To Lovers

Summary: Y/N Frey, is the youngest daughter of Walder Frey, here she converses with her newly wed Husband and learns her place as his wife and what she believes is a burden.

note: i’m mostly building for now, introducing you to OC’s and now we have proper conversations w Robb.

edit: lmao forgot i was writing an enemies to lovers. dw enemies will be more prevalent.

——————————————————————————-

The tent walls flapped with the bitter wind as Y/N sat alone in her quarters, huddled under furs. Outside, the camp bustled with activity; soldiers shouted orders, horses’ hooves stamped against frozen ground, and the clanging of swords echoed under a dim, cloudy sky. Robb’s army had pitched camp farther south, closer to the front lines, and the distant drums of war thrummed in the air. Yet within her tent, there was only the stillness, heavy as stone.

A month into this marriage, and she was still a stranger to her husband. They exchanged polite greetings when they crossed paths the occasional nod, a formal “Good morning, my lady,” or a brief “Sleep well” but those words felt thin, like brittle ice that would shatter under any real weight. Robb spent most of his time with the troops, strategizing and commanding. Or with Talisa.

The knowledge of his mistress had stung more than you cared to admit. Talisa Maegyr, the beautiful healer from Volantis, had captivated him from the first day. Word of Robb’s infidelity swept through camp like wildfire, as gossip does, leaving Irene feeling raw and humiliated. Robb’s nights were spent not in her tent, but in Talisa’s, the two of them wrapped in a warmth and intimacy that he’d offer only a glimpse off during your bedding ceremony.

You took a slow breath, pressing a hand to your stomach. You hadn’t felt well for days, your body unsteady, your appetite faint, but it had only been that morning that she recognized what the faint ache in her stomach truly meant. She was carrying Robb’s child their child, and a quick trip with the Maester confirmed all suspicions.

A swell of fear rose within you, twisting with sorrow. She was alone, and Robb Stark did not love you. And now you would have a child, an heir to the North, though you had never felt so far from it. The world outside was dangerous and bloody, and you had no certainty that Robb would even care to claim the child they had created together.

A sound at the entrance broke Y/N’s thoughts. Her guard, Ser Alec, stepped inside, his tanned face etched with concern as he regarded her. He was a tall, steady presence, his dark Dorneish eyes sharp and warm with familiarity. Alec had been by her side since her childhood, always a loyal protector and one of the few friends she truly had left.

“My lady,” he said, bowing his head slightly, “you look… troubled. Are you well?”

You force a small smile, though it doesn’t reach your eyes. “Alec, I’ve been better.”

He steps closer, his gaze softening, the warmth in his eyes the closest thing to comfort you’ve felt in weeks. “Tell me,” he says gently.

Your breath trembles as you meet his gaze, and words begin to spill out, unbidden and raw. “I feel… alone here. Trapped, really.” You draw in a sharp breath, pressing a hand to your stomach almost without thinking. “I’ve found myself with child, Alec.”

His expression flickers with surprise, then with understanding, a deep compassion softening the sharp edges of his face. “A child?” he murmurs. He reaches out, hesitates, then gently takes your hand. “That’s wonderful news, my lady,” he says, though you can see the worry flickering in his eyes.

“It is,” you whisper, trying to hold back the wave of conflicting emotions. “And yet, I don’t know how I’m supposed to do this. Robb barely acknowledges me. He lies in Talisa’s bed every night as if I were nothing more than… than a treaty.” You feel your voice falter, and you close your eyes, willing yourself to stay composed. “How am I meant to raise a child when its father is… is barely even mine?”

Ser Alec’s face darkens, his mouth tightening. “He is a fool, my lady. A fool to treat you like this. You deserve more than cold greetings and a hollow bed.”

You glance down, hiding the blush that rises in your cheeks. Ser Alec’s words have always been kind. When you look back up, he’s still holding your hand, his expression a mixture of concern and fierce loyalty.

“Thank you, Alec,” you whisper, voice catching. He is something solid in a world of chaos. “I don’t know what I’d do without you.”

Just then, a sharp voice cuts through the quiet of the tent. “Am I interrupting?”

You both turn to find Robb standing in the entrance, his gaze icy and unreadable, taking in the scene with a slight clench to his jaw. You quickly pull your hand back from Alec’s, stepping back.

Alec bows his head to Robb, stepping away from you but keeping his posture respectful. “My lord,” he says, voice calm but cool. “I was only ensuring the lady’s well-being.”

“Thank you, Ser Alec,” Robb says, his tone laced with an edge. “I can take care of my wife from here.”

Alec’s eyes meet yours, a question lingering there, as if asking whether you truly wish to be left alone. But you nod faintly, trying to reassure him even as unease twists within you. With a stiff bow, Alec murmurs, “My lady,” before stepping past Robb and out of the tent, leaving you alone with your husband.

For a moment, there’s only silence between you and Robb, the tension thick as frost on a winter morning. He doesn’t approach you immediately, his gaze fixed somewhere over your shoulder, his mouth set in a hard line.

After a moment, he breaks the silence, his tone cold and laced with a hint of accusation. “You seem… well-guarded,” he says, the words sharp enough to sting. “I hope Ser Alec isn’t needed for more than what’s expected of him.”

You take a slow, steadying breath, willing yourself not to snap. “Alec has been with me since I was a child,” you reply, your voice soft but firm. “He’s my friend, Robb. Nothing more.”

Robb nods, but the jealousy remains evident in the hard lines of his expression. The silence stretches again, heavy and uncomfortable, until you feel the weight of the words you must say pressing on you, desperate to be released.

“Robb…” You hesitate, unsure how he will take the news. But this is not something you can keep to yourself, nor something you should. “I’m with child.”

His face shifts, a flicker of surprise breaking through his cold exterior, followed quickly by something softer, almost hesitant. The hardness in his gaze melts as he processes the news, and he swallows, his jaw relaxing. Slowly, the hint of a smile pulls at the corners of his mouth, tentative, almost vulnerable.

“A child?” he echoes, his voice quiet, as though testing the word on his tongue.

You nod, and for a brief moment, you see the young man beneath the weight of command, the boy who perhaps dreamed of family, of something beyond the battlefield. He steps forward, his hand hovering near your stomach as though he’s unsure if he should touch you.

When you nod again, he gently places his hand on your belly, the warmth of his palm sinking through the fabric of your gown. His gaze softens further, his fingers resting lightly, reverently, as if afraid the slightest pressure would break the fragile moment.

“A son… or a daughter,” he says quietly, his voice edged with wonder. “Ours.”

You watch him, studying the flickers of emotion crossing his face. It’s the first time you’ve seen him like this unguarded, stripped of the command and the anger, and for a heartbeat, you feel a swell of hope. Perhaps this child could be a bridge between you, a chance to bring you closer to him, to soften the wall that’s grown between you since the day you wed.

But as quickly as it appeared, his expression fades, and the coldness slips back over him like a familiar cloak. He removes his hand, his face hardening with the weight of duty and the responsibilities that loom over him.

“You’ll be well cared for, of course,” he says, stepping back and folding his arms. “Anything you need, you’ll have it.”

A pang of disappointment settles in your chest, but you manage a nod. “Thank you, my lord.”

He lingers a moment longer, as if wanting to say more, but then turns sharply and strides toward the tent’s exit. Just before he leaves, he glances back, his expression caught somewhere between duty and regret.

“Rest well, Irene,” he murmurs, his voice gentler than before. Then, without another word, he’s gone, leaving you alone once again, with only the ghost of his touch on your belly and the faint hope that someday he might see you as something more than his silent bride.

——————————————————————————-

Tags!!! (Tell me if you want to be tagged)

@samieree @maysileeewrites

[what-even-is-thiss]

I think in Skyrim people do know when you’re a killer. The law just works in such a way that it’s hard to convict people of a crime without a direct witness. Forensic investigation basically doesn’t exist. The guard clearly isn’t properly trained in detective work.

I say this for two reasons. One, when you secretly kill a friendly npc their family members know. They often have special lines the next time you talk to them, indicating that they hate you. Some npcs will also tell you that you have the look of a killer.

The other reason is that infamous quest blood on the ice. The second you do a teeny bit of investigating, the steward and town guard just believe you on flimsy evidence and the real serial killer doesn’t get caught until you directly witness him committing a murder red handed.

It’s clear that town guards mostly function as private armies and an attempt to intimidate people away from crime rather than an effective police force. So they’ve got something in common with real world police I guess but at least real world police have forensic departments.

It’s also established that various criminal groups have plants in the local militias/town guards. They’re easily bribed if you’re in the thieves guild, the skooma dealers in riften have plants, and if you finish the dark brotherhood questline some of the guards will start telling you “hail sithis”. They aren’t overly discrete about it either.

So basically Skyrim town guards are somehow even worse than real world police and everyone knows it. They’re basically just local armies shoehorned into also being law enforcement and that’s why everyone knows that you killed that random guy in Solitude but you still get to walk around as a free Dragonborn. Thank you for coming to my Ted talk.

[2demondogs]

May i request a Kieran x Reader where they just go on a cute picnic date with Branwhen just grazing the grass in the distance. Maybe somewhere pretty like the fields of little creek river. (Let's ignore the humongous O'driscoll hide out in the middle of it for kierans sake🥲)

This is CUTE you guys serve when u serve me the fluff prompts! Also I want to eat this fucking game's graphics. Imagine a Walmart on this river <3.

Girls, theys, and he/hims heart Kieran's autism swag.

Words: 1.4k Tags: Gender-neutral reader, romantic fluff, established relationship, my usual autistic Kieran

The gray hairs spotting Kieran's face and temples look as white as Branwen's in the afternoon sun hanging over Big Valley. He'd taken his hat off, and the splotchy suntan lain over his pale skin is already turning bright with fresh burns, the freckles faded in the wake of soon to form ones.

Always cold, that man; though he had insisted that this rock was simply the perfect place for a picnic and, since half of it was burning up under the shine, he would let you have the shade. He is a gentleman, of course.

It's mostly sunburn on his cheeks. Kieran never does get both his feet beneath him until its almost time for you two to part ways, and any progress he made towards it today was lost when you moved to sit side-by-side with him, insisting the shade got you chilled. The sun has been hot on your back since, warming you to the bone.

He only let your horses loose to roam an hour ago, and he'd made two trips to his saddlebag for a smoke before bringing the entire carton with him. Pleased, are you, to notice that he always sits right back where he was, knee knocking yours and shoulders a polite inch apart.

The chestnut on Branwen's paint-spatter coat looks almost as warm orange as the carton's printing beneath the sun, now, laying opened and near empty in front of you on the rocky ground of a boulder overlooking Little Creek River. Glittering, the water runs clearer after the rain storms that came last week and washed it fresh. If you asked, Kieran would probably know where it leads out to; the knowledge escapes you, now.

Tobacco shreds have fallen out of half-smoked cigarettes tucked back inside, marring the foil wrapper with smudges of black ash that mark Kieran's fingers as he takes another. Down a short slope, the sound of running water nearly drowns the scratch of the match against the rough pad on the box when he lights it.

He offers it to you, first, with that searching expression as if you might slap his hand away entirely— but he's already offered you three others, so you shake your head. Smoking or eating, both seem to calm Kieran's nerves, and your meals were gone quickly. Only two small pound cakes lay wrapped in cloth atop your own satchel, which serves as makeshift table for whatever needn't touch the ground.

You don't think you've ever heard him talk this much, either. His voice is thick and crackly with smoke, louder as he goes on until he must be confident that you like the conversation and his volume breaks even over the rocks. You aren't sure how long you've been sitting and listening, nor when, exactly, it drifted into sitting and staring at the man beside you. Peppered beard, the lines on his face, how his nose bridge twists downwards and how sparse his brows are, the dark brown of his hair bleached away by the sun.

Maybe he has good reason to get timid when you're alone. If you look anywhere near as lovesick as you feel, you would shy away from it, too.

Kieran talks about nothing in particular, when he gets going like this: what he remembered from childhood, his first horse and that he can't remember his first dog though he knows there was one and it was one of them big ones; where he grew up, stories his mother and father had told him before the cholera took them; living on the streets before his time in the—

"Wait," you interrupt him, straightening up some. "You were in the army?"

Kieran pauses mid-sentence, seeming to forget his story in the treeline far ahead of you. The foggy, anxious look which had fallen over his eyes clears when they fix on you again.

"Yeah," he says, as if it is no big story. It's regular enough, sure, though most of the men in camp never served, but it wasn't something you'd expected from him. "Food and a place to live. Why not?"

Well, that's one way to put it, you think, and you find yourself endeared by how little water these things hold to him.

"How long?" You ask.

He opens his mouth to answer, before his brain catches up to his body and he sinks into himself. "Two weeks," Kieran sighs. "Didn't even fight," — scratching the back of his neck, nodding to where his legs are crossed in front of him as if to demonstrate — "They said I got... neurasthenia, or somethin', 'n' I's too scrawny. Weren't putting on weight good enough." His eye twitches some. "Couldn't read, neither. Hard time writin', too..."

If you let him go on, he'll find a million reasons for why he still can't serve in the military or perhaps even detail his thoughts on the fitness of everyone in camp, and so you interject: "Fuck the army."

Kieran barks a laugh. "Got a mouth on you, don't you?"

And then he's back to talking about nothing in particular, letting one thought trail into another. It's interesting, how fast his mind runs and the off-shooting roads it takes. If you remember correctly, he began divulging the more precise details of his life to you simply because you asked if he had a favorite brand of smokes and he said yes, Pa smoked these, they smell like home.

To you, they've always smelled bitter. Some of the chocolate-y underlayers of the tobacco flavoring grow stronger each pack he breaks open.

Even beyond how pleasing his voice is to you, the familiar pauses and breathy quality when he's talked too long, is the far away look in his eyes, as if he's reliving everything he speaks of. This quality has made him weary and vulnerable, sure; but he seems to like the memories he's sharing now, and you know that in this life it's these things which are more precious than pain.

Kieran will tell anyone how the O'Driscolls treated him, or what happened before he rode with them. When men don't have much love laying around, it takes trust to share it.

Another turn comes about.

"Pa was a mil't'ry man, too," Kieran says. Too, like he's fought as many battles, God, I love him, you think. "'Fore he died, he always said we'd move away, out to California. Find some gold or start a farm, he liked the idea of a farm more, he said," — a pause, a fond little smile as he turns to you and looks past your shoulder — "Said that way we'd have a herd o' horses, so I'd have somethin' to like about it." He rubs his chin, remembers the hair there, looks away again. "Jesus, I oughtta been eight or so."

You smooth your shirt, pull your knees to your chest in a loose hold. "Maybe we'll have a farm out west someday," you say, not really thinking. "Or some kinda horse ranch, where we make money boardin' 'em for folks. All kinds of rich folk who pay for that."

Kieran looks at you with a lopsided grin. "D'you mean that?"

And he looks so hopeful, so very glad that you'd ever suggest you wanted a life together. An ache starts in your chest, tight and hard to swallow. Being part of his stories that he runs off when the quiet is too loud— it's not a bad idea at all.

You nod. "Once we're too old 'n' frail for this life," you say, bite back a smile as you reach to move the back of your hand down his chest. "Or maybe just once I'm too frail, Mister Two Weeks."

Kieran flushes. "Hey, now," he says, but he catches your hand in his before you can pull it back, presses his lips to the knuckles. His beard and mustache are scratchy, lips chapped.

You grin. "S'rry. That was mean, wasn't it?"

"You aren't sorry," he accuses, mirrors your smile.

"Naw," you insist, twist to tuck his hair behind his ear with the hand not rested in his. The fingers never leaving his face, resting under his chin. "You're my big, strong, handsome man. Ain't that right?"

He huffs a laugh, half-humored and half-flustered. "Dunno 'bout two o' those," he says.

You scratch his jaw fondly. "And so smart," you continue, pretending to not hear his objections.

Kieran is caught between basking under the playful, but always meant, praise and shying away from it. "Stop," he drawls, laced with a laugh.

"And oh so sweet."

"Quit," he repeats, but there's a chuckle breaking through his voice and he's tugging at your hand, pulling you closer. Well, you've got to lean closer so you do, and he kisses you on the mouth, as awkward as always, as if he forgets how exactly it works until it's happening once again.

[autisticlancemcclain]

part one

“Guys,” a soft voice interrupted, and Keith could’ve collapsed with relief. The castle has been flipped sideways during the fall, floor suddenly now 90 degrees, and standing at the side of the control board, now the very high top, was Lance. For whatever reason he had climbed it while they bickered, and now stood very still, gloved hand pressed to the glass of the windshield. Blood trickled from his temple, tracing a line down the side of his face, disappearing in the neckline of his armour. “We got company.”

Shifting gears – Keith was about to tear him a new one, when Shiro says sound off you sound off – but froze when he looked out the window, following Lance’s gaze.

Marching towards them, in numbers Keith couldn’t pretend to count, was an army.

— — —

“Well,” said Hunk, holding Allura in both arms, “that looks bad.”

Shiro snorted. “Thank you, Hunk.”

“Anytime.”

Keith wanted to snap at them both. What time was it to laugh? They were injured, mostly defenseless, castle crashed. The Lions still sat, unusable, in their hangers. Hopefully they were okay, but it wasn’t like anyone could go check. Keith could barely even feel Red’s presence in the back of his mind – that stupid new Empire toy had drained them. It was frightening. And Hunk and Shiro were making jokes?

But Keith couldn’t find the words to chew them out. Instead, his voice was caught in his throat as he looked on the slowly advancing army with wide eyes and tense shoulders.

The advancing army was…trees.

That’s what it looked like, anyways. Rows and rows of rough bark and quietly swaying leaves, advancing in formation. A large black bird flew, cawing, above them. Keith tried not to think about omens. 

“Did a forest come to life?” Pidge muttered, squinting. Keith was relieved she was seeing the same thing. Keith has been in space a long time, at this point, but this was like nothing he had ever seen before. This didn’t look like a people in any way he understood. They were alive, surely, their movements organic in fluid in a way non-living things couldn’t quite manage, but his eyes were not deceiving him, and in front of him was a bunch of moving trees. As he watched, they advanced slightly further, stopped, and froze. 

And then, slowly, they morphed. 

Out of the bark, people seemed to…melt? Was that the right word? The trees planted themselves on the beach as if they’d always been there, as if the giant ocean was simply a lake beside a forest, and the bark of each plant seemed to shimmer, to shift. Humanoid figures took form, with skin like wood and hair like moss and leaves, eyes dark and old and knowing. Little saplings hid behind the sweeping dirt skirts of giant, older trees, giggling amongst themselves. Tiny droplets of water shined in dots on dozens of brown faces, glittering on brows and lips and noses like diamond piercings. Vines wreathed around torsos like tailored clothing. 

Above them, Lance gasped. It was a quick, near-silent sound, one Keith only noticed because he was watching Lance from his peripherals anyway. 

“Dryads,” he whispered, unmistakably excited, and before anyone could get so much as a word in he scrambled down the control board, careened down the bridge, and sprinted his way out the exit. 

“No, what are you – Lance!” Hunk shouted, the first to react. He handed a still-unconscious Allura off to Coran, who took her with a wide-eyed, confused expression. 

“Number Two, what is –”

“I am going to burn your Percy Jackson books,” Hunk seethed, already stomping out after Lance. He scooped up his blue helmet on his way and shook it at the door. “You hear me, Leandro? Burn them! Head outta the clouds, that’s an army!”

Keith was quick to follow. The rest of the team fell in step behind him, jogging after Lance. 

Outside was…well, it startled him. 

He’d seen it on the way down, of course. But he hadn’t been focused, really, hadn’t taken the time to map it past what the air currents felt like, past a safe (ish) place to land. The beauty of it now knocked the breath out of him. The ocean was almost crystalline, it was so clear and blue. Keith could smell it even through his helmet, the salt, the sea, and something Keith couldn’t recognise. Every rock on the seashore shone in the bright golden sun, glittering like encrusted jewellery. Down the beach, where the rocks gave way to beach, the sand was bright brilliant white; hard, actually, to look at. On Keith’s other side was a rolling, sage green meadow, peppered with wildflowers so familiar Keith almost felt he could name them. He saw dozens of fruit trees, all different kinds, so ripe and rich his mouth watered. He was nowhere near enough to smell them, but the fruits were so plump and colourful that every instinct curled up in every corner in his head begged him to gorge himself to coma. Even the army in front of him, the rows and rows of stern tree warriors – dryads, Lance had called them – couldn’t stir wariness in Keith’s heart. His shoulders relaxed without his say-so.

One of the warriors stepped forth. She was wide-set, tall, and the ground trembled with every step. Her eyes were dark as murky green pond depths. Deep gauges lined her face, most from the pattern of the bark that made up her skin, but many that disrupted the pattern; rough, torn scars, one right through her right eye. 

“State your business,” she said, voice rough as sandpaper. 

No one said anything. The awe Keith felt was reflected in his friends, wonder rendering them mute.

“You’re dryads,” said Lance softly. He stepped forward, Hunk’s hand falling from his shoulder. “Tree spirits.”

The tree-woman nodded. “If that’s what your people call us, child. Here, we’re Aegians, Last Guardians of Marmaro. And we ask again – name yourselves.”

Her army raised their weapons as she spoke. Sharp, pointed weapons, some of hardened stone, some of crystal and marble, some of the same wood that made up their flesh. One even had shards of metal attached to a complicated string of vine. 

“We are Paladins of Voltron,” Shiro said, finally, hands held up in peace. He moved slowly up from next to Pidge, eyes never leaving the Aegian leader, until he finally stood in front of her, arm loosely circling Lance’s elbow, tugging him gently back. “We come in peace. Our ship was attacked by the Galran Empire, and we barely made it out intact. We apologise for any damage.”

“I’m not sure ‘intact’ is the right word,” murmured the Aegian leader, glancing quickly at their smoking ship, “but regardless. You are here now.  I am Dryope, and I grant you asylum, as is my birthright.” She said the name like dry-oh-pay, but with a lilt to her vowels Keith couldn’t replicate even in his own head. 

Dryope stood to her full height – which, ho-lee – and struck her staff twice on the rock on which she stood. Immediately, the army fell back, weapons sheathed, postures loosened. 

“Aegians!” she called, and every single tree-warrior stood to attention. “The Paladins of Voltron have come to us. We shall extend our hospitality to them, as dictated in the Ancient Laws.” She turned to them for a moment, contemplating. “Seven households come forward. Our guests are to be fed, clothed, and cared for. Who shall claim the honour?”

Keith exchanged a look with Hunk, shifting uncomfortably. Seven households? They were in no position to complain, but on all the planets they’ve visited before, they’ve never been housed separately. To speak up would surely insult their hosts – but was it safe to split up? They were injured and exhausted – if their hosts proved malevolent, they would be almost powerless individually. Allura was still out, Lance for sure had a head injury, Keith was, now that he noticed, breathing laboriously. A quick glance beside him revealed an odd angle to Pidge’s wrist, probably sprained, and Hunk shifted every couple of seconds like he could not stand comfortably. Shiro favoured his left leg. Only Coran stood tall and strong, Allura held protectively in his arms – but Keith knew better. (He will never, as long as he lives, forget the way the man collapsed, ashen and unresponsive, right at his spot at the castle’s controls. The rest of them had just been deemed healthy enough to fight again after falling ill to Deadman’s Spots, fevered and covered in sores and wasting away. Only Coran had been spared – or so they thought. They had almost lost him.) Coran could have a shard of bone sticking out of his leg and none of them would know. 

They could not afford to refuse the help.

The gathered army rippled and shifted as people answered Dryope’s call. One by one more Aegians pushed their way to the front, until seven stood just behind their leader, shoulder to shoulder, chins raised proudly.

“We have space for the injured girl,” spoke the first Aegian. She stepped forward, and she didn’t look like a warrior at all – the smile on her face was soft and welcoming. She was much stouter than Dryope, and and her eyes held the same maternal kindness that Shiro’s often did, deep and black and understanding. The lined pattern that made up her bark was softer, lining her face like smile lines. Thousands of branches twisted and grew out of her waist, resembling the tangled roots of the biggest tree in the forest. Clinging to her branch-skirt were at least four little saplings, young and reedy, peeking their wide eyes out behind their mama’s hips. She smiled wider, hands outstretched, and Keith had to stop himself from walking into them himself.

“Yes,” said Dryope, nodding at her. Her face went oddly soft, smiling at the maternal woman. When she turned back to face the team, her face morphed back into its impassive expression. “Paladins, Rhea and her family will house your injured girl. She will be well cared for – Rhea has nursed and watched many in her time.”

“Come,” beckoned Rhea, almost interrupting Dryope. The leader didn’t seem to mind. “Bring her to me, she must be laid comfortably.”

Coran walked forward, handing Allura to her gently. It spoke volumes to her character that Coran approached her at all, let alone that he pressed a quiet kiss to his charge’s forehead and stepped away. 

“She is only tired,” he said softly. “Not injured. She needs rest, and perhaps food.”

“I will see to it. Come, children.” With a sweep of her skirts echoing like a bamboo broom, she walked back through the ranks, saplings clinging to her back like baby monkeys.

Next, an elderly man stepped forward. He was hunched, gnarled fingers curled around the haft of a sharp wooden trident that resembled Dryope’s staff. Despite his limp, he walked with dignity, and when he lifted his chin to face Coran, his eyes were bright.

“Have you space, Father?” murmured Dryope.

He nodded. “Always.” 

Using his trident as a walking stick, he strode toward Coran, standing beside him. Coran, ever the diplomat, smiled slightly, and began speaking with him too quietly for Keith to hear. Both men, he noticed, seemed to stand the same way, although he couldn’t explain what that meant. It was just – vibes, he supposed. An energy.

“By the Sky, Mother, how long is this going to take?”

Startled by the abrupt change in tone, Keith jumped, turning towards the man who spoke. He was taller than anyone on the team, although shorter than most of the other Aegians, and covered himself with leaves that looked deliberately sewn rather than grown. His smile was wide and white and what Keith could only describe as shark-like. 

But what was most striking was his skin. The dark lines of patterns that covered it had Keith thinking he was as Aegian as the rest of them, made of tree bark, but then he blinked and realised – they were merely marks, or tattoos. Unlike the rest of the Aegians, this man had skin, this man was – 

Lance gasped. “You’re — human!” 

“Half,” the man corrected, chuckling. He swept forward and delicately grabbed Lance’s hand in one of his, pressing a kiss just above his wrist. Lance blushed up to his hairline. “My name is Peitho. I was born here, on Aegis. My father was a lost human explorer. I have never been to earth. But human genes…” He looked Lance up and down, grinning charmingly. “I’ve always felt they’re very dominant.” 

Lance, obviously pleased with the attention, warmed up quick. He walked over, reaching up to brush the hair out of Peitho’s eyes, touch lingering. Like they were friends or something. Keith ground his teeth so hard you could hear it from the ship’s smoking engine room. 

“I thought…I‘ve never seen a human in space. I thought we were alone, up here.” 

Peitho laughed, full-bodied and bright, like the sound of a smoothly rumbling engine. His handsome face creased lightly as he laughed, emphasizing newly-formed smile lines, which only made him more beautiful, not less. Lance smiled widely along with him. “Oh, my dear,” he said, turning that charming grin full blast on Lance, “you are never alone.”

Keith thought his jaw might crack. What a sleazeball. No wonder Lance liked him so much.

“The introductions need not drag on,” Peitho said grandly, sweeping his arm out like he was in charge or something. His other arm was around Lance’s shoulders. “Akeso, Dysnomia, Elatreus, meet with your paladins. They are hungry, and likely tired from travel. The sooner we have them rested, the sooner they can partake in our welcoming festivities. Right, Mother?”

Dryope nodded, looking a mix of annoyed and amused. “Yes, you embodiment of impertinence.”

As ordered by the embodiment of impertinence, three Aegians stepped forward. The first – who must be Akeso, a tall, reedy person with willowy locs falling to their shoulders, who held no weapon – approached Shiro, nodding tersely. Keith felt his brother match the terseness, stiffening. 

(Internally, Keith winced – could his brother not get someone who smiled, maybe? Akeso was probably fine, but, yeesh. There was once a time when Shiro laughed more than anyone else Keith knew. Sometimes maniacally, on two hours of sleep. But he heard it so rarely now.)

The second Aegian, Dysnomia, approached Pidge. Like the Green Paladin, she was short as shit. Keith met his friends eyes and snickered at her. The murderous look he got would make him more nervous if he, as Lance so often liked to gripe, had a bone of impulse control in his body. (Rich coming from him, but. Whatever. It wasn’t like Keith could argue.) The third, Elatreus, was absolutely, one hundred percent, the coolest Aegian Keith had seen so far. Holding an intricately crafted crossbow and with a shoulder width approximately the size of a small mountain, he lumbered over to Hunk. He held out his fist. Hunk wasted no time bumping with his own. Keith would be jealous if Hunk didn’t deserve it so bad. 

“Oh,” said Peitho, after a moment. “Of course, there is one more. Ares!” He gestured with half as much enthusiasm at Keith. “Your guest.”

Keith stilled. From behind Dryope, the last Aegian host stepped forward. His pale, papery bark was gnarled and scared, bulky, and – stained, it looked like, all the way up the arms. His face was more impassive that Dryope’s, expressionless, except for the slightest of sneers. Resting on one shoulder was a massive club, three times the size of Keith’s head at its tip. Like his host’s arms, it was stained. 

Keith forced himself to meet his stare. His host had eyes red as pomegranates – well. Eye.  The right side of his face, like the rest of the Aegians, was humanoid. The left side looked like it had – looked like someone had clawed out his eye, leaving a gaping, half-healed knot of a scar. 

Ares.

Keith wasn’t familiar with a lot of myths. But he knew what namesake his Aegian host bore – Ares, god of war, god of pain, god of hardened warriors and battlefield and bloodshed.

Fitting, hissed a voice in his mind. Keith curled his fists and ignored it.

“Paladin,” nodded Ares, taking his place next to him.

Keith swallowed. “Ares.”

“That, I believe, is everyone,” said Dryope. “Paladins, please follow your hosts. They will bring you to their homes and ensure you have somewhere to rest. At sundown, we shall reconvene at the hearth, eat, and make merry. Please –” she spread her hands, “enjoy our island. I will see you all shortly.”

She cracked her staff once on the ground. Immediately, her army parted for her, following her in formation once she marched through. Many of them returned to their tree form. It was still strange to watch. 

Keith jumped as a hand reached out and squeezed his shoulder. Shiro smiled slightly at him, squeezing again before letting go. 

“See you soon, kiddo.”

He followed his host, leaving Keith to realise he was the last still gathered in the shadow of their crashed castle. The eyeless Aegian stood next to him, hands resting on his club, watching him curiously. 

Keith cleared his throat. “Um, we can go.”

The Aegian continued to stare. Keith shifted uncomfortably, fighting the urge to draw his bayard. That would certainly not help. Things were precarious enough. 

“You do not trust us,” his host observed. His one remaining eye was unblinking, holding Keith’s stare until his own eyes burned and he had to blink.

“No,” Keith admitted. It wasn’t that he was scared of the Aegians, per se, but he was wary of them in the same way he was wary of the Blades of Marmora. He recognised their strength, their power, and knew from the way Dryope stood that she was keeping a lot of information to herself. Any group that kept secrets was impossible to trust, at least by Keith’s standards. He suddenly wished he had been paying attention enough to watch Pidge, Lance, and Hunk leave with their hosts, to make sure they were armed. 

His host shrugged. “Wise, probably. I would have no trust in your position.”

He started to walk over the rocks, and Keith followed. It was no accident that the Aegian kept Keith on a diagonal to him, visible from his right side. Keith did his best to keep himself in his line of sight. 

“You wouldn’t?”

“Do I look like I would?”

“I don’t know how to answer that diplomatically.”

To Keith’s great surprise, his host huffed a laugh. A slight smile upturned Keith’s own lips.

“Fair.”

They walked the rest of the way in silence. Off the beach and across the meadow, in a deep, round valley, there was a sprawling village. Small, large-bricked buildings dotted hills and lay nestled at the edge of small farms. Dead centre of the valley was a giant fire pit, gently lit, and surrounding it in a perfect circle were several larger buildings in the same style. Keith recognised many of the buildings as temples. 

“This way,” Keith’s host said, beckoning him forward. He turned off the main path and walked along the edge of the hill. Keith teetered after him, trying desperately to keep his balance. He was reminded how hard it was to breathe with bruising around his ribcage, how tired he was. But he kept his mouth clenched tightly closed, unwilling to look weak. 

They walked far past the centre circle, past outer circles, past even the farthest of farmhouses. In crossing one of them, the man stopped, Keith nearly walking right into him, and waited for several moments. He bent over as a tiny little boar came galloping to the edge of the fence on runty little legs, smiling as he scratched the thing between its tusks. Keith couldn’t help but notice the blood covering the sharp, portraying bones, as if the animal had just recently hunted. 

“Hey, Kyknos. Good to see you.”

He pet the boar for a few more minutes, then wordlessly started walking again. Keith had to jog to keep up, tired from the hike so far.

“That, uh, your pet?”

“No.”

Keith waited. No more information came forth. 

“Oo-kay, then.”

There was a Lance in his head that was laughing at him, bringing up every one-word answer of Keith’s that had frustrated the Blue Paladin to twitching eyes. Keith scowled.

Finally, the host stopped at a house. Keith felt he would nearly faint with relief, beyond ready to lay down his head, wariness or not. 

“This your place?” Keith asked, panting.

His host raised his eyebrow, pushing open the door.

“No,” he deadpanned, “this is my annoying neighbour’s house. He’s on holidays. I’m staying here and using all his things to take revenge for hours of small talk.”

“Oh,” Keith replied, impressed. “Cool.” He’ll have to do that next time Lance is on a solo mission. 

“No, I’m – I’m kidding, Paladin.”

“Oh,” Keith repeated, disappointed. “Less cool.”

“Just – get in the house.”

Keith didn’t argue. He followed his host into the small building, nodded as he was pointed to a guest room, and passed out the second his head hit the straw-stuffed pillow.

— — —

part three

[waywardxwords]

I Always Have

Summary: Dean reluctantly agrees to visit a haunted house with you.

Pairing: Dean Winchester x Female Reader

Word Count: ~2.1k

Warnings: Slight language, small mention of claustrophobia, fluff!

A/N: Day 3 of the #flufftober2023 (@flufftober) prompt challenge! The prompt is: "Wait, you love me?" - "I always have." Side note: if you are on my tag list, I am planning/attempting to post once a day during the month of October. I know that’s a lot of tags and mentions, so if you’d like to be removed you can do so through the Tag List linked in my bio.

Enjoy!

Haunted Houses weren’t really Dean’s thing…well, of course real haunted houses were. But this was different. This wasn’t haunted by real spirits or monsters; mostly just local high school and college students who needed extra money in the fall so they dressed up like ghosts and ghouls. 

Dean had always hated the idea of actually visiting a haunted house. “You’re gonna pay money to go into an old building and have idiot kids try to scare you? Seriously? That’s the dumbest shit I’ve ever heard.” 

“It’s not just a haunted house, Deanie,” you had egged him on with the nickname he didn’t seem to appreciate. “It’s the pumpkins, and the apple cider, and that fun feeling of experiencing fall and Halloween as a kid.” He had just rolled his eyes. You loved getting under his skin, and as much as you would tell Sam you didn’t know why, you knew (and Sam knew, for that matter).

“Would you two just kiss already?” Sam had teased you from the kitchen of the bunker one night after you had poked and pushed on Dean so hard he had given up and retreated to his bedroom. 

“Ew,” you had forced yourself to shudder at the thought. “Don’t make me puke.”

He laughed so hard he tossed his head back as he did it. “Yeah, okay. The tension between you two is about to make me puke, so do me a favor and just keep it outta the main living areas, got it?” He wasn’t able to dodge the sponge you had been washing dishes with as you tossed it right at his head. 

So here you stood on this October night in the bunker looking at Dean blankly. You blinked twice. 

“You comin’ or not?” He drawled with mock frustration as he pulled his army green jacket over his red and black buffalo plaid flannel. He grabbed the keys off of the counter top and looked at you expectantly. 

“You’re taking me to the haunted house?” You still didn’t believe him. 

“I was plannin’ on it, but you better hurry the hell up before I change my mind,” he grumbled but couldn’t hide the tug at the corner of his lips as you practically squealed and ran by him to get your jacket. 

“Dude,” Sam eyed his brother as soon as you were out of ear shot. 

“I don’t want to hear it,” Dean held up his hand and went to wait for you in the Impala. 

“What made you change your mind?” You finally asked as Dean pulled the Impala into a parking spot in the dirt field. There were tons of other cars—this wasn’t just a haunted house, but a haunted trail as well and you could hardly hide your excitement. 

“I was tired of hearin’ you bitch and moan,” he shot you a cheesy, over exaggerated smile with his eyes squinted. You rolled your eyes and flung the door open. “Hey, careful with my Baby!” He chirped, his face suddenly morphed into a small scowl. 

“I’m not gonna hurt your precious car, Deanie,” you teased as you met him by the front of the Impala. Each step you took almost had a skip to it, and you couldn’t help yourself as you slipped your arm through his and linked it just at his elbow. 

You weren’t sure if you imagined it, but you felt like his demeanor softened. The two of you walked like that as your boots crunched against the gravel and dirt. There were quite a few others there and a line had formed. The trail was dark but lit by yellow glowing lanterns strung from trees and solar path lights on the ground. 

“Fifteen dollars per person,” there was a teenaged boy at the front of the line with a cash box. Dean’s scowl returned. “Cash only.” He added on at the end. 

“Seriously? Fifteen bucks?” He looked at the kid who just pointed to the sign taped to the front of the table he was at. It read in printed font, ‘$15 per adult’. “Great,” Dean fumbled in his back pocket for his wallet. 

“I got it, Dean. You brought me here and I know it’s not your thing,” you reached for your cross body bag to fish out the money. 

“I got it,” Dean huffed as he retrieved a $20 and a $10 from his leather wallet. “Here.” He handed it to the kid. The kid nodded you both into the event. “What first? Trail or house?” 

“Hmm,” you pondered, your excitement had returned. “Let’s do the trail first.” Your eyes wandered for a second and a squeal left your lips again before you could reign it back in as your gaze noticed a booth just ahead. 

“Jesus Christ,” Dean mumbled, but there was a slight chuckle tucked behind it. 

“Apple cider!” You practically pulled him towards the stand. There was no line, so you were under the lights of the vendor almost immediately. “Two apple ciders, please.” This time, you were sure to pull out your wallet first. 

“That’ll be six dollars,” the woman returned with two cups of cider. You handed her the cash and handed a cup to Dean. 

“Cheers!” You beamed as you clinked your paper cup against his. You noticed a small eye roll from him, but he obliged and took a sip. 

He made a sour face. “Why do you love this stuff?” He rubbed his lips together to get the sweet sticky substance off. 

“I think the real question is, how do you not love this kinda stuff,” you threw back at him as you looped your arm back through his and slowly walked towards the trail. “Halloween is so magical, Dean! It’s literally the best time of year. I think they’ve even polled people on that and determined it is actually the majority's favorite time of the year.”

“Yeah, well, they forgot to poll me on that one,” he grumbled. “We fight this stuff every day. Not this stuff, because it’s fake. But the real deal—the kinda stuff that could kill us. How are you not jaded by that?”

You took a moment before you answered. Your feet stopped moving, so Dean’s stopped too. He turned to look at you as your arm fell out of his. 

“When I was a kid, my Dad loved Halloween. I swear, his whole mood changed when fall rolled around. He built a wooden casket and rigged it with fishing wire to open when our front door opened. We scared every kid that came to our house. And kids would literally come from all over to get spooked,” the memory brought a smile to your lips. “I didn’t even want to trick-or-treat half the time. I just wanted to be at home with my Dad scaring the local middle schoolers. My Dad could be difficult,” your smile fell for a moment as other memories tried to make their way through—memories that Dean was well versed in at this point in your friendship. ��But when Halloween came around? Man, those were the best days.”

Dean was silent as his eyes watched your face. He saw the emotions ebb and flow as you spoke. He nodded once. “Okay, then,” he said simply. “Let’s go get spooked.” This time, he held his arm out for you to link yours through, causing you to smile. 

The trail ended up being more hilarious than terrifying. But you and Dean had thoroughly enjoyed watching others jump and yell as they made their way through. 

Next up, the haunted house. This was a little bit different than the trail, as the hallways were so tightly constructed, only one person could walk ahead at a time. You shuddered slightly as you waited, but it was enough for Dean to notice.

“Oh, come on,” he teased as he glanced over his shoulder at you. “You’re not scared, are you?”

Your face scrunched at him as you gave him a slight nudge. “Not scared,” you emphasized. “Just jumpy…” sounds of other haunted house goers ahead of you erupted from just inside the corridor–it made you excited all over again. 

It was your turn to enter the main hallway next. They paused between groups to give everyone the full experience. Dean led the way with you closely behind. The house was even darker than outside, if possible, so it took your eyes a second or two to adjust. 

There were fake cobwebs and a strobe light tucked away somewhere that sent flashes of light in the hall. Screams filled your ears, and you weren’t sure if they were from other patrons or if there was an audio playing in the background—probably the latter. Your eyes danced around in sensory overload as you tried to take it all in. As Dean rounded the first corner, you missed the memo that there were holes cut out in the wall, so when the first pair of hands reached out followed by someone growling behind the plywood, you couldn’t help the way your body jumped or the scream that followed. 

Dean tossed his head back in laughter and turned briefly to look at you. Your heart beat pretty hard against your chest, but you still reached out to swat at him. He surprised you by catching your wrist with his large palm and carefully pulled your arms so they were around his middle. He held them there, and you realized he was giving you something to hold onto. 

“Alright, Kat Harvey,” he referenced your favorite Casper-loving character from the classic ghost movie. “You’re alright.” The hum of his voice vibrated through the layers of clothing on his back. Even though you didn’t feel scared anymore, you couldn’t pull your arms away. 

You inched behind Dean throughout the rest of the haunted house, laughter erupted from both of you as teenagers tried to scare you. It was refreshing to see Dean laugh—truly laugh—and it made you smile. 

As you exited the house, he released your hands he had clutched against his middle and cleared his throat. “That was…”

“I know, I know,” you rolled your eyes as you shook off the empty feeling you felt without his touch. “It was lame, you can say it.”

He hesitated for a moment as he looked back to the house and then shrugged towards you. “Nah, I was gonna say it was actually kinda fun.” A smile tugged at his lips. 

“Oh…” you grinned back. “Yeah, it was fun. Thanks for bringing me here, Dean.” You tucked a fallen strand of hair behind your ear and turned to head back to the parking lot. 

“Where are you going?” He asked. When you turned back, you noticed he hadn’t moved from his spot. 

“Uh…back to the car? That was all you had signed up for…heck, you kinda threw me a bone agreeing to do both the trail and the haunted house.”

“Nuh uh,” he shook his head. “I spent thirty bucks to get us in here. There’s a pumpkin carving booth over there. You said ‘pumpkins, apple cider and haunted houses’. We’re doin’ all three, dammit,” he said firmly but followed it up with a smile. 

Your eyes beamed at at him and you bit your bottom lip gently before striding back over to him, “God, I love you.” Your breath caught in your throat after the last word and you froze. With widened eyes, you refused to meet his gaze. 

There was a long pause that felt much longer than it probably was. But very quietly you heard his voice, “Wait, you love me?”

You paused again, but put on your big girl panties and turned to him slowly. “I always have.”

His eyes watched you closely for a moment, and then he moved to you so smoothly. His lips brushed against yours for a moment before he pulled away, but went in for another. 

“I love you, too,” he murmured gently just as your lips parted. Butterflies fluttered in your stomach before he held his arm out for you once more. “Let’s go carve some pumpkins.” He smiled at you, and this time you knew it was different. It was a smile of contentment. Like everything he had needed, had come to fruition in that moment. 

“Let’s,” you beamed back at him as you tucked your arm through his. He leaned towards you for one more kiss before you made your way to the pumpkin carving station. While you weren’t sure what this meant or how your life was about to change, it didn’t matter at that moment. You had pumpkins, apple cider, haunted houses and Dean Winchester at your fingertips. And with that, you couldn’t think of a more perfect autumn evening.

Thanks for reading!

Tag List: @jackles010378 @ladysparkles78 @hallecarey1 @zepskies @lyarr24

[bantarleton]

Who Wants a Non-Hessian German Troops of the American Revolution Uniform Identification Flow Chart?

Now you too can roleplay as a harried British staff officer trying to identify which troops are encamped where, or a devious rebel spy collecting intelligence.

As folks may or may not know, only roughly 50% of the German state troops who served the British Crown during the American Revolution were “Hessians” from Hesse-Cassel. There were six other states that provided “subsidy troops.” Here’s how to tell them apart at a glance.

Are their uniforms predominantly dark blue? If yes, go to the paragraph numbered 4. If no, go to the para numbered 2.

2. Are their uniforms predominantly white? If no, go to the para numbered 3. If yes, those are troops from Anhalt-Zerbst. The only German state involved in the war to take its uniform and organisational cues from Austria rather than Prussia, the single Anhalt-Zerbst line regiment deployed to America wore white regimental coats faced with red. Their grenadiers wore bearskins rather than metal-faced caps (the only other German state to do this was Waldeck). One battalion also, according to one shocked British officer, had one of the most outrageous-looking uniforms of the war, including hussar hats, red and yellow waist sashes and red cloaks - these may have been “pandour” irregulars from the edges of the Austrian empire.

3. The coats are neither white nor blue, so they must be red. In this case, the troops are Hanoverian. While still mostly following Prussian style, because they shared a ruler with Britain, Hanoverian troops wore red. Five Hanoverian regiments assisted Britain with vital Mediterranean defence during the American Revolution, before going on to fight in India. They were the only redcoat Germans fighting for the Crown outside the British Army.

4. Your Germans are wearing blue coats. Are the buttons on the coat lapels arranged 1-2-1, and do the cuffs have a “Swedish” style slit to them? If no, go to the para numbered 5. If yes, they’re from Brunswick-Wolfenbüttel. Brunswick provided the most soldiers after Hesse-Cassel, and arguably the most rounded force, with four line regiments, one dragoon regiment, one grenadier battalion and one light infantry battalion. But whether jäger, musketeers or grenadiers, they almost all had coat buttons in groups of 1-2-1 and the slit-style cuffs. Fun fact; the Brunswick crest of a racing white horse on a red field was the same as neighbouring Hanover’s.

5. Your Germans are wearing blue, but don’t have buttons in 1-2-1 and Swedish cuffs. Do they have yellow facings, and cuffs with buttons placed both horizontally and vertically? If no, go to the para numbered 6. If yes, they are from Waldeck. This German state usually provided troops for the Dutch, but raised a new unit, the 3rd English-Waldeck Regiment, for service in America. They mostly fought against the Spanish in the Deep South, where they were decimated by disease. If the unusual position of the buttons on the cuff isn’t enough, look for the belt plate bearing “FF” for “Fuerst Friedrich,” the state’s ruler.

6. Do your blue Germans have red facings, cocked hats and unusual lace on their coats, shaped like a figure-of-eight? If no, go to the para numbered 7. If yes, they’re from Hesse-Hanau. This state was closely related (in the sense of its ruler, literally) to Hesse-Cassel, yet remained independent. While it provided a small amount of artillery, jägers and freikorps light infantry, its main contribution was a single line regiment, Erbprinz. Their distinctive features were scalloped lace on their cocked hats and the figure-of-eight “Brandenburg” style lace. There was also a Hesse-Cassel Regiment Erbprinz (even sharing the same colonel-in-chief), but they were fusiliers with caps rather than the Hesse-Hanau musketeers with their cocked hats. Check the mistake made by this artwork - these are Hesse-Hanau soldiers from the Infanterie Regiment Erbprinz, but they’re wearing Cassel fusilier caps. Bonus fact; Hanau and Cassel’s crest both features a rampant lion with red and white stripes, but there are subtle differences - they face opposite directions, the style of stripes are slightly different, and the Hanau lion lacks the Cassel one’s crown, but does wield a sword.

7. Do your blue-coated Germans have a black eagle on their flags and grenadier cap plates? If no, they’re probably from Hesse-Cassel. If yes, they’re from Ansbach-Bayreuth. This German state consisted of two provinces, Ansbach and Bayreuth (funny that). Besides jägers and some battalion guns, their main contribution was two infantry regiments, one from each of the two provinces. Their ruler’s crest was a black eagle, similar to the Prussian one.

Of course these posts don’t account for the uniforms of the jäger corps, or musicians, or any artillery, but it can serve as a rough guide. For the proper detail, you’ll have to buy my forthcoming book on the topic!

Also would be pretty cool if someone made an actual flow chart out of this, just saying!

[alldthoughtsinmyhead]

The Council stood as the king walked into the Council room. Aaron's ears twitched as he caught a tension in the air. He walked up to his chair and sat on it, pausing for a millisecond before waving them to sit.

A tall gorgeous dark-skinned man with silver-gray locs stood up and addressed the room.

"My sister and I were on scout duty last week. We flew around the westside mostly since that was where we got reports of strangers lurking around the market asking strange questions." He nodded at a much older version of himself seated to his left, "My father thought it would be a good idea of my sister scouts that area alone and. . "

"Absolutely NOT!!" The king's bellow resounded all over the castle and beyond. Members of the council looked startled while the young man and his father shared a small secret smile.

The king glared at the older man as he addressed him directly. "Amari, Nia will not be scouting anywhere alone. In fact, I demand that she be immediately reassigned to another section."

Amari bowed slightly in Aaron's direction. "Obi and Nia are the strongest scouts in our clan. It was my decision to send Nia alone since a barn owl is less conspicuous than a Great horned owl. We need that area under surveillance and we need to do it discreetly."

"I still don't like it. Nia is strong and fierce but she's a woman and we do not put our women in the front lines of battle." Aaron spoke as carefully and casually as he could. He already gave too much away with his initial reaction, he needed to play it off as best he could.

Obi nodded in agreement, looking at his father for approval briefly before speaking. "I'll send my lieutenant. He's not as strong as Nia but he's shrewd and fast. He knows how to avoid trouble and lay low when he needs to."

A murmur went up among the other council members at Aaron's grunt of approval.

The grayed man from last night stood as Obi sat. "Your majesty, women have fought in our army for generations. Our women aren't weak or frail. Especially those from high houses tasked with the protection of our beloved kingdom."

Feeling irritation begin to bubble up inside him, Aaron casually leaned back in his chair, propping his chin up with his right fist as he rested it on the armrest. He wore a faintly bored expression, though it was clear he was trying to mask the tension building beneath the surface.

His voice took on a deadly calm; "Your house is high, is it not?"

Obi sniggered, sobering up when his father shot him a warning glance.

"Yes, it is, my lord." The gray man stood stiff as he replied, meeting the king's gaze. The tension in the room was palpable.

"And you have daughters, do you not?"

"Yes, I do."

"Should we nominate one to stand guard at the market? perhaps disguised as a trader?"

"I'll gladly give up my daughters if you order it."

Aaron held the old man's gaze. He admired him greatly, challenged him often, and kept him on his toes forcing him to evolve and grow as a man and a king. Even now with the taunt tension between them, Aaron knew he was right. His aversion to having Nia scout that area was because she was his woman and he wouldn't see her in harm's way.

"I do not order it," He spoke in a voice that gave no room for questions, "Neither will I allow Amari's daughter to scout that area." He looked away from him, effectively dismissing him. "What is next on the agenda?"

***

Milele sat on an ornate, high-backed chair in the great hall, surrounded by the women of the King’s household. It was the second day of her marriage, and as tradition demanded, she was to entertain guests from across the kingdom and beyond. Each guest brought a gift, the value of which reflected their wealth. All the treasures collected were hers to keep. By the end of the day, she would have amassed enough wealth to place her among the richest lords of the land. The queen’s fortune was separate from the king’s; she would be financially independent, free to indulge in whatever pleasures she desired, whenever she wished.

The hall was beginning to fill with lavish gifts—gold, pearls, fine linens, and an array of rare stones and exquisite jewelry—when a new guest was announced.

Nia entered with the poise that came naturally from her privileged birth and status. Her dress, tailored to perfection, accentuated her long legs, while her wild hair was elegantly swept back with jeweled combs. Pearls and feathers adorned her neck, and her face, painted with such detail, seemed almost otherworldly in its beauty.

Behind her, two men carried a large chest of rare, perfumed oils. Nia held her head high as she approached Milele’s chair, stepping closer than customary before lowering her head just slightly in a curtsey, a gesture laced with both grace and challenge.

An unnatural silence fell over the room. The women stared, wide-eyed, at her bold actions, too stunned to speak or challenge her.

"Well, if it isn't the queen." Nia's voice dripped with subtle disdain, not bothering to conceal the contempt that slipped through.

Milele gazed in awe at the stunning woman before her, suddenly feeling out of place. This woman, with her regal presence, beauty, poised demeanor, and unmistakable wealth, seemed far more deserving of the title than Milele ever could be. She recalled the reckless act of throwing the soap at the king that morning, a gesture that now filled her with embarrassment. How unbecoming. This woman would never behave so impulsively.

Milele longed to touch her flawless skin, as though it would confirm her reality. Her gaze swept over the woman's face, lingering on the deep brown eyes and high forehead.

Noticing Milele’s admiring stare, Nia raised an eyebrow, a gesture that pulled Milele back to the present. Trying to regain her composure, she offered a stiff nod.

"You're welcome. What is your name and your house?"

Nia fought and lost the urge to chuckle, "Do you even know what a "house" is?"

The women audibly gasped at the direct insult prompting the oldest woman to step forward.

"Lady Nia," she started.

"I'm leaving." Nia curtseyed deeply this time before turning on her heels and walking out of the hall.

Overwhelming happiness filled her heart as she walked to her carriage. She cursed the formality of the event that warranted her use of the carriage when all she wanted to do was fly in elation. The queen was pretty, but she had all the grace of a wild goat. Nia chuckled, the King was probably fed up with her already. That explains why he was in her bed on his wedding night.

She could also swear that she was still untouched by the air of innocence around her. The owl threw back her head and laughed with all the joy in her heart; Aaron loved sex, if he hadn't touched her by now, it only meant one thing-- He hated her presence.

***

It was getting dark when Aaron walked in to find his bride in the great hall. He paused at the entrance to observe her for a moment.

She sat slumped in the high-backed chair, her head lolling to the side in a clear display of exhaustion. Her legs dangled, not quite reaching the floor, and she absentmindedly swung them back and forth. He observed her quietly as she stifled a yawn, only to catch herself and raise her hand quickly to cover her mouth. Her eyes flicked around in a mix of embarrassment and self-consciousness.

Milele sat up when Aaron walked in. The women around all stood and curtsied. "Thank you all for keeping my wife company and guiding her, please enjoy your rest for the remainder of the evening," He smiled warmly at them, "you've earned it."

They rose in unison and filed out of the hall. After they had all gone, Milele started to rise from the chair but he waved her back down.

"Did you have a pleasant day?" His voice was filled with genuine concern that tugged at Milele's heart and made her even more ashamed of what she had done that morning.

She hadn't seen him all day and had assumed he was angry with her but right now he looked down at her with a bright smile-- that stole her breath if she was being honest with herself.

His mood was infectious and she found herself relaxing and smiling back at him.

He turned away and found a place to sit. She opened her mouth to apologize for her behavior that morning but he spoke first.

"Should I have the carpenter saw the legs off that chair? Your feet don't touch the ground."

Milele's mouth snapped shut. She looked down at the slippers on her feet and looked back at Aaron.

Back Next

[theantarwitch]

Non human Ancestors

I was just thinking... often I see a lot about ancestor work (something that I don’t actually do for reasons lol) which is mostly aimed to human ancestors, our beloved past generations that we never were able to know; but I was taking a shower and it occurred to me: What about our ancestors that are so back in time that are not even human? They existed, right?

Specially having in mind that humans (“modern” humans) are actually so new in the big scheme of the evolution line. As someone said, from Jesus (Year 0) to now, to around 30 years between generations, there are around 56 mothers long (some put up to 80 or 100 mothers). Which is an actually ridiculously small fragment of time. Don’t get me wrong, is a lot of time to us, but the earth is quite oldy. Also, interesting fact: 1 generation ago you have 2 parents, 2 generations ago you have 4 grandparents… 56 generations ago you have 16,000,000,000,000,000 ancestors! So each time you do ancestor work, you have a little army up there lol.

Back to what matters. There were humans before the year 0. There was a moment when they were not even humans, but their evolved blood still flows on out veins, their evolutionary bias still affects us. We find calmness on the shower because we once were living on the water. Our strong emotional based reactions come from the times where our rational thinking wasn’t a thing. The appendix is considered a small leftover from one of our plant-eating ancestors. The coccyx is all that remains of our ancestral tails. Humans pay extra attention to the red color because was a sign of a ripe fruit (and blood). Hiccups might be attributed to an ancient amphibian ancestor. That we and other mammals have 5 fingers is rooted to a dang fish! Our fear of dark, the way we unconsciously analyze others, how we manage to unconsciously pick the “best partner”, the virus and bacteria that live in our bodies in a symbiotic way, and so on. Almost all what we are now, mentally, emotionally and physically, is a result of millions of years of evolution, of species that don’t look like us. An almost endless line of lucky and well adapted creatures, in a web of evolution, trial and error, until now. So why only focus on our modern human ancestors? One of you ancient grandmothers was a “fish”, she did her part and she know things that we have no idea, so why don’t ask them for aid?  

From the Homo Sapiens (Us, in the last 500.000 years) with their extreme mental developed brains, their, inventive, problem solving, creativity, to the Homo Erectus being the first to cook food (controlled fire), to make handaxes, to hunt and gather in coordinated groups, in caring for injured or sick group members, to walk fully straight as us; to the Australopithecus, and back to our unknown Hominini “Missing Link”.

From the Purgatorius, the progenitor of primates, to the Pelycosaur, the one from which Sauropsids (the ancestors of reptiles of all sorts) and of Synapsids (that's mammals AND their ancestors) split off from.

From the Hylonomus, the first reptile, to the Tiktaalik, the first fish in venture to leave the ocean and walk in the earth, to the Agnatha, the first fish.

To the Urmetazoan, the hypothetical last common ancestor of all animals.

3.7 billion years old of ancestors. I think is poetic to think about it. The spirit of some Homo Erectus getting happy when you lit a candle, the Tiktaalik’s spirit noticing how you are in ease when you take a long shower, a fluffy Synapsids’s energy remembering their old times when you sleep comfy on your bed, an anxious Purgatorius’s spirit who see you eat your veggies just like they did… So many unknown ancestors, from the most primitive form of life, seeing their evolutionary mark on you.  

I don’t know, maybe is time to drop a snack in their name, who knows which knowledge they can bring us back, from their experiences in a time where life wasn’t easy, from a time where the earth wasn’t even remotely similar to our earth now. We are almost aliens to them, but we carry them, deep inside our DNA. Who knows in which funky animalistic way they can aid us? Is worthy to think about it, at least for a while. They deserve the recognition too…

[221beloved]

Make a Wish

(Link to ao3)

John was awakened by a none too gentle shove at the small of his back. He turned around to find Sherlock writhing next to him under the blanket, his eyebrows drawn together, his lips pressed into a thin line, before they opened to let out a strangled noise.

John reached back to turn on the lamp on his bedside table, then tried to gently untangle Sherlock from the blankets without touching him too roughly.

“Sherlock?” he whispered once the duvet was lying smoothly on top of the man. There was no sign of recognition, so John tried again louder.

“Sherlock!”

Sherlock’s eyes flew open and he sat up straight in one swift motion, clinging to the duvet and panting heavily.

Sherlock was not usually one for nightmares, and John’s had mostly stopped too, but sometimes they had to wake each other in the middle of the night.

And from the looks of it, this dream was a bad one.

Carefully John got onto his knees, trying to get away from behind Sherlock where he couldn’t see him.

“Hey, Sherlock,” John whispered, stretching out a hand, but not touching, not yet.

“Shhh, it’s alright, you’re alright.” He tried to loosen Sherlock’s grip around the duvet.

“You’re in our bed, our room in our flat in London.”

He got the blanket out of Sherlock’s death grip and gently closed his hands around Sherlock’s.

“You see that chair? Silly question, of course you see it. But do you remember how you’ve placed your dressing gown on it yesterday?”

Sherlock nodded, his breaths beginning to even out slightly.

“That’s it,” John soothed, “I’ve got you.”

Sherlock nodded again, then eventually turned his head to take in more of the room himself.

Finally he looked at John. He closed his eyes and let his head sink onto his shoulder.

“Thank you,” he whispered hoarsely.

“It’s alright,” John whispered back, drawing circles on Sherlock’s back.

“Are you alright?”

Sherlock was silent for a moment, then shrugged.

“Don’t know…”

“That’s alright, too,” John told him and nudged him to lie back down again, Sherlock half atop John.

While continuing his slow patterns on Sherlock’s back, John remembered an article he’d read just some days ago, about how little games could distract the mind in these situations, questions like, who do you want to be?

John looked down at the man in his arms, now all but clinging to him instead of the blanket.

“Hey…”

Sherlock hummed.

“Make a wish?”

John knew this was probably a brusque request, Sherlock was half asleep and raw from quite terrifying emotions, but he couldn’t think of a better question for the worlds only consulting detective.

Sherlock hummed again, shifting a little, then mumbled, “Marry me.”

They both froze, Sherlock had apparently surprised himself just as much as he’d surprised John. And his tactic to deal with it was to feign sleep.

John took in a deep breath, trying to calm the riot in his body.

Right, this question hadn’t been well thought through.

When the shock had somewhat subsided, a warm fuzziness spread through his chest instead, pulsing through his veins with every beat of his heart.

Sherlock wanted to marry him.

“Well,” John said as gently as possible.

“If you really want to bind yourself to an old army doctor…”

Sherlock’s head shot up.

“What? You’d want to?”

John smiled at him. “Stupid question. Of course I want to.”

Sherlock just stared at him, his eyes wide.

John chuckled.

“Do you want to hear the word? Yes, yes I do want to marry you.”

Sherlock pressed his eyes closed, almost as if he were in pain, and pressed his cheek against John’s chest.

“I love you,” he whispered fiercely. “I love you! I love you…”

“And I love you,” John whispered back, hiding his smile in the dark curls under his nose.

They loved each other, and they would tell the world.

--

Please tell me if you want to be added or removed from the list!

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[multifandom-nerds-blog]

Collection of Soren HCs/concepts/ideas mostly based on him having dark magic used on him in a, well, very permanent way (twice!). Cause I just feel like having dark magic inside of you like that must have some side effects.

I have more general HCs about Soren in another draft that I will post later.

He's constantly running cold. Like super cold, it wouldn't be healthy for anyone else but it's "just" a side effect from having dark magic inside him. This man is a block of ice. Most people don't notice though, even with how much physical affection he likes to show, because he walks around with full armor most of the time annyway, with only his head and fingers being uncovered. So no one really knows his body temperaturis so low. Especially since it doesn't physically affect him, it's just that it would definitely raise some questions if someone would take his temperature.

-> Claudia healing him from the full body paralysis made it more extreme. The low body temperature technically still doesn't affect him, but it definitely weirded him out (still does) when he noticed it after all the stress from the first arc wore off. He was used to it before, where he could still believably tell people he's just running cold, probably thought so himself, now his skin was really freezing cold. So he started wearing his fingerless gloves too so people don't freak out at his cold hands. (and pjs under his armor to maybe get the temperature up with some extra layers, because I'm looking at his new armor and he's wearing so many layers already wtf.)

-> The way he did notice was because someone did freak out. Ezran probably tried to drag him somewhere, not that he had to since Soren probably kept guard 24/7 of Ezran the first few weeks after the stormspire. (With the army and crownguard being still messed up and the whole political mess that first few few weeks must have been.) Anyhow, Ezran tried to drag Soren, probably to the kitchen, by taking his hands only to freak out by the icecubes his hands were. The next day Soren started wearing his gloves.

His sense of temperatures is also slightly messed up sometimes. Eats or drinks stuff often that is still way to hot and burns his mouth before noticing, while also taking the coldest showers known to mankind (he just says cold showers are healthy)

Unless he does his skin/hair routine obviously. He's high maintanence, cause lavender oils y'know.

It is extremly hard for him to get sick/catch a cold. This is a combination of having magical lungs basically/probably having had any possible bad sickness as a child you can get (me lmao)/and his general healthy lifestyle. When he does catch something it's mostly just like an annoying allergy. Or a stomach bug, cause those are nasty and get to everyone.

You can actually see traces of the dark magic on his body. On his chest and along his spine on the back, in the way of purple lines, patterns maybe. But their not always visible on first glance. It kinda depends on his physical and mental state on how visible they get. Aside from him only Viren and Claudia know about those, since he never really had a reason to go to people and be like "Hey guys I've got purple traces of dark magic on my body". (Cough Corvus lerans about it at some point cough)

Soren is obviously a bit self conscious about this, since he never really liked dark magic to begin with. But those feelings became worse after the stormspire battle and everything, with Claudia then suddenly gone too.

He usually avoids doctors too, which he doesn't need most of the time luckily, but everyone in Katolis army needs to get a mandatory checkup every 6 months. (Set in place by Sarai at one point) He has very allaborate schemes to get out of those, and succeded every single time so far. Being the head of the crownguard probably helps with it.

Also, sometimes his sense of touch in his lower body is a bit toned down (? I don't know the right word, in either language anymore). Though this is mostly a psychosomatic. Healed with magic or not, such an injury leaves it's marks. (Me? Giving my favs some of my chronical pain to cope? Never.)

He probably smells weird to dragons or other magical creatures with a high sense of smell. Not reeking like a dark mage, but it's physically still in him so it's definitely noticable. Some non-sapient wild magical creatures might avoid him because of it.

-> Zubeia especially noticed this after the timeskip, because they didn't exactly interact 1 to 1 before in S3, but kept it to herself. She likes Soren and clocked that he already has enough issues. She isn't gonna give him one more thing to be self conscious about. To Zym it's just kinda how Soren smells. Pyrrah still finds it a bit uncomfortable at times, but learned to ignore it.

Some more general Soren HCs/ideas are on their way.

Look at this doofus.

[skitariiposting]

How many armies do you have?

Apologies on this taking so long to answer, I attempted to answer it twice on my phone, but Tumblr kept eating my response because it has pictures in it :/ I finally said screw it and moved the pictures over to my computer.

I've got two armies, Adpetus Mechanicus and Death Guard!

They are the Submechanicus and the Depth Guard respectively.

The Submechancius uses The Makers Cult's "Dark Mechanicus" models as a base and have involved quite a bit of digital and physical kitbashing. I'm going for a more "20,000 leagues under the sea/Bioshock" theme. The Depth Guard was originally going to be a similar kitbashing scenario, but I ended up finding a modeler named MEZGIKE who's been making a death guard line that was exactly what I was looking for called the "Dredge." They're absolutely phenomenal, I love their sculpts to bits!

To tear back the curtain a bit, before I adopted the mantle of Skitariiposting I was primarily a Death Guard player - still am behind the scenes actually. I love admech's aesthetics, units, lore, game, gimmicks, characters, and everything else about them but I just for the life of me can't pull good stats on the tabletop. So when I'm wanting to play serious, I fall back to my nurgle roots.

This is partially why I've been posting less of my own admech stuff, I've been working on my Death Guard minis in the background and I'm wanting to finish them up so I can play them IRL at my local gameshop and at my friends place. I'm planning on doing some Admech here and there as a palate cleanser between DG models though, as I love painting them a lot :]

Also, I've got a little extra tidbit about where I get the models I paint below that I started going into a spiel about, but half way through I realized it didn't really pertain to your question. Just so it doesn't go to waste, I'm still going to include it just in case you or anyone else would like to know more about it.

I've had a couple folks ask where to get these minis, so I want to specify that I 3D print my minis with a resin printer. I buy the digital files and then run them through my printer to get them. If you have a printer and want to know where I get the digital files from, let me know and I'll send you some links!

While it takes a lot more effort and care, I like the unique look I can achieve with it! Others have also asked why I don't get official models and it's not like I can't afford or don't want to get the official James Workshop minis, I've painted a couple in the past for friends, but its mostly because I just like working with resin minis. The fact it's a bit cheaper to do so is also an appreciated bonus ;]

[oldtvandcomics]

The Lucifer/Alastor rivalry is so fun, because, well, Hell's Greatest Dad sing-off, but also, while they have strikingly similar designs, Alastor is much, MUCH better at being satanic than Lucifer is.

First of all, they really look VERY similar. In a show where every character has such a unique design, I remember feeling disappointed the first time I saw a picture of what Lucifer would look like, because it was so similar to Alastor. Same general shape, same coat, they even both have a staff of some kind. Only of course, if you were to remove all the apple, snake and radio elements from their costumes and show this picture to someone who doesn't know Hazbin Hotel and ask which of the two is the Devil, they would definitely pick Alastor. He is taller, wears dark red instead of white, and his ears look like horns.

It goes even further. Among all demons, Alastor is by far the most demonic. When he transforms he really becomes absolutely monstrous. Lucifer meanwhile is angelic.

Within the story, Lucifer doesn't do much, especially not any Devil activities. He's just trying to dissociate from his depression by making rubber ducks. Meanwhile, Alastor is the one who is working hard on gaining power, he is the one manipulating people, killing those who get in his way and chaining souls to himself by making deals. He is the one who uses his political connections to get Charlie an army at the end, and despite not being able to kill Adam, he does a very good job holding his own against him.

Hell's Greatest Dad was not about being Charlie's father figure, it was about Alastor trying to take Lucifer's place. Quite literally. "Can you butt out of my song!" "Your song?! I started this!" "I'm singing it, I'll finish it!" Yeah, so this is at the same time about 1) the literal song they're singing, 2) Charlie's life, and 3) Alastor taking Lucifer's place by pushing him to the side.

I still don't know why Alastor decided that picking a fight with Lucifer upon sight was a good idea, but, like, we can all agree that he is aiming for his place, mostly by getting Charlie to depend on him. Which is also what his line in Ready For This was: "She's filled with potential that I could guide / Stick with her you'll be on the winning side!"

Many people theorize that Alastor is the final bad guy in the show. I don't think so, he is WAY too likeable. He is, however, firmly on his own side, and will go against Charlie if he thinks that he'd benefit from it. And then switch back the last moment, obviously. He panicked now about being too kind, next season, he's going to try and be more ruthless, try to stop caring about the people he clearly started to consider his friends. But he has to end up on the side of the heroes for the audience to be happy. Villains need to be destroyed, we do NOT want Alastor to be destroyed.

No, in my opinion, he is going to take Lucifer's place as the Devil.