#defeated!callie | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

andromedathefairy · 2 months ago

Text

Be quiet!

ran x reader fighting, blood, kissing, fingering, implied threesome not proofread word count: 2492 Summary: Ran is horny after they win a bet, and they pull you to the restroom to have a quick one.

You loved Friday nights at The Last Drop. The rhythm of the music, all the people dancing around, the neon lights, Thieram’s cocktails, Sevika’s hearty laughs as she demolished the guys in poker and finally, and most importantly, your amazing partner, Ran playing pool. You loved to watch them as they bent over the table to make their move. You always had to fight the urge to just waltz there and smash their booty. But they were concentrating, you were dabbling with others, so you couldn’t overhear what was going on, but you saw on Ran’s face that they were losing the match.

Ran’s opponent - a huge guy you always seen on the lanes -, already felt the win in his pocket. He was smiling and talking to Ran, who seemed to be more and more stressed. You couldn’t pay attention to the talking at your table, you tried to read the huge guy’s lips.

“… lose…. your girl … mine” this was all you could read from the guy’s lips, and in an instant, you stood up. You got mad because this was not the first time Ran was playing “Betting my girlfriend in pool”, and this was also not the first time they almost lost you because of a fucked-up bet. If they would ever lose the game while they were betting with you, you would beat the shit out of Ran beside obviously breaking up with them.

You walked to Ran and the guy was already smiling at you when he spotted you as you tried to fight your way through the crowd.

“Hey beautiful” he said with a horny smile on his face. “I hope you ready to take my big guy.” he continued as he pointed at his crotch.

You tried to ignore him, otherwise you would’ve started to gag. Ran didn’t even dare to look at you, they were walking around the pool, trying to figure out their next move. You looked at the balls’ placement at the table and you realized Ran was not losing the game. The guy was just an idiot and fell for Ran’s play. Now you had to fight a giggle, but instead you grabbed Ran’s wrist.

“I hope it’s a good bet, if you are willing to risk our relationship because of this.” you said aggrieved, playing along with Ran.

“It was a good idea.” Ran said while they still avoided your gaze. “But now…? I’m not so sure.” they finished with a big gulp.

“Come on, freak! Hurry to fuck up, I want your girl’s pussy already.” said the guy. Ran’s face twitched, and you clenched your fist. You wished that he wouldn’t take defeat easily. You wanted to beat him. Ran looked at your face, and you just nodded at them.

That was what it took. Ran easily put the last balls into the holes and won the game. The guy’s smile froze to his face.

“Fucking faggots!” he started to yell as he darted at Ran. You were faster. You bashed the guy’s face into the table.

“That’s for calling Ran a freak.” you said to him with your sweetest voice.

As he stood up you saw that his nose broke, blood was streaming down his face. He screamed and you realized he also lost one of his front teeth. With mad rage he grabbed your wrist, but this time Ran was faster, they kicked his knee, making him spread on the ground.

“Pay up, faggot!” said Ran with a cold voice.

“I will kill both of you! I will gut you two like pigs!” he yelled while he spat blood to the ground.

“ENOUGH!” you heard a deep voice behind your back. Even the music stopped in The Last Drop. Every face at the bar turned at your direction.

“Enough!” Sevika repeated it as she walked up to you three. “Pay up, motherfucker.” she said as she leant over the guy. She stroked his hair with her mechanical hand and lowered her voice. “And if I were you, I would think twice before threatening Silco’s men.”

“What? These two fucking faggots are working for Silco?” he asked with hatred in his voice.

“They are.” Sevika said as he pulled the guy up from the floor. “And if I were you, I would also retain myself calling anyone a faggot in here. If you continue like this you gonna have problem with everyone in the bar, not just this two.”

“Pay up, fucker!” Ran ordered him. Sevika just gave them a side-eye, and Ran’s cheeks turned a little bit red.

“Fucking fine, freaks!” he said with his arms spread. He started to empty his pockets. He poured the coins into Ran’s hands, topping the pile with a silver lighter and something thin that outshined everything else.

“Just so you know, with winning, they saved your dick.” you said while smiling. “You can be hella sure I would’ve bitten off your cock, fuckface.” Ran giggled beside you, but you saw that Sevika was also smirking.

Sevika waved to two of the guards and they walked the guy out. The music started once again, and everyone else went back to their business. Showtime was over. Sevika waited until the door closed behind the guy then she turned to Ran.

“I can’t believe they are still falling for your shit, Ran.” she said.

“Me neither.” they confessed. “But I really needed to get this to my girl.” they said as they raised their hands with the haul. Sevika lifted the shiny thing that caught your eyes earlier. It was a thin golden necklace with a small green stone. Ran just poured the rest of the haul to the small table where they usually sit.

“Pretty thing.” Sevika nodded, then she looked at you. “And it matches her eyes.” she said to Ran, then gave the necklace back to them. Sevika walked near you and said: “Next time, please don’t get the pool all bloody.” You nodded silently.

Then it was just the two of you beside the pool.

“So, you almost gambled me away for a necklace?” you asked as you closed the distance between the two of you. Ran didn’t answer, they just held their palm out with the necklace in it. You looked at it, and it looked awfully familiar. The small green stone in fact was a moss agate with a recognizable pattern. That was the necklace Ran gifted you on your first anniversary, but you lost it deep in the Fissures when a mission went horribly wrong a few months ago.

“That fucker!” you yelped. Ran pulled you closer and kissed you with those delicious lips.

“I would never wager you on a bet when I’m not 100% sure I gonna win.” they said with a soft voice.

“Yeah, I know.” you lied with a fake smile on your face.

“So, you weren’t fuming when you walked up to me, right?” they asked then kissed your neck.

“Weeeeeell…” you started, but you didn’t have the chance to finish your sentence. Ran kissed you and their tongue quickly found its way to your mouth. As they tried to pull away you bit their lower lip.

“Kinky.” they whispered to your ear with a laugh. You swept their hair away and smooched their forehead.

“For the pain.” you said with a smile.

Ran held up the necklace. “Shall we put it back to its rightful place?” you nodded and turned your back to them, so they could fasten the clasps. They pulled you closer by your waist and peppered your neck with kisses.

“Ran.” you moaned so loud that the people from the other table started looked at you. Even Sevika looked up from her cards.

“Should we go and check my necklace out in the mirror in the restroom?” you asked as Ran’s hand crawled down on your stomach as they were biting your ear.

“I won’t check your necklace, but sure.” Ran sighed with a smirk. They grabbed you and the next thing you knew you were in a restroom stall with Ran’s hand in your underwear. With their metal hand they quickly unbuttoned you blouse and as you weren’t wearing a bra, they had a free path to your boobs. First, they just played around with your tits and as their cold metal hand touched your nipple you let out a loud moan. You liked how their metal hand felt against your skin, and Ran knew it.

With their flash hand they were circling on your clit, then with every circle their hand just slowly went deeper and deeper between your lips. They were still playing with your nipples like their life depended on it, and they already left some hickeys on your neck too.

“How is that you are always so horny after you win?” you asked them.

“It’s not the fact that I’m winning.” they replied and looked into your eyes. “It’s the way you look at me when I win.” they said as you leant in for a kiss. In that moment Ran slowly slipped her middle finger inside you. You couldn’t help but moan into their mouth.

“That’s my girl!” they smiled as they slowly pulled their finger out.

“Don’t fuck with me.” you said as you pulled their head back by their hair.

“You become so mouthy in the past few weeks, babygirl.” Ran said as they freed themselves and bit your nipple. They grabbed your neck with their metal hand and pulled you close. They slipped their finger back inside you and started to move very slowly. That’s what you got for challenging them. With their index finger Ran started to play with your clit once again, and they tightened their grip on your throat.

You started to feel something warm in your stomach, but it was building up slowly, thanks to Ran’s awfully slow pace. You tried to move your waist and fuck yourself on their finger.

“No.” Ran whispered as they bit your lips. “Don’t ruin it for yourself, beautiful.” they said with a cold, calculated voice. You both hated and loved it when they acted like that. There was something in Ran that just made you go crazy for them. You simply adored their face, their eyes, how they carried themselves, and of course those amazing, full lips. You liked their cockiness when they were crushing their opponent in pool, darts, arm wrestling… or when they were dominating you during sex. You usually got turned on by their cocky smile as much as by their touch.

“If you behave, I will go a little faster, what do you say?” they asked.

“I promise.” you said with a weak voice. Your nerves were already tingling. Ran fastened their pace, your legs started to tremble.

“Rannn!” you moaned loudly.

Then suddenly somebody started to knock on the stall’s door. You both froze.

“Hey, what the fuck is going on?” you heard a woman’s voice.

Ran just shaked their head, it was up to you to answer.

“Sorry. Try the other stall?” you said. Ran slowly slipped out of you with a loud squelch. Luckily only you two heard because of the loud music.

“Its fucking out of order.” the woman replied.

“Sorry, its numbe...” you started but, in that moment, Ran pushed three fingers inside you. “FUCK!” you screamed with a moan.

“Good girl.” they whispered to your ear. Your legs were shaking, your breath was trembling.

“Dude, that must be a huge dump. I will leave you to it.” said the woman and quickly disappeared.

Ran let out a small laugh as they were moving in and out of you rapidly.

“Fuck, Ran.” you moaned.

“I would ask whether it feels good.” they said with a smirk. “But its all over your face.”

Ran loved to see your face as you lost control. They admired as your breath became even more uneven, as your eyes rolled up, the way you moaned their name. Ran had to grab your waist because you couldn’t even stand at this point. You rested your forehead on Ran’s forehead as their rhythm became unbearable.

“Ran!” you moaned with tears in your eyes.

“Scream for me, beautiful.” they ordered.

You arched your back as you screamed Ran’s name, your orgasm swept through you in strong waves. Ran held you with a firm hand as they feasted in the sight of you.

When you were able to catch your breath you kissed them, firmly holding onto their neck.

“Lemme clean you up.” Ran said quietly while they still stroked your throbbing pussy.

A few minutes later you two stepped out of the bathroom stall. You looked into the mirror to check whether you still had lipstick marks on you, as Ran tried to discipline their hair. Despite the fact that their hair looked like they just got out of bed, it took a long time to make it look like that. As you leant closer to the mirror you heard a loud clapping behind your back. Both of you turned with the speed of light.

“The ending of that aria almost made me tear up.” Sevika said with an evil smile on her face. “Alas, I would really appreciate if you two wouldn’t occupy the bathroom for this long.”

Your cheeks turned red, and your blood was boiling.

“What, jealous?” you spit the words before you could even think. Sevika chuckled and pushed you up to the wall. Ran grabbed Sevika’s metal hand as a warning. You really didn’t want to find out which one of them would win in a fight.

“Come again?” Sevika laughed to your face. You knew you didn’t have any good comeback up to your sleeve, so you lent forward and kissed Sevika. She was shocked, but didn’t pull away, instead she cupped your face.

When you finally pulled away Sevika turned to Ran with a smirk: “She was not this feisty last night.”

“I know, she was just a sobbing mess.” Ran nodded. “She always is under our hands.”

“Fuck you. Both of you.” you said aggrieved as you pushed Sevika’s hands away from you. Your cheeks were burning so badly, you really thought your face would catch fire. Both of them were smiling, but neither of them dared to laugh.

Ran hugged you apologetically and stroked your face.

“You are cute when you are mad.” they said.

“Fuck you.” you said as you tried to pull way, but they held you with firm hands. They kissed your forehead, then the bridge of your nose, then the tip of your nose.

“Come on, beautiful.” Ran nudged you. You took a big breath then kissed Ran and bit their lip again.

As you two made up with many kisses, Sevika was just about to leave, but she turned back from the restroom’s door: “Oh, and next time, be quiet!”

You both giggled as the door closed behind Sevika.

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myownwholewildworld · 11 months ago

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acta, non verba - i. a badge of honour

series masterlist | main masterlist | chapter 2 pairing: conqueror!marcus acacius x ofc!reader. synopsis: scotland, 83 AD after the battle of mons graupius. the romans have come up to the boundaries of their empire with a relentless desire to conquer the savages that inhabit the highlands. they won't rest until the Caledonian tribes are subjugated. Marcus Acacius is in charge of your clansmen's fate, but if such fate is similar to your family's, you know you need to do something about it. as the only living daughter of the tribe chief, your people look to you for leadership. power plays, treason, deception, rebellion, war, love, heartbreak, betrayal. and two souls, destined to despise each other, trying to navigate it all. a/n: well, here it is! the first chapter of my new series, set in what is now scotland, during the romans' conquest of the british isles in the 1st century. hope you guys like it! as always, all interactions welcome. thank you so much for reading! <3 warnings: 18+, mdni. death, aftermath of a battle, burial of family members. reader is an original character - female, has a name (callie) and a physical description, family history, etc. i'll try to keep the references to a minimum though. age gap (callie is 26, marcus is 48). mention of infidelity and becoming a widow. marcus’ and reader’s pov. i have taken some historical licenses for ease of writing (use of "clan" as synonym for "tribe", references to irish/celtic gods, the caledonian people speak modern scottish gaelic instead of a (proto-)brittonic language). w/c: ~4.2k. dividers by @saradika-graphics i'll be tagging some people at the end of the chapter who interacted with this post. dw, i won't tag you in the next chapters unless you ask me to! also, if you want to be removed from this post, please send me a dm.

A light breeze whistled through the nearby standing stones. The dying sun provided no heat, and the ethereal landscape was cold with hues of blue and grey. Despite the shimmering wildlife that came with the first hints of spring, the meadow was uncannily silent.

The crows cackling in the distance broke such tranquil peace and woke you from your slumber.

Slowly you blinked, something wet and warm covering your eyelids. You felt it slide down your skin, pooling in the dip of your collarbone. Your limbs felt so heavy, you couldn’t lift a hand to rub your eyes clean. In fact, you were so tired that even taking a deep breath hurt.

Your orbs fluttered shut, shattered and defeated.

Dhuosnos, God of the Dead, was calling you to His side. His presence was soothing, so inviting, the most melodic sounds guiding you to Him. With the eyes of your dying imagination, He extended a welcoming hand towards you, a soft smile on His mythical features.

“Come with me, sweet child of the tribes.” A guttural voice escaped His lips, so dark and sombre it enveloped you.

You nodded, gaze down, submitted to Him.

“You can’t just take her, Dhuosnos. Callie is yet to avenge them — her purpose must be fulfilled first before she can greet you as an equal.” A second voice, feminine, otherworldly and reassuring, interrupted your exchange.

Morrígan, Goddess of War, placed Her hand on Dhuosnos’ forearm as to stop Him from reaching you. A stone of relief, but also of disappointment, sat low in your stomach when He took a step back, head bowed towards Her.

Steadily you undid your curtsy, your green eyes locking on Hers. They were black as the night sky, Her pupils and irises indistinguishable from one another. You looked into the abyss of Her sight and felt a deep-rooted longing, one you never experienced before.

“You are not done yet, mo leanabh (my child). Your people await your return.” Morrígan palmed your trembling hand, escorting you back to the earthly plane.

“But…”, you turned around to look at Her, ask for Her advice.

But She had already vanished, a sweet scent of lavander left behind.

You gasped awake, your eyes so widened, the cloudy, sunset sky above felt like it was crashing down on you. You were laying down on a pool of mud. A deep, raspy grunt escaped your lungs as you tried to move your arms. When you couldn’t, you looked down, confused.

Aengus’ lifeless body was resting on top of yours. Your father’s henchman had made the ultimate sacrifice by hiding you underneath him, away from the prying eyes of the Romans. The dense liquid caressing the skin on your face was none other than his blood. A trickle of thick red dripped from the gnarly wound in his neck on to your cheek. His eyes were staring at you emptily, his soul had already left this world when you regained consciousness.

Your father, Murdoch of Inbhir Nis, the Caledonian Overlord, had come to the aid of the Taexalian Overlord, whose territory was succumbing to the legions of Gnaeus Julius Agricola, a Roman governor with a high desire to impress his Emperor, Titus Flavius Domitianus.

Your father had gathered as many fighers as the Caledonian lands could give him. Both men and women were called to arms when the tribes were threatened. Being the daughter of the Chieftain would not spare you. You would not have chosen differently anyway, had you been given the opportunity. Fighting for land, clan and honour was your duty as much as your brothers’ and sister’s.

The journey from Inbhir Nis (Inverness) to Cala na Creige (Stonehaven) had been unforgiving, with illness and evil lying in wait. But you all had been warmly welcomed by the Taexali tribe and were fed copiously, the uisge-beatha (whisky) being served like water.

Your combined armies, shy of fifteen thousand folk, had been ambushed at Raedykes during a repositioning exercise by the Roman troops led by Agricola’s most trusted man.

General Marcus Acacius.

His mere name made you sick, anger crawling under your skin.

Fighting off your own opponents, you had seen the Roman General charge against your father like a beast, wielding a gladius over his head. The metallic impact of their swords rang loud across the landscape. The men looked into each other’s souls, an exchange of words shared between them. You were too far to listen, too far to fully see what was really happening as warriors from both sides danced through the grass.

Then you foresaw it before it happened: the heavy Roman sword fell on your father, who was struck to his knees with the General’s blade lodged in his belly.

You tried to get to him, screaming “Athair (father)!” at the top of your lungs. His eyes locked on yours before he fell sideways. You lunged forward but didn’t get to him, Aengus stopping you in your tracks.

“No, Callie, it’s too late now”, he had sorrowfully whispered in your ear before throwing you off to one side to fend off an attacker.

And then blackness swallowed you, an enemy hit you in the head so hard you lost consciousness.

That was how you came to be where you were — with your back flat on the silt and Aengus’ body blanketing yours. The grey sky above you sensed your pain, and, at Taranis’ command, it parted in the middle. The God of Thunder released a downpour to clean the blood, soot and woad’s blue dye off your face and hair.

You cried your sadness away, rainy tears sliding off the corners of your eyes — your anger, your loss, your torment, you purged it all, sobbing until you were devoid of all emotion. Taking a deep breath, which caused a needling pain on your ribs, you pushed Aengus to one side to free yourself from his weight.

The thudding sound he made almost brought more tears to your eyes.

“Sorry, uncail (uncle)”, you muttered, hovering your fingertips over his eyelids to shut them for him. Now he could finally rest.

You stood up, your knees trembling like a newborn calf. A searing pain stabbed your skull, dried blood and dirt gathering on the wound on your scalp. With a straight back, you dared to look around you. The bodies of your own men and women were scattered around the hills of Raedykes. So many lives lost, you heard all your ancestors screaming from above, their cries falling upon you in the way of rain. The green, long grass was reddened with blood, but the weeping sky had started to wash away the atrocities committed by the Romans.

Then you saw him. Your athair.

“No, no, please, no...”, you whispered as your sight became blurry again, dragging your feet towards the fallen body of your dad.

Your soul tried to tear itself apart, become its own entity. You had to summon the last drop of the royal blood that ran through your veins to keep yourself in one piece. You knelt before him, craddling his bloody hand between yours. Unconciously your body rocked back and forth until you hugged him, laying flat on top of him.

Time stood still, like a thread on the expert hands of a wool weaver. It could have been minutes, hours or days, your pain too great to bear, to comprehend.

And then you felt a hand lightly tap your shoulder.

You startled, your mind and body jumping back into survival mode, gripping your sgian-dubh (small knife) close to your chest.

“It’s okay, mo phiuthar (my sister). It’s me, Torcall”, a raspy, masculine voice forced you to focus on the man in front of you.

He was your father’s most important tacksman and also husband to your older sister Mairead — your sweet Maisie, as you always called her. She was the eldest of the four siblings while you were the youngest. Always so witty and quick with a joke, Maisie kept up the spirits even when the circumstances were dire — in fact, before your paths had parted during the battle, she jested about your H-shaped shield being larger than you.

When you turned around, Torcall flattened his hands on your shoulders, slightly shaking you so you would come back to reality.

His blue eyes pierced through you, the situation becoming clearer in your mind. Thousands of your tribesmen were dead. Your father too.

“Maisie?”, you asked in a hush. Your heart clenched when your brother-in-law shook his head no. You were afraid to speak, but you did nonetheless. “Aodh and Somhairle?”

Torcall stared at you, his silence speaking loudly. “They are all dead.”

The air evacuated your lungs, feeling as if a spear had run through you. Learning about the death of Maisie and your twin brothers broke something within you, something fundamental and primal. They were your everything, your most trusted confidants. Despite being of different ages, you all were so tight-knit it was difficult to find one of you alone.

A heart-shattering wail escaped your lips as you bent over yourself, your chest snug against your knees.

Morrígan had unashamedly claimed most of your family that day, except for your beautiful mother. Now Her words made sense: you were yet to avenge them, to fulfil your purpose. She had spared you for a reason, not so you could pity yourself, knees deep in the mud.

To avenge them, you had to kill the hand who showered this tragedy upon you.

General Marcus Acacius.

A raven’s strident, gurgling croak forced you to look up to the skies — a subtle reminder that Morrígan was watching closely. The massive bird was circling above your heads, like a vulture waiting to feast on a carcass. With resolution, you wiped away your tears, your sobs now silent, and nodded at Torcall.

“I understand. How many…?”, your voice faltered before you could finish your question.

“A couple of thousands. We have found cover in the Dunnottar Woods while we regroup and… bury our dead.” Torcall replied, his eyes averted with the last sentence.

You had lost a sister, but he had lost a wife, the mother to his now half-orphaned children. “I’m sorry”, you muttered, your lips pouting once more.

“She died fighting, the death of a warrior.” His proud voice did not waver. “And your father?”

Your heart wept at his mention but managed to control the anxious fluttering.

“The General killed him.” Your teeth gritted with hatred.

“Mo bana-phrionnsa (my princess)”, one of your father’s retinue members bowed his head to you once you walked into the circle they had formed in a meadow between the trees.

A few dozen men were scattered around the area, fires lighting the dark night while shades of red and orange flickered, creating fiery, dancing shades. You held a torch and carefully waved it in front of you, looking at the faces who watched you back eagerly.

You saw in your men what was brewing inside you: despair, defeat, sorrow. All your souls grieving in unison — all of you had lost someone that day.

At six and twenty, you did not expect to be in this position. You were the youngest daughter of the Overlord — you were never meant to lead your people. The task ahead of you felt titanic, unachievable.

But you had no other option. General Marcus Acacius had forced your hand.

He came, he saw, he conquered.

And now you had to deal with the gut-wrenching outcome of his departure.

“We’ll go back home to Inbhir Nis. But before that, we must give burial to our people.” You had to make a herculean effort to infuse your tone with steadiness.

Torcall first, and then the rest, bowed their heads to you.

“As you command, mo bana-phrionnsa”, he replied, and quickly barked orders around in your stead.

Your chest felt heavy with responsibility and grief. What pained you the most was not being able to carry your brothers and sister with you back home. They would not be buried under the cairns near you family home with the rest of your ancestors.

And what was worst — thousands of lives now depended on you. The weight of your tribe's destiny heavily rested on your shoulders now, like Atlas carrying the heavens.

Maisie, Aodh and Somhairle had been lined up on a patch of wildflowers that you had picked yourself the night prior — their arms were threaded together with your sister in the middle. Your clansmen had also surrounded the makeshift burial pit with wood to aid the combustion.

As you placed the last stone on top of them, you also deposited a bright, bloomed thistle. The flower that blossomed in every nook and cranny of your beautiful motherland, despite the harsh winter or conditions it faced. Like the phoenix rising from the ashes, it would always come back, stronger and more brightful than ever.

Devotion, bravery, determination, and strength — the thistle was a badge of honour for the Caledonians.

With a renewed brawn unbeknownst to you, you threw the lighted torch and watched as the fire consumed the bodies underneath the stones.

There were no tears left within you. Only purpose and resolution.

The way back to Inbhir Nis was tiring and soul-crushing. Hiking through the Cairngorms had been a difficult task with so many people behind you, but luckily you all managed to make it through without any losses.

With each mile covered, you saw the devastation left behind by the Romans. If this was any indication of what awaited ahead, you should start bracing yourself for what you would see. It seemed that the Romans were set towards the northwest — Inbhir Nis was right in their path.

You quickly recognised the landscape as you walked towards Loch Moy. A thick, dark column of smoke towered above the pine trees. Your heart raced as you picked up your dark green skirt and ran towards the loch, ignoring the calls of your brother-in-law.

You could run through those woods blindly — this was the land where you were born, the land you were named after. Your name was an unusual one — Caledonia, in honour of the earth beneath your rushing feet. Just a few people called you Callie, mainly your family and closest friends. With your bright, fiery red hair, green almond eyes and a face dotted with freckles, you were the epitome of your people. That was probably why when someone new learned your name, they always said it suited you.

Dodging the last few trees, you made it to the edge of the loch. In the shallows, the crannog of Naimh, your community’s healer, was burning down to its foundation. You covered your mouth with a sombre expression, your eyes itchy because of the dense smoke and unspent tears.

The Romans had gotten to your settlement before you did.

“Callie, wait up”, said Torcall behind you, struggling to catch up with you.

He halted right behind you, the silence between you was almost tangible.

“The rangers have returned from their reconnaissance mission.” His voice was plain, contained. You turned your heard towards him, slowly, hardening yourself for his next words. “Your mother is dead.”

The last glimmer of hope within you vanished. A single tear skidded through your cheek — angrily, you wiped it off.

You were alone in this world. Everyone you cared for had been taken from you.

“Is everything to your liking, Dominus (Master)?”, the male roman servant asked in a low hush, head bowed, eyes fixed on the cobblestone.

“Yes, now leave”, Marcus dismissed him with a wave of his hand.

The General looked around him with a mixture of curiosity and disgust. He was accustomed to much more elegant surroundings. Although the barbarians did try, their architecture was nothing in comparison to Rome’s.

The castle he was in was small and it only had two floors. It was mainly made of sturdy, grey rocks and dark wood. The design was not very sophisticated, all square and rugged edges. It had two towers and a barbican. The decoration inside was bare, with just enough furniture and no luxuries.

The only warmth was brought by the colourful tapestries adorning the cold, thick walls — one had caught Marcus' attention at his arrival when he first entered the dais. It told a story he had not heard before.

A dragon-like figure lurked beneath the rippling surface of a lake, attracting the attention of the villagers. At dusk it would emerge, a guttural sound echoing in the dead of night, as if it was calling another. Any bìrlinns (wooden vessel) left on the shore would appear destroyed the next morning. Fishermen were worried and called upon the town's druids, afraid of the Loch Ness monster. To appease the beast, every full moon, the druids would whorship the creature, bringing oblations and sacrificies to quench its thirst.

Marcus made a mental note of keeping his distance from that Loch Ness. As a devoted Roman, he was wary of the mystic creatures that skulked in the depths of human fear.

Although he missed his home, he had several debts to pay. The Emperor would not accept no for an answer, so he had to be a reluctant participant in this incursion — in fact, neither Domitian nor Agricola had really asked him to tame the highlanders up in Caledonia. They knew his skills would be most needed in combat, having been praised by bards and poets alike after his many years in the battlefield.

At eight and forty, Marcus Acacius had had his good share of tragedy and death, both personal and in war. His life had not been easy, having to forge a name of his own since childbirth and then having been recently betrayed by his own spouse.

The thought of Livia still angered him — she had had the audacity of blaming him for her infidelity, accusing him of always being away, of loving Rome more than his own family. Her cheating had been going on for as many years as their arranged marriage, throwing a doubtful shade on his paternity to both his children.

His life had come crumbling down in the last few months, so maybe coming to Britannia had not been such a bad idea. Female adultery was a crime penalised with death and that was a decision that Marcus had yet to make — outing Livia’s unfaithfulness would condemn her to Pluto's realm. Did he really want that for who had been his wife for more than thirty years?

Pinching the bridge of his hooked nose, Marcus walked towards the only window in the room. The roman took a deep breath and exhaled steadily — he needed to think of something else.

His mind went back to the battle of Mons Graupius. The spilling of blood never became easier with time — if anything, it had become harder, splintering his soul further. If he closed his eyes, he could still hear the piercing, pained shriek of a woman as he imparted death on Murdoch of Inbhir Nis.

Her hair was dyed with black soot and tied back, her face covered in a blue paste and ash. He was too far to catch the colour of her eyes, but he thought them dark azure. The fierceness of her expression took him aback, her voice shouting a word he did not recognise. But his eyes did not have time to linger on the feral woman a few yards away, because a savage attacked him.

His hand stilled on the rocky window’s sill. The barbarians called this place Inbhir Nis. The stone castle was that of the chief’s family, atop of a hill with views to the scenery underneath. It was rudimentary and lacked many commodities — nothing comparable to his villa in Rome. The tribal settlement was formed of huts made of stone, timber and hay.

Agricola had decided to burn down the outskirts of the town and killed the wife of the clan chief making a macabre example of her, so the people would submit to the Roman’s yoke quickly, crushing any opportunity of rebellion. The message was clear: Rome would not tolerate being challenged. Anyone who did, would face the most painful of deaths. The governor left to go northward, leaving Marcus behind to rebuild the area to Rome’s standards. The emperor had deemed the location an important enclave for his empire, being the main town in the Moray Firth.

Marcus was standing in what he thought was the bedchamber of Murdoch. With the Overlord and his family alienated, the primitive people of the highlands needed educating and he had been given the task of doing so. Not a welcomed one, but he had a duty to Rome that had to be fulfilled.

With a heavy sigh, he undid the brooch at the base of his neck, relieving himself of the heavy, white sagum (cape) that was part of his attire. He threw it on the uncomfortable bed. He unfastened the golden, laurel-shaped bracelets around his wrists, and then proceeded to undo the tight knots that held his armour in place.

Then a knock on the thick, wooden door broke the silence of the room.

“Come in”, thinking it would be his male servant, he didn’t turn around.

“Dominus, dinner is ready”, a very soft voice with a very marked accent made him look over his shoulder.

A pair of very bright, almond-shaped, emerald-green eyes locked on his, framed by what he would describe as fire hair — so red it looked like a hellish aura crowning your head.

So bright were your eyes, he almost felt his soul being examined by your hypnotising gaze. Marcus had never seen eyes like those.

How dared he stand where your father did? Anger shimmered under your skin, but you kept it in check. When you realised you were holding his gaze for longer than what was appropriate for a servant girl, you averted your eyes, inspecting the stones under your feet.

Torcall called you mad for doing this, but you had made up your mind. If you really wanted to overthrow the Roman General and win back your family’s castle and land, you would need to sew yourself into his everyday life. Gain his trust, learn his secrets and use that information against him. Your people were counting on you for freedom, and you would not allow yourself to disappoint them. Even if it was the last thing you did.

“Who are you?”, his raspy voice filled the atmosphere as he resumed the task of undoing the ties on his armour.

Did he have no shame, undressing himself in front of a maid? Mind you, you were not an innocent servant, having been widowed recently. But still. The romans had no modesty, you assumed.

You had to think quickly. You had learnt that the governor and the general both thought the whole chief’s family dead, so you could not out yourself. A very few, selected people called you Callie, almost always in the intimacy of your home, when strangers were not around. Your nickname was precious to you because it was only used by those you loved.

“My name is Callie, Dominus”, you offered your nickname in a rusty Latin. It had been a while since you had to use a language that was not your native one.

“Callie.” The way your name rolled off his tongue gave you goosebumps. You didn’t like the way he pronounced it — it lingered in his mouth for too long, dragging each letter. You wished your words back, but you couldn't change it now.

Instead of clenching your jaw, you nodded. “Yes, my lord, I’m one of the servant girls who tended to the clan chief’s family before you.” You explained, your head still bowed.

You ventured your eyes up for a second, catching a glimpse of his naked torso. Unconsciously, you pursed your lips. The way your heart pounded loud for that one second made you furrow your brows in confusion.

He might be a gorgeous man, but he was a killer. And you had no taste for soulless murderers, that much you knew about yourself.

“Call my attendant, Atticus, to help me get ready for supper. I have no need of you. And ask the kitchen staff to heat some water and bring it up here.” His tone was emphatic, unwavering.

His rejection, in other circumstances, would have been most welcomed, but you needed him to trust you, to confide in you so you could plot his demise — to destroy him. This was not a good start to your plan, but you needed to play the long game.

“I could certainly help you with a bath now, Dominus, but your wish is my command.” You forced the words out, when in reality you wanted to spit them to his murderous face.

He just nodded in your direction, his movements stiff and measured. “Just my attendant will suffice, now go.”

With your fingers laced on your back, you curtsied, walking backwards towards the door of your father’s bedchamber. You could not seem too eager, or he would become suspicious.

When you were in the corridor with the door closed behind you, you took a deep breath and straightened your back.

You would not take no for an answer. Marcus Acacius would yield to you, whatever the cost.

@devilbat2 @subterralienpanda @lordofthundersstuff @just-mj-or-not

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beatsie-boys · 3 months ago

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Judging from his Bluesky, I think it's clear that Hangman's primary passion is gardening, and I want it to become increasingly clear in his wrestling promos that this is the case. I want him to take off the mask and nerd out about plants on TV, but delivered with the passion of his typical promos.

"Kyle Fletcher, you and your Don Callis family are spreading through AEW like invasive English ivy, choking the life out of other plants-- I mean wrestlers. And I am the 5% solution of glyphosate that will eradicate you. Rest assured, I will take all necessary precautions to defeat you, including wearing proper protective gear to avoid skin irritation. And I will win the AEW world championship"

#aew #adam page #hangman adam page

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crazysnor1ax · 27 days ago

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VERY LAST MINUTE DECISION TO JOIN ARTFIGHT THIS YEAR RAAAGHGHGHGHGHGHGH

May not be super active with attacks BUT!!! I'm out for blood regardless >:3

My Artfight!!

#LETS FUCKING GOOOOOOOOOOOOAKJBSJKHBKJVDF #snorlarts #artfight #artfight 2025 #team fossils #dst #wendy dst #liad!wendy #abigail dst #liad!abigail #wendy carter #abigail carter #my sonas #callie splatoon #defeated!callie #spooklax #boo oc #furry #anthro

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bestsiblingstournament · 8 months ago

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Finn & Jake VS Ruby & Yang

Part C, Semi Finals, Part Final

(Two cartoon characters in front of a layered purple background. The one on the left is holding a basketball. He's wearing a blue shirt, blue pants, and some kind of head-covering in a very light green that only shows his face. The one on the right is an inhuman creature meant to resemble a dog in an oaker yellow. End description)

(Image description: two animated characters in some sort of building. The floor is tiled, and there's a screen in the background with various passport picture-esque pictures. The character to the left has long orange-blonde hair and purple eyes, and is wearing mechanic punk clothes. The character on the right is much closer to the camera and has short black hair and brown eyes. End description)

Finn & Jake have so far defeated Eda & Lilith, Callie & Marie, and Data & Lore

Ruby & Yang have so far defeated Violet & Jinx, Floofty & Snorpy, and Amaya & Sarai

Reminder that this is a spoiler-free blog! Anyone who puts spoilers in the notes will be blocked.

#best siblings tournament #polls #finn the human #jake the dog #adventure time #rwby #ruby rose #yang xiao long

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thepinkpanther83 · 1 month ago

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Grease And Honey (Pt.3 Check Engine Light)

Chapter Three: “Check Engine Light”

Eddie Munson x Female Reader

Masterlist

Find me on AO3.

Read this story on AO3.

Previous Chapter: Chapter Two: “Morning Regular” Next Chapter: Chapter Four: “Ignition”

Click "Keep Reading" below the cut to read. 😘

Chapter Three: “Check Engine Light”

You didn’t even hear it click the first time.

You were running late, hair still damp from the world’s fastest shower, one boot laced, one flapping, travel mug sloshing tea down your sleeve as you wrestled your keys out of your bag. You jammed the key into the ignition, turned, and-

Click.

Nothing.

You froze.

Tried again.

Click-click.

Still nothing.

A single, painful moment of silence. Then you swore so loudly it scared off the mourning doves on the power line.

You slapped the steering wheel. “Oh, come on, you were fine yesterday, you little bastard!”

The car didn’t respond. Which honestly, felt like the most on-brand reaction it could give.

You sat there for a minute, seething.

This wasn’t just any Friday morning, it was inventory day. Meaning you had to meet Callie at the shop by ten, log every last bag of beans and sleeve of cups, and then prep for the upcoming “Grindhouse Summer Bash” your aunt from Missouri insisted would “get the locals involved” even though she hadn’t set foot in Indiana since Bush was president. The first one.

You cursed again, dragged your phone out of your pocket, and tried not to scream.

The little hunk of metal and pride that passed for your car, a scratched-up ‘99 Toyota Corolla with one duct-taped mirror and a mysterious rattle in the dash, was officially dead in the water.

You had no tools, no knowledge, and no time to play mechanic.

So, fine. You’d admit defeat.

And call for backup.

The guy on the other end of the tow line was polite enough. Asked where you wanted it hauled to.

You paused, phone pinched between your cheek and shoulder as you stared down at your useless vehicle like it might rise from the ashes and apologize.

“…Munson Auto,” you muttered finally.

Because of course it had to be his shop.

There were two garages in Hawkins. One of them was run by a pair of brothers who once got caught stealing parts off customer vehicles to resell online. The other was Eddie Munson.

And whether he was a flirt or a walking heart attack in denim, he didn’t have a criminal record… that you knew of anyway.

So.

There went your last excuse.

The tow truck driver was nice enough.

Didn’t ask too many questions. Just made a few sympathetic noises as he hoisted your poor, lifeless car onto the bed with all the grace of a dying horse and told you you could ride up front while he dropped it off.

You tried not to feel embarrassed.

It wasn’t like this hadn’t happened before, your Corolla had always been more suggestion than vehicle, but it was the timing that made your stomach twist. This felt… personal. Like the car knew exactly where it was headed and decided, “Yup. That one. Let’s go ruin her composure.”

You watched the scenery roll past out the window as the truck rumbled through town, eyes narrowed, jaw tight.

You even caught a glimpse of Grindhouse out the corner of your eye, and for a split second, you missed the familiar rhythm of your own coffee machines. Of Callie snarking about the menu. Of not heading straight into the arms of your biggest crush like some tragic sitcom protagonist with car trouble and a heart condition.

Munson Auto came into view with its hand-painted signage and the chaotic sprawl of muscle cars, pickup trucks, and half-assembled projects dotting the lot like a museum of Midwest masculinity.

And there he was.

Oh no.

He was standing just outside the garage bay, back to you, arms braced against the open hood of some dusty old Charger. He wore jeans that clung like a damn love letter to his thighs and a ribbed white tank that looked like it had seen better days, but God, did it work. Grease smudged both hands, one bicep, and the edge of his neck. His hair, longer than you remembered, dark and curling, was tied half-up but still fell in his face every time he leaned forward.

You blinked.

Hard.

Don’t look at the hair. Don’t look at the forearms. Don’t you dare look at the forearms… dammit.

The tow truck parked with a soft hiss and a low beep. You climbed out, trying to act casual, like this was just a perfectly normal Friday and you weren’t currently watching the man who’d hijacked your caffeine-fueled daydreams for the past three weeks actively make eye contact with a carburetor in a way that made you feel violated.

He looked downright edible. We’re talkin’ black grease, white tank top, forearms flexing like a trap, hair glinting like something off the cover of a dirty romance novel titled Wrenches & Wreckage.

And then… like he sensed you.

Eddie looked up.

Right at you.

And God help you, his face lit up like he’d just been told guitar solos were now tax-deductible.

“Hey!” he called out, wiping his hands on a rag as he straightened up, that lazy grin already spreading across his face. “You lost or just stalking me for fun?”

You opened your mouth.

Nothing came out.

You were too busy reminding your knees on how to function.

You blinked. “I… what? No. God. No. I’m here for the car.”

“Sure you are,” he said, walking toward you with a confident gait and a smug little bounce in his step. “Totally unrelated to the fact that I’ve been looking extremely hot lately.”

You made a noise in your throat that was supposed to be a scoff, but came out sounding more like a stifled wheeze.

Eddie stopped a few feet away, tilted his head, and gave you the once-over, but it wasn’t gross or leering. It was curious. Amused. Like he knew he was flustering you and was trying to decide just how far he could push it.

“So,” he drawled, pointing lazily to the pathetic heap the tow truck was now lowering into the lot. “Is this your noble steed?”

“Noble’s a strong word,” you muttered, arms crossed tightly over your chest. “Right now it’s more like a spiteful lemon with abandonment issues.”

“Rough morning?”

You looked at him.

He was still grinning, but it was a little softer now. Less performative. You saw it in his eyes, some tiny shift from “I’m being a menace for fun” to “I actually care if you’re okay.”

And dammit, that made it worse.

Because the answer was yes, it had been a rough morning. Your car broke down, your schedule got wrecked, you were already behind on everything, and then on top of it all, you were now standing three feet from the literal embodiment of your current sexual crisis, who somehow looked even better in real life than he did in your sleep-deprived, late-night brain spirals.

You didn’t want to admit any of that.

So instead, you sighed. “I’m just annoyed.”

“At me?”

“No, but I can rearrange things if you really want to take the blame.”

Eddie snorted and tucked his rag into his back pocket. “Nah, I think I’ve been punished enough just knowing you call me hot in your head and then lie about it to my face.”

You blinked. “I what?”

“Oh, c’mon,” he grinned. “You were looking at my arms like they said something mean about your mom.”

“I wasn’t-!” You paused. “Okay, maybe, but that’s not the point.”

“What is the point?”

“That this is extremely unprofessional,” you said, not quite meeting his eyes.

Eddie leaned in just a little, close enough to smell the grease and motor oil on his skin, faintly undercut by something like cedar and cigarette smoke.

“You’re not at work,” he murmured, voice low, teasing. “You’re in my place now.”

You stared at him, mouth dry, brain fizzling like a shaken soda can. Then, because it was the only thing you could think to do, you said: “Do you always flirt with people whose cars are dying in front of you?”

“Only when they’re cute,” he said instantly, with no shame, and definitely no hesitation.

You sighed again, this time more dramatically, and finally, finally, let your arms fall to your sides.

“Fine. You win.”

“Win what?”

“The award for ‘Hottest Local Mechanic Who Also Might Be The Literal Devil.’ Congratulations.”

Eddie grinned so wide you thought his face might break.

“Well now I have to fix your car.”

You raised an eyebrow. “Oh yeah?”

“Yup,” he said. “Can’t have my reputation ruined by a pretty girl going around town saying Munson Auto left her stranded.”

You tried to scoff again.

But this time, you were smiling too.

“Come on,” he said, nodding toward the garage. “Let’s take a look.”

You followed without comment, trailing behind as he led you into the cavernous bay. The scent hit you instantly, warm oil, old rubber, faint gasoline, and something else that was just… him. You weren’t sure what it was. Probably a mix of aftershave and sweat and bad decisions.

It should’ve been gross.

It definitely wasn't.

Eddie tossed the rag onto a rolling cart and propped the hood open, resting one hand on the engine like it was a buddy he was about to interrogate. The sunlight coming through the windows slashed across his shoulders in all the worst and best ways. The white tank top clung to the curve of his back as he leaned in, muscles shifting under pale, smudged skin.

You told yourself you were looking at the car.

You were not.

“Battery’s not totally dead,” he muttered, more to himself than to you. “Starter sounds like it’s on its last legs, though. Probably original factory junk.”

You tried to focus on his words. You really did. But your brain was busy short-circuiting because his hair slipped loose again, dark and soft and barely brushing his jaw, and then he wiped his brow with the back of his hand like some kind of actual movie scene.

You swallowed.

Hard.

“You okay over there, sweetheart?”

You looked up, startled. He was watching you from under the hood, eyebrows raised just slightly, grease on his cheek like it belonged there.

“I- yeah,” you said quickly. “Just, uh. Taking mental notes. In case I need to fake being a mechanic someday.”

He smirked. “You’d be cute in coveralls.”

You cleared your throat. “Anyway. The car. Can it be saved?”

He gave the engine a fond little pat, then straightened up.

“Oh, I’ll save it,” he said. “But I’m gonna need a few days. She’s gonna need parts. And probably a pep talk.”

You nodded, a little too quickly. “Right. Of course. I can walk to the shop until then.”

Eddie grinned again, soft this time. Not flirty. Just warm. Like you’d said something he liked hearing.

“Well,” he said, brushing his hands off. “Good news is, you came to the right place. Bad news is…”

You raised a brow. “There’s bad news?”

He leaned on the frame of the car and winked. “You’ll be seeing a lot more of me this week.”

You weren’t sure what you were expecting next, maybe a polite “good luck” or a quick wave before he vanished back into the grease and grit of his garage.

What you didn’t expect was for him to toss his keys in the air, catch them with a single hand, and ask casually:

“You want a ride to work?”

You blinked. “What?”

“I said, do you want a ride to work?” he repeated, like it was the most obvious thing in the world. “I assume that’s where you were headed before your car decided to betray you?”

“…Yeah, but I can walk. It’s not far.”

He gave you a look.

The kind that said I know bullshit when I hear it.

“Don’t be stubborn. You already brought your car to my shop. Might as well let me play chauffeur for a few days while we wait for her resurrection.”

You hesitated.

“Seriously,” he added. “It’s part of the whole small-town charm package. I fix your car, I drive you to work for a few days, I pretend I’m not using it as an excuse to spend time with you. You know, classic Americana.”

You rolled your eyes, but your lips were already betraying you with the beginnings of a smile. “Fine. But only if you promise not to narrate the entire drive like a true crime podcast.”

He grinned. “No promises.”

His Camaro, sleek, black, and humming low with restrained power, smelled like motor oil, faded pine air freshener, and whatever cologne he wore that made your brain a little foggy. You climbed in, trying not to look impressed.

You failed.

The drive was short. Too short, really. The streets of Hawkins flew by in a blur of cracked pavement and stop signs, and the whole time you tried to keep the conversation light, but he made it impossible.

“So,” he said at a red light, fingers drumming on the wheel. “Can I get your number?”

You looked at him, arching a brow. “So you can ‘update me about the car,’ right?”

“Exactly,” he said innocently. “Strictly business.”

You narrowed your eyes. “You’re full of shit.”

“Oh, totally,” he agreed without missing a beat, pulling into the lot behind Grindhouse. “I’m 100% gonna use it to ask you out again. But I figured I’d at least pretend to be professional this time.”

Your mouth opened.

Closed.

Then opened again.

“Here,” you said, grabbing a pen from your bag and scribbling your number on the back of a crumpled grocery receipt. “You break the car worse, I’m suing.”

“You won’t,” he said, taking it with a wink. “You’d miss me.”

You snorted. “You’re ridiculous.”

“And you’re gonna be late,” he said, nodding toward the shop as he shifted the car into park.

You didn’t move right away.

And neither did he.

For one second too long, you just sat there, the tension stretching between you like heat rising off asphalt. You finally climbed out, closing the door behind you.

Then, with one last smirk and a two-fingered salute, he said, “I’ll call you.” He drove off with the windows down, hair loose, stereo blasting Dio like he was leaving the set of a rock and roll romcom, and you were just left standing there, cheeks warm, heart skipping, wondering what the hell you’d just gotten yourself into.

Next Chapter: Chapter Four: “Ignition”

Who loves Eddie Munson, show of hands! 😂 Let me know if you want to be added to my tag list! @justalotoffanfiction, @yorshie, @jackalope-in-a-storm, @v1per1ne, @daveythorntonslocker, @cokepowder55, @kelsiegrin, @ash-stardust, @meankenna, @kellsck, @chronicles-of-koystee, @micheledawn1975, @fckyeahlames, @cantstandya2000, @totallysocially

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sabrinajenre96 · 5 months ago

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The Shepherd Chaos:

Pairing: Derek"McDreamy" Sheprard x Sloan! Reader This Part 2 of "A typical Seattle Grey shift or... Not" it's the aftermath of the chaotic birth of McBabies.

The hospital room was buzzing with excitement.

You sat up in bed, exhausted but content, watching as your daughters, Sawyer and Harper, slept peacefully in their bassinets. Derek sat beside you, still looking like his soul had left his body.

Mark, of course, had no sympathy.

“You look like you got hit by a truck, bro.”

Derek blinked slowly. “I feel like I got hit by a truck.”

Amelia grinned. “Oh, wait until Mom gets here.”

At that moment, the door swung open, and the Shepherd matriarch walked in.

Carolyn Shepherd, the definition of grace and intimidation in one person, swept into the room, her eyes immediately landing on the bassinets.

“Oh. My. God.”

Behind her, Derek’s sisters—Nancy, Kathleen, and Liz—froze in the doorway.

Nancy was the first to recover. “Wait. Two?!”

Kathleen, genuinely baffled, turned to Amelia. “Were we missing something?”

Amelia smirked. “Ohhh, you guys missed everything.”

Carolyn, still in shock, slowly turned to you and Derek. “You had twins?”

You smiled innocently. “Surprise?”

Derek, still recovering, ran a hand down his face. “Yeah. Surprise.”

Liz’s jaw dropped. “We didn’t even know you were having one baby, let alone two!”

Amelia cackled. “Oh, it gets better.”

Carolyn, still stunned, walked straight to the bassinets. She leaned down, taking in her two new granddaughters—both with tiny noses, soft tufts of hair, and Derek’s unmistakable blue eyes.

Her face softened immediately. “Oh, they’re beautiful.”

Derek, despite being in a near-vegetative state, managed a small smile. “Yeah. They are.”

Carolyn gently lifted one of the babies, cradling her carefully. “This one is…?”

“Sawyer,” you answered.

She nodded, pressing a soft kiss to Sawyer’s tiny forehead before switching to Harper. “And this one?”

“Harper,” Derek said, voice still laced with disbelief.

Carolyn sighed contently. “My beautiful granddaughters.”

Amelia, who had way too much energy for someone who just spent the last several hours laughing at her brother’s pain, sat down dramatically. “Alright! Who wants to hear the best story of all time?”

Derek groaned. “Amy, no.”

Amelia ignored him.

“So, picture this—we’re all working, normal day, everything’s great. Then my lovely sister-in-law decides to prank all of us by faking her water breaking.”

Nancy’s eyebrows shot up. “Wait. What?”

Kathleen snorted. “I love her already.”

“Oh, it gets so much better,” Amelia continued. “She got everyone. Meredith. Cristina. Alex. Callie and Arizona. Webber. Jackson. Bailey.”

Liz gasped. “She got Bailey?”

“Oh yeah,” Amelia nodded. “And Bailey actually bought it.”

Carolyn turned to you with something like respect in her eyes. “You fooled Miranda Bailey?”

You smirked. “Twice.”

Amelia grinned. “But the best part? She saved the grand finale for these two idiots.”

She pointed at Derek and Mark.

Mark groaned. “Here we go.”

Nancy perked up. “Oh, this is going to be good.”

“It was perfect,” Amelia said, leaning forward like she was delivering the punchline of the century. “They went full meltdown mode. Derek was trying to find an ambulance IN THE HOSPITAL. Mark started yelling at random interns. It was pure chaos.”

Kathleen laughed. “That is amazing.”

Liz, grinning, turned to Derek. “Really, Der? An ambulance?”

Derek just rubbed his temples. “I wasn’t thinking clearly.”

Mark pointed at him. “That’s an understatement.”

Carolyn, genuinely amused now, smirked. “So, let me get this straight—your wife pranked you by faking labor… and then, when she actually went into labor, you didn’t believe her?”

Derek groaned into his hands. “I hate how that sounds out loud.”

Amelia burst into laughter. “But wait—there’s more! Because when they finally figured out she was serious, these two dumbasses went into full-blown panic.”

Carolyn arched a brow. “Derek?”

Derek, defeated, nodded. “I panicked.”

Mark, grinning, patted his shoulder. “I can confirm. He panicked hard.”

Derek shot him a look. “You weren’t exactly calm, Sloan.”

Amelia gasped dramatically. “Oh my God, are you trying to throw Mark under the bus? Wow. Low.”

Nancy, shaking her head, turned back to you. “And you had to deal with this while in labor?”

You smiled sweetly. “Yup.”

Kathleen sighed. “You’re a saint.”

Derek pointed at her. “Finally, someone acknowledges that.”

Carolyn, still cradling Harper, smiled warmly at you. “Well, I have to say—I don’t know if I’ve ever been this surprised. But seeing these two beautiful girls…” She gazed at her granddaughters lovingly. “This is a wonderful surprise.”

Derek’s exhaustion melted into pure adoration. “Yeah,” he murmured, looking at you and then at the babies. “It really is.”

Mark, never one to let a moment stay too serious, clapped his hands together. “Alright! So, let’s get to the real question—who do I get to corrupt first?”

Derek glared. “Neither.”

Amelia grinned. “Joke’s on you, Mark. I already called dibs on being the cool aunt.”

Mark scoffed. “Yeah, okay, good luck beating me at that.”

Cristina, who had been silently sipping her coffee in the corner, finally spoke. “Yeah, you’re both delusional.”

You laughed, shaking your head as you leaned into Derek. Your daughters were surrounded by love, laughter, and just the right amount of chaos.

This was exactly the kind of family you wanted.

And as Derek sighed in exhaustion, you couldn’t help but smirk.

Because this?

This was only the beginning.

#derek shepherd x sloan reader #mcdreamy #mcsteamy #derek shepherd x pregnant! reader #derek shepherd zaddy #greys anatomy #derek shepherd fanfic #patrick dempsey #Derek Mcdreamy Shepherd

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house-of-dadneto · 25 days ago

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The House of Dadneto 2025 has drawn to a close! ✨

Apologies for the delay in getting this recap to you all, I've been away the past few days but it's been so exciting seeing all the final entries roll in for the House of Dadneto! We cannot believe how big the event has grown, and we just want to thank all the amazing, beautiful creatives who jumped in this year to make this whole thing possible! You should all be incredibly proud of the work you've done, and we hope you enjoyed this event as much as we have!

In the final week, the House of Dadneto had 43 unique works posted for the event!! 🎉🎉🎉

For one last time, we have created a list below with links to all the fics, edits, gif sets and animatics that were posted in the past week! Don't forget to share some love with these amazing creators who worked so hard to make this event possible, and we'll be back soon with the final masterlist and instructions for our incredible winners this year!

✨ Just a quick reminder that the House of Dadneto has an official AO3 Collection you can browse or add to if you are posting on AO3! Check out this post for more details on how! ✨

Final Week of the House of Dadneto!

Vacation? by @callie-caje

Peter needed a vacation, a trip away from the chaos of teaching young mutants to harness their powers safely while also watching them fail geometry. So, a trip away from the students and away from the chaos? It seemed welcome, invited even. That did not mean he was asking to be kidnapped, no matter what Erik argued.

5+1 by @mapofyourstars

Gifset: 5+1

For The Last Time by @superherotiger

Animatic: Memories + Embrace + Music + Peace

save every day ‘til eternity passes away (just to spend them with you) by @xxqueenofdragonsxx

Once, the sight would have filled him with panic. Once, it had. OR Erik wakes up in the Pentagon nineteen years after being freed. It isn’t the first time.

A Gentle Touch by @onlyheartaches

Five times Pietro and Erik used an aquarium as a vessel to strengthen their bond, and one time they couldn’t. (Or, five times Erik rested a hand on Pietro’s head as a form of comfort - and one time he didn’t.)

let me love you in this life by @sunsetuniverse

After Jean repairs Erik’s psyche, he has a hard time coping with what he saw in his mind, or rather, who. [Longer summary inside] or, giving magneto depression 101

You Were Everything by @superherotiger

Animatic: Broken + Head Injury

Something to make it all worthwhile by @silverpleatherjacket

Erik looks back on his life and wonders, after all the bloodshed, all the loss, all the pain, if it was all worth it. A certain someone reminds him that it was.

takes a strong hand and a sound mind. by @mapofyourstars

Chapter 16: Head Injury - Erik has had enough, and he doesn’t care how silly he looks - it’s practical. Chapter 17: Suffocating - Erik's eldest baby leaves the nest. He doesn't take it well.

when everything’s made to be broken (i just want you to know who i am) by @stolenlullabies05

“You’re disappointed,” Peter says quietly, but it’s phrased in more of a question, because in all honesty Peter can’t tell what Erik is feeling right now. All he knows is that he’s here and he’s not leaving. Erik looks affronted for a moment, eyebrows creased in resolve. “How could I be disappointed? You’re… you’re perfect.” (Or, 5 times Peter pictured telling Erik he was his son and +1 time he actually did.)

Checking Up by @onlyheartaches

The X-Men are together again, Apocalypse is defeated, the world is saved - but there are only three people whom Magneto wants to make sure he finds.

1983 (What a mess) by @star-lights-up

Nina lives, Apocalypse sleeps - this is what happens when Erik and his daughter come to the school. Chapter 13: Head Injury Chapter 14: Outsider POV Chapter 15: Peace

Someone, Somewhere, Right Now by @dandelion-blues

“I can’t believe I’m saying this, but I’m full.” Peter exclaimed, a full grin upon his face, as he leaned back in his seat and closed his eyes in bliss. He would have broken someone out of the pentagon sooner if it meant eating like that again! Of course, the teen, thus missed the concerned looks that all the adults gave each other at such a remark. Somehow, this leads to Pietro spilling his guts, because no one will ever blame his wonderful mother. Magna Maximoff is a saint, and it’s not her fault Pietro probably eats enough to feed a whole football team. Unfortunately, Erik did not get the memo that he had a son, but he’ll do his best to be there for him now. And giving his son a hug and a talk about how wonderful he is isn’t a bad way to start.

Both Arms Cradle You Now by @superherotiger

Animatic: Sanctuary

Outsider POV by @mapofyourstars

Gifset: Outsider POV

Un peu plus près des étoiles / À l'abri des colères du vent by Etoilemauve

5 times where Erik wanted to watch the stars with his family but failed to and 1 time his children organized a surprise for him.

Time In A Bottle by @onlyheartaches

Erik’s tortured past means he can’t handle peacetime well, so Pietro offers some advice.

(Don’t) Do This by @onlyheartaches

When Magneto escapes Bastion’s prison, the pain and trauma of Genosha weighs, and he breaks. He returns to the Xavier Institute with a rebuilt Asteroid M - And his son, maimed in Genosha himself, reaches out, begging Magneto to see reason.

Asteroid M by @mapofyourstars

Gifset: Asteroid M

January 30th, 1973 by @theaterpug-writes

Peter Maximoff travels back to 1973 with the time traveler known as Cable to witness the day his father was killed in front of the whole nation on the lawn of the White House. When he interferes in the Sentinel attack and saves his father’s life, he unleashes a universe destroying paradox upon the world. AKA, a Doctor Who "Father’s Day" AU (not necessary to have any Doctor Who knowledge).

in the quiet by @xxqueenofdragonsxx

“Do you remember when you stabbed a guy for insulting me?”

In Little Ways, Everything Stays by @superherotiger

“Would you ever have one of your own?” Pietro’s features fell into a frown. “I’ve seen too much of this world to put a kid into it,” he answered bluntly. “Wouldn’t be fair to them.” “And in a different world?” Erik asked. Or, Erik sees a new side of his son.

but if I lose you I lose everything by @callie-caje

Before Luna, Pietro had understood very little of the world and how it worked. He had known there were people out there who used their mutations for Evil, but he also knew there were those who used them for Good. All his life Pietro had aspired to be one of the latter, but no one had told him that the fear for his daughter’s safety would make him one of the former. OR The five times that Pietro’s belief in humanity wavered and the one time it was broken completely.

it was enchanting to meet you by @sunsetuniverse

Post-Apocalypse - A week after Peter tells Erik the truth, something… weird happens.

Branding by @mapofyourstars

Gifset: Branding

MAGENTA WAS RIGHT by @onlyheartaches

Magneto and Quicksilver have a conversation about knockoff X-Men merchandise.

Mourning Doves by @onlyheartaches

On the anniversary of a devastating loss, Pietro and Magneto make a connection.

Patrilineal by @theaterpug-writes

After his twin sister's memories are rewritten by Mastermind, Pietro Maximoff isn't so sure she's his sister anymore.

Peace by @mapofyourstars

Gifset: peter implores erik to choose peace.

Luna's Favorite by @theaterpug-writes

In which Erik visits his sick granddaughter.

Wake Me Up by @onlyheartaches

This is a follow-up to my "Alternate Universe" entry. Pietro wakes up with nightly panic attacks, haunted by dreams he can't fully remember and the feeling of suffocation. He can only hope that being able to spend winter break with his father will help.

Memories by @mapofyourstars

Gifset: peter’s mother hints at some bad memories she had with magneto.

gutted by Caspiansea

The lamp bathes them in golden, honeyed light, the only illumination in the room, aside from the box television in front of them. The TV flickers steadily, buzzing softly against the howling of the wind. Pietro is stretched out next to him, curled around a heap of blankets. His feet are burrowed under Erik’s thigh, wedging there in an attempt to annoy him and left there to fight off the cold

The sun will set, but not tonight by @silverpleatherjacket

Erik floated himself over the blood that was flowing slick on the once white floor of the experimentation facility. Charles’ way didn’t work. The humans would take and they would take and they would take. Well this time, he’d take from them. Peter goes missing. Erik refuses to let him stay that way.

wicked like a torturous dream (like a sweet calamity) by @sunsetuniverse

Peter is falling.

Band on the Run by @callie-caje

Peter was no stranger to time and its ways of twisting and turning, but he never expected it to turn on him. --- “Peter,” Charles, greeted him, “Shouldn’t you be headed towards the east wing for history class? You’re going to be late.” Peter smiled, “We both know I’ll still beat Logan there. He’s never been on time for class since he started teaching.” A part of Peter was confused, his mind spinning as it tried to make sense of what was going on. The other part was spinning in the opposite direction full of anxiety, wondering if he was imagining things. or A Dadneto Timeloop where Peter has to slow down and stop running away.

I Couldn’t Say the Words like You by @superherotiger

“Do you need anything? Blankets, pillows- a shit ton more drugs?” A weak chuckle escaped his father’s lips. “No my son, I-” Without warning, Erik raised a hand towards Pietro’s face. A gesture he had tried only once before, back when they first met. One that Pietro had rejected in a heartbeat. One that even now made him flinch without meaning to. ~~~ Or, the final scene of ‘To be Loved is to be Changed' from Pietro’s perspective.

Patrimonial by @theaterpug-writes

Wanda contemplates her relationship with Pietro and why he keeps looking at her like that.

The North Star Guides Me Home by @theaterpug-writes

5 times Erik Lehnsherr looked to his daughter for guidance and the 1 time he couldn't anymore. Or, Erik Lehnsherr and Lorna Dane throughout the years.

A Question Of Need by @onlyheartaches

When Charles seeks to learn why Magnus hasn't shown up at work for several days in a row, he makes a rather unexpected discovery.

the wishing well by Caspiansea

“Erik?” Erik shot upward, reaching out with his mutation to sense the metal nearby. Pietro stood at the edge of the doorway, haloed by the light of the hallway. Erik began to scramble forward, trying to untangle himself from the sheets. He looked for Charles, briefly, before remembering he was giving a talk at Oxford. “Pietro? Are you alright?” He squinted, trying to adjust to the sudden state of awakeness. His instincts were propelling him forward, but his largely peaceful life at the mansion had softened them, if only slightly. That, and he wasn’t as young as he used to be. “Yeah, yeah, chill. I just– could you help me with something?”

let us find laughter beyond the screams by @xxqueenofdragonsxx

The speedster is loud.

If there are any details missing or mistakes in this list please let us know and we will amend it as soon as possible!

Thanks again to everyone who participated in the event! Stay tuned for the final masterlist coming out within the week! ✨

Announcement // Prompts // Event Info

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