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[akechi-if-he-slayed]

akechi photo card !!!

[hecksupremechips]

Love being a boy who likes others boys like damn this is pretty silly I can’t believe we aren’t all doing this

[yourcoffeeguru]

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[just-trying-to-fangirl-in-peace]

Kill and make up (Sauron x fem!Elf!reader)

-> in which you and your husband discover that Celebrimbor has escaped with the Nine, and it brings out the uglier side of your relationship

Warnings: evil!reader, brief eye injury, intense argument between spouses: reader and Sauron aren’t physically violent with each other (only like a hand grab and a shove), but they scream and throw things towards each other (he does it by accident, she does it on purpose, neither get hit); seeing and touching a severed finger, sadistic tendencies, lots of violence, murder, allusions to smut, fucked up relationship dynamics (as usual with these two but this may be the most deranged one I’ve written to date)

Note: part of the evil!reader collection. For context, reader has been married/soulbound to Sauron since before Adar killed him and infiltrated herself in Eregion as a smith while she waited for his return.

Sometimes you wonder if, when you and your husband bound yourselves to one another and part of his power was bestowed upon you, he had not let some of his short temper trickle into you as well.

But you never were entirely level-headed, even before Morgoth took you. The difference now is that you have tasted the fulfillment of giving in to your more violent urges in the past, which makes for even greater frustration when you must, for practical reasons, withhold.

Hence why you are now striding down the chaos-filled streets of Eregion, rather than watching over Celebrimbor whilst your husband commands the city’s defences. You do not trust yourself to leave him intact so he can finish the Nine unless you take the time to cool down after the little stunt he tried to pull on you.

He was only just applying the final touches to the very last of the Rings, and not a moment too soon. The siege had gone on into the night, and soon there may not be much of Eregion’s people left for your husband to promise he would spare so long as Celebrimbor provides him with the Rings. You meant it as a gesture of encouragement, truly—the way you idly fiddled with the keys to Celebrimbor’s shackles as you sat by his side, all but dangling his freedom before his eyes.

He must have noticed, though he did his best not to glance your way. You supposed he was taking some refuge in the work, throwing himself into it so that he might forget his less than savoury circumstances. That was fine by you. The thoughts in his mind were of little consequence, so long as his hands performed their duty with their usual skill.

And skilled they were indeed. Your eyes had drifted to the distance, glazed over with boredom at some point after your husband had left you alone with Celebrimbor, but you were pulled out of your little reveries of ruling Middle-Earth when you realized eight of the Nine now stood each in their holder on the other side of Celebrimbor, all shiny and brand new. Your fiddling with the keys had stopped then, and you stood to walk there and lean over Celebrimbor’s shoulder, touching the cool metal of one Ring in awe as you admired them.

“You have outdone yourself, really,” you praised, and meant it. The designs of the Rings varied, but they all possessed the same utterly impeccable kind of beauty, and the fact that you knew they had been made with your husband’s precious blood... you would wear and cherish them forever yourself if they weren’t meant for more practical purposes.

Celebrimbor, however, didn’t seem as proud of his own work.

“I had little choice,” he muttered, not looking away from the Ring in his hand.

You straightened yourself with a little sigh, and placed a hand upon his shoulder.

“This really is a pity,” you confessed. “I always hated being your so-called ‘subject’, but I can’t say you ever gave me another reason to dislike you. And your talents are bound to prove most useful in the future as well.”

At that, he looked up at you with a fresh kind of disbelief in his eyes.

“Am I to be your prisoner for the rest of my days, then?” he asked, nearly a challenge.

“That would be quite bothersome for everyone involved, wouldn’t it?” you said, perfectly pragmatic. “Hopefully, we can come to... understand each other. My husband and I are more than willing to make some allies of your value.”

By which you meant conveniently skilled or powerful beings who would serve your purposes blindly, much like you expected the Orcs to do, but the word ‘ally’ had a better ring to it.

It was plain to see in Celebrimbor’s eyes that he was hardly convinced, though, as he kept his stubborn silence. The time was fast approaching when your true conquest of Middle-Earth would begin, and it was never too early to plant the seeds for the network of opportune connections you planned on weaving all throughout it.

But also, you did enjoy being the equivalent of a cat playing with a mouse.

“How about a peace offering, then?” you said, plastering an inviting smile on your face. “A little show of good faith, to prove that your suffering in itself is far from our end in all this. Once you finish the Nine,” you made a show of holding up the keys, then tucking them safely away in a discreet pocket at the waist of your dress, “I leave you free to roam about the room, and merely lock the doors behind me whilst I deliver the Rings to my husband. Not that you’d make it two steps into the streets without being dragged back here by your own guards, but, as I said—in good faith—I shall spare you the humiliation of trying.”

There was a slight furrow in Celebrimbor’s brow as he hesitated. How confusing it must have been for him, to reconcile the kind tone of your voice he’d heard so many times with the cruel reality of who you are.

“Well,” he said tentatively, “I suppose that would be a bit better than my... current position.”

You gave him a bright smile, satisfied you had managed to bring him in agreement with you for the first time since he learned the truth. That was how it began—small victories, little ‘yeses’ here and there, until the intended target settled into a collaboration, or rather subservience, that was most convenient to your plans.

As you passed by Celebrimbor to return to your seat, he turned around on his stool and grabbed your hand, calling your name with sudden urgency. Your instinct was to shake off the touch, but, with only a tick in your jaw, you stopped to indulge him. You were playing nice, after all.

“Was truly all of it a lie?” he asked in a disheartened breath. “Was there no part of you that... wanted this life you have made for yourself here with us? The craft and the friendship we shared?”

He was quite the pitiful sight, looking up at you with that glint of hope in his eyes. You were quite sure that had been snuffed out the moment you had told him the story of how the bond between you and your husband had been forged, the salvation you had found in it from Morgoth’s cruelty, erasing all doubts that you and him might ever betray one another now.

Even Celebrimbor wouldn’t be so foolish as to believe he might still sway you with his words. You suspected what he was truly after—but you played along. In fact, you even stepped a little closer, and held up the hand with which he had grabbed yours, patting his knuckles condescendingly.

“Why would I want to serve you as a smith of Eregion,” you said, “when I could be served by all others?”

Celebrimbor’s throat bobbed as he swallowed, containing the nervous tremble of his voice as he spoke, “I may have been Lord of Eregion, and as such above you in station, but I never thought of you as anything less than my peer and my companion. Sauron—your husband,” he corrected, perceiving your ire at the less than savoury Elvish term, “he may believe even himself when he claims to consider you his equal, but with time... with the Rings...” He sighed, closing his eyes as if it pained him to speak the words, but in the end met your gaze and said with all the sincerity he could muster, “I do not wish to see you hurt.”

You tilted your head and knitted your brow in sympathy, softening your gaze as well as your voice.

“Oh, Celebrimbor,” you sighed, “have you come to care for me so much that my fate still concerns you after all I’ve put you through?”

“I’m afraid I have,” he confessed quietly.

You were meant to be surprised, intrigued, perhaps even touched. Distracted, in any case, your focus drawn to his face and the one hand of his you held within your grasp. That was his intent, which you had sensed since the very beginning of his entreating speech. He had some reason to believe his idea would work. His smith’s fingers are, after all, nimble and quick, as his craft demand them to be. But unlike you, he is a stranger to deceit and the mere attempt at it suits him ill. The only reason he succeeded in his little misguided endeavour was because you preferred to end his satisfaction, rather than prevent it altogether.

“They say imitation is the highest form of flattery,” you all but purred to him. “Alas, you have not the talent for treachery that I do.”

With that, you wrenched your hand from his and grabbed his other one. His struggle was brief and futile as you forced that fist to open, and retrieved the keys he had just subtly slipped out of your pocket.

Any trace of poorly feigned concern vanished from his face, replaced by the frustration of defeat. You tsk-ed to yourself as you shoved the keys back into your pocket.

“And here I thought you were becoming reasonable,” you lamented, leaning against the table by his side with your other hand planted onto your hip, much like an irritated teacher. “What did you imagine? That you would unlock yourself when my back was turned and then... what? Outrun me? Fight me? I know you’ve never seen that particular side of me, but I assure you, I am as skilled in combat as you are in your craft.”

He couldn’t hold your scolding gaze. He turned back towards the table and leaned his elbows on it, resting his forehead upon his clenched fists, no doubt trying to stave off a stress-induced headache and crushing sense of hopelessness. Still, to ensure he knew better than to underestimate you next time, you intended to grab his chin and make him look you in the eye as you made one final threat, but he spoke before you had the chance to.

“In that case,” he admitted, lifting his head, “I suppose I was going about it all wrong.”

This time, you didn’t see it coming. By the time you jumped out of the way, he had already grabbed a small recipient on the table and projected the powdered metal inside straight into your eyes—real powdered metal, not the blood your husband had passed as mithril. The burn of the fine shards in your eyes was instant, forced them shut and ripped a cry from your throat as you scrambled away, one hand covering them—

Celebrimbor grabbed that elbow to yank you into his lap, but that only made it all the easier to drive it into his ribs, knocking the breath and a short scream out of him. You needed no eyesight for that—only sharp instincts and red-hot anger, and you had quite enough of both. He hadn’t even managed to find your pocket again before you escaped his grasp and stumbled out of his reach, even without seeing where you were going.

A quick thinker, the bastard. The moment he understood he could not defeat you by sheer strength or deceit, he had attempted to blind you instead.

With a string of anguished grunts, you fumbled around blindly until you knocked into what must have been the railing to the upper side of the forge where you and Celebrimbor were, with enough force that you might have toppled over it if you hadn’t caught yourself. Gripping the metal, you squeezed your already shut eyes, and tried to concentrate through the pain and mend the damage. You may not have had to do it in recent years, but you’d had enough such experience under Morgoth’s rule. Gradually, the burn dimmed, and the metal in your eyes dissolved, and you were left shaking with wrath as you opened your eyes.

In different circumstances, you might have slowly turned towards him first, made him cower in terror under your murderous gaze before you sprung into action. But you were beyond such theatrics now. With the swiftness of a snake lunging to sink its fangs into a victim, you whipped around, marched over to Celebrimbor and grabbed his throat so quickly he didn’t even get to gasp before your other hand yanked his head back by the hair.

“You are going to regret that,” you growled. Rage boiled within you, a furious thirst for revenge, an all-consuming urge to return the pain he had given you tenfold and hear him scream—

But the Nine were not finished.

It was with tremendous self-restraint that you slowly lowered your face an inch away from Celebrimbor’s, your ragged breath hitting his quivering lips.

“...later,” you whispered viciously. “Finish!”

He gasped for the breath you had denied him the moment you released him with a shove, nearly falling from his chair with the force of it. No amount of deep breathing in his presence would stop the blood roaring in your ears. So, you stormed down the stairs and out of the forge, slamming the doors shut behind you without even locking them.

He was in shackles, after all.

As you reenter the forge room some time later, you are pleased to say you have regained your composure. Nothing like a stroll through a raging battle to calm the senses, especially when you were briefly treated to the sight of your beloved standing upon a distant rampart, tall and fair as he commanded the forces of Eregion.

If not for the need to maintain appearances, you’d have called for his attention through your bond and blown him a loving kiss from below.

“All right, Celebrimbor,” you say now, shutting the doors behind you, “I believe we must clarify some—”

He’s gone.

Heart pounding, you practically fly across the room, running up the stairs to the empty desk where Celebrimbor had been sitting before. Your husband could not have freed him. Could he? You had only just seen him outside, and the Rings are gone as well. Had they been finished, surely he would have reached for you through your bond the moment he had learned of it, called you to bask in the victory at his side. You scramble through every object on the desk, turning them over, opening cases, looking for any sign of the Rings.

Something squelches beneath your foot. But before you lower your gaze all the way down there, something else catches your eye on the floor—Celebrimbor’s shackle. Still locked. Blood-stained.

Entirely mechanical, you reach down and pinch the wet thing beneath the sole of your foot between two fingers, lifting it to your eyes to confirm your suspicion of what it is.

A severed finger.

When you wish to, or when the circumstances demand such a thing, you have many more vicious and sophisticated ways of expressing anger than mere spoken words. However, at times such a predicament arises where you are simply reduced to plain old foul language.

“Fuck,” you breathe out.

If the Rings were not finished, that is going to be a problem. But you have a feeling that they are, which is precisely why Celebrimbor has resorted to such a desperate gesture to withhold them from you and your husband.

Speaking of whom—his familiar steps are echoing down the hall.

Nearly releasing another expletive, you rush right back the way you came, down the stairs and across the room and out the door just in the nick of time to slam it shut before your husband would have stepped inside. He halts before you, taken aback.

“Love,” you greet him with a small smile. He’s seen enough of those to know which ones are fake. Not to mention the slight tremor in your voice, the alarm you’re attempting to conceal on your end of the bond, and—if those weren’t quite enough—the severed digit in your grasp which you seem to have acquired in your husband’s absence.

It’s endearing, really, how your skills of deception vanish like smoke in the wind when it comes to fooling your husband in any regard.

“I see our friend has upset you once more,” he remarks calmly, eyeing the finger in your hand. “However, I should hope you allowed him to finish the Rings before you claimed your little trophy, beloved.”

His smile is ever-so-slightly tense, his tone ever-so-slighty warning, and you are a lot more than slightly flustered to realize that in your haste, it had slipped your mind to do something so simple as to toss away the bloody finger in your hand.

You do so now, furiously wiping off the mess on your dress for lack of a better outlet for your nerves.

“I did not...” you begin. “Celebrimbor has apparently...”

“What is it?” your husband demands briskly. He knows something is wrong, wrong enough to have you acting so flustered, and that can only mean it will anger him beyond belief.

You release a sharp sigh, and quite frankly, give up. There is no way to break the news to him gently. So, you fix your husband with as stern a look as you can. “If you could just refrain from tearing this whole place to the ground—”

But he has already pushed past you and burst into the forge room.

“—that would be nice,” you finish to the empty hall, then follow him inside.

“Where is he?” your husband growls, storming up the stairs and staring at the empty desk with wide, crazed eyes as he shouts, “Where are the Rings?”

“He must have taken them,” you tell him, angered but far more level-headed than him as you climb the stairs as well. “They were nearly finished, and—”

An entire wooden cabinet clatters to the ground, furiously toppled by your husband. But the sound is barely the buzz of a fly compared to the deafening roar that tears out of his throat. You halt near the top of the stairs and wince, waiting for the sound to die down. No doubt it echoed to every Elf below, even through the ruckus of battle.

This... is the sort of thing you were hoping to avoid.

How nice of you to inform Celebrimbor that his absence has been noticed, you think, simply because such quips are in your nature. You know better than to say it—but you are both fraught with powerful emotions, and your bond turns volatile, and things slip through. You know he’s felt the reproach the moment his furious gaze turns upon you.

“Perhaps I should ask...” he says, eerily quiet as he approaches you, “where were you?”

Someone else might have fled, or fallen to their knees to plead for mercy under such a withering glare. You, however, have the luxury of knowing that you are the only being who has or ever will remain perfectly unscathed despite incurring your husband’s wrath. So, you climb the last of the steps and meet his gaze head on, unintimidated by such theatrics.

“Celebrimbor attempted a most distasteful treachery,” you declare, arms crossed defiantly as your husband comes to tower above you. “He tried to steal the keys to his shackles by blinding me with powdered metal. I knew better than to risk damaging his precious fingers—or worse—in retaliation before his work was finished. As such, I stepped outside.”

“You left him alone,” your husband fumes in disbelief, “because you couldn’t keep your daggers sheathed?”

“Oh please,” you scoff. “You’ve made far more strategically inconvenient kills for far less. I was merely being practical.”

“Practical, you say?” he mocks, whipping away and striding back to Celebrimbor’s work table. “Pray tell, how come you were within his reach to begin with?” He proceeds to toss every item away and open every possible compartment, his voice growing to a hoarse shout with each accusation he spits. “Were you perhaps taunting him, goading him, playing with your food as you can never seem to refrain from doing?”

“Oh, so when you do it, it’s fine,” you raise your voice right back, uncrossing your arms so you can gesture as frantically as he behaves while he moves to deface another table. “When I do it, it’s irresponsible.”

“What is irresponsible,” he points a finger at you, “is that you left the Nine and our most valuable asset unattended so you could go for a stroll!”

You’ve seen dragons with less fire on their hottest breath than that of the rage ignited in your chest. You surge towards him and snatch his accusatory finger in a death grip.

“I needed a break,” you scream in his face, “and he was in shackles! And he’s obsessed with his craft—which very much requires hands! How was I to imagine he’d be idiotic enough to chop off his own fucking finger?!”

“Enough!” he roars over your screech, prying your hand from around his with a powerful shove. Your calf hits Celebrimbor’s desk stool as you shuffle back, and you kick it with a yell and a burst of your power that sends it flying over the railing and splintering to pieces on the steps all the way at the entrance to the forge room. The same destructive force is behind the glare with which you fix your husband.

Forget not tearing this place to the ground. You feel as if you could crack every table in two with your bare hands, you could shatter all the windows with nothing but a shriek, you could crumble the stone floors with the stomp of your foot, you could— you could—

You turn on your heel and storm away. The moment you do, your husband demands in a gruff shout, “Where are you going?”

“To fix this!” you snarl. You whip around to face him, your voice dropping to mocking sweetness before it builds right back into a hoarse scream. “But please, do keep smashing to pieces every single object in your sight. I’m sure Celebrimbor simply stashed the Rings in some hidden corner whilst he went for a nine-fingered stroll in the rubble!”

With that, you leave again. The sounds of destruction resume behind you, but you block them out the same way you do your husband’s inflamed end of your bond. Until you’ve nearly reached the stairs, and some glass object hits the railing with a loud smash, shattering to pieces. Relatively close to you.

You don’t even look down. You simply stop, take a breath in the sudden silence. Turn around. Then, chin high, perfectly poised and in the most controlled of tones, you ask your husband:

“Did you just throw that in my direction?”

Rage rolls off him in waves—but he has ceased his rampage, and there is the subtlest hesitant crease of his brow as he looks at you.

“Don’t be absurd,” he says stiffly. “I was hardly even looking your way—”

But then he’s dodging a projectile—a metal case you had picked off the ground and chucked his way in the blink of an eye.

“You weren’t looking?” you growl, already snatching a creasing hammer from the table to throw his way next. “You weren’t looking? Well, I am!”

He catches the hammer, swats away the chisel that follows with his power, advancing through the enemy fire until he can grip your wrists and pull them to his chest to stop you from gathering further ammunition.

“Save you energy, love,” he growls as you struggle in his grip. “Try as you might, you cannot harm my flesh.”

“I know! That’s why I’m trying!”

You wrest yourself out of his hold, chest heaving as you stumble back a couple of steps. For a moment, your ragged breaths are all there is. But the storm is far from over, and the moment you open your mouths again, your voices escalate into screams once more.

“You, on the other hand,” you accuse, nearly in tears, “the moment my back was turned—”

“You know very well I cannot hurt you!”

“But you wish to hurt me?”

“I wish to hurt something!”

“So do I!”

Your roar echoes in the chamber, your throat raw, your every muscle trembling with rage. You cannot harm my flesh. But you could harm his soul. You could, simply by doubting him. You have. It brings no satisfaction. It isn’t what you want. What you want is for him to kneel and beg forgiveness for his words, or maybe to fuck you so hard you forget he ever said them at all.

But you can have neither, because you are no longer alone.

They must have arrived when you and your husband were at the height of your screaming match, thus why you only now turn your heads to see them entering the room—ten or so guards, led by Captain Malendol and, supported by him as he limps to a stop, Celebrimbor himself.

“Marital spat?” he derides flatly, a shred of defiance in his voice even as he cradles his thumb-less left hand to his chest. From the appalled way in which Malendol looks at you, it’s plain to see that Celebrimbor has somehow regained the trust of his guards and exposed you for who you are, once and for all. Or perhaps the glimpse he’d caught of your lover’s quarrel had been proof enough. Either way, you’re so ablaze with rage, you can’t even bask in the grand reveal.

“Foreplay,” you reply dryly—and there is, after all, a bit of satisfaction in the various degrees of shock and discomfort that flash across the guards’ faces.

“Where are the Rings?” your husband demands, ice cold as he passes by you and descends the stairs.

“Not here,” Celebrimbor answers. “They will be far  from your reach by now.”

“Oh, come now, Celebrimbor,” you coax with all the goodwill of a viper as you join your husband down the stairs. “It was such a silly thing you did to that precious hand of yours. If you return the Rings, maybe we can find a way to mend it.”

His eyes shine with tears, which he holds proudly back.

“The loss shall be well worth it,” he says, pained, “so long as it ensures that neither of you will ever touch a Ring again.”

You grit your teeth, his audacity adding fuel to the already blazing fire of your rage. Whatever retort you and your husband might have made, you are rudely interrupted.

“Seize them!” Malendol orders, and his soldiers march forward. “By order of the true Lord of Eregion, you, Sauron and—”

The words die in his throat. He’s choked out, jaw slack and quivering as he struggles against your husband’s power. The soldiers halt, gazes shifting hesitantly between you and your husband and their captain.

“I believe you’ve spoken my wife’s name quite enough times already,” your husband says. Any other time, you would be delighted. With Mirdania gone, it’s time for the Elf whose affections you had entertained only closely enough to grate your husband’s nerves to meet his own end. Perfect symmetry, mutual satisfaction. But you are beyond being assuaged by such games in this moment.

You grip your husband’s arm, and fix him with a gaze which demands that he meet it. It would be so easy for him to flick that wrist of his and have the guards fall upon their own swords. But that would leave the issue of your unconsummated lust for violence, and when such a volatile feeling bounced off each other in an endless loop through the bond without release, it led to nothing good, not even for you.

So, staring in your husband’s eyes, you hiss, “Let us hurt something.”

You need not say a word more. Your husband narrows his eyes at you briefly, but the suggestion immediately sinks in. Malendol sputters a panicked breath as his throat is released from your husband’s power, a look of even deeper dread than before written on his face, but he repeats his order.

“Seize them!”

And his soldiers, now valiantly joined by their captain, advance on you once more. The sight of them circling you with swords drawn as you and your husband stand back to back is quite invigorating. It even brings a little smile and a quip to your lips.

“Might you be so kind as to lend me that?” You point to the sword of the guard facing you.

And answer your own question—with lightning-fast mayhem.

A concealed dagger is brandished from your sleeve and you swiftly send it flying to its new home in the guard’s skull. A quick pull of your power draws the hilt of his sword to your hand whilst your other imitates the dagger-throw and sword-stealing with another guard, and by the time three others have attacked, you have more than enough steel in your hands to meet their own with a loud clang. Behind you, similar sounds of confrontation are made by your husband and his own side of opponents.

It is to be noted that the ensuing fight is by no means a desperate struggle for escape on you and your husband’s part. In fact, the guards are hardly your main focus, even as you single-handedly hold your own against several of them at the same time and, over the course of the following few minutes, decimate them one by one. You simply wish to feel your bones rattle with each blow you land, to hear the tearing of flesh under your blade, to give yourself an outlet of your anger whom you have no reservation to make bleed, when the true source of your rage is quite off-limits in that regard—and driven by the same compulsion to inflict pain as you.

Now, you can really have a go at each other.

“You realize,” your husband begins between easily placed parries, wielding a guard’s sword to which he had helped himself, “this only serves to prove my point.”

You glance briefly at him, kicking a guard in the shin whilst you block another’s blade. “Which is?”

“There is work,” he grabs one by the helmet, “and there is play,” then slits his throat before attacking another. “And you, my love, tend to confuse them.”

“Yet here you are,” you retort through grunts of effort, “indulging me as though you take no joy in it yourself.” You are as triumphant in your words as you are in thrusting your sword into a guard’s gut. But your husband does not relent.

“There would be nothing to indulge,” he growls, “if you hadn’t allowed the Rings to be taken!”

With a furious wave of his hand, a guard flies out the window, screaming on his long way down.

“Maybe the Rings would not have been taken, had you not grown negligent with your illusion in the first place!” you growl right back, snapping a neck. “Maybe if you had spared a thought to the way candles function, we would not be here!”

Your husband crushes a skull. “You have not the slightest idea of the skill required to maintain such an intricate illusion. You had one simple task of—”

“One simple task? One?” A well-placed kick relieves a guard of the future children he might have had, if you didn’t cut his throat next. “Was it one simple task to spend centuries insinuating myself by Celebrimbor’s side—”

“Not this again—”

“Yes, this again! This, forever!” you scream over the guard whose leg you break. “I put myself through years of suffering based on nothing but blind faith that you would return!”

“And yet,” your husband presses on cruelly, plunging his blade into a heart, “you could not perform the simple task of ensuring Celebrimbor remained in his shackles.”

You slash a throat, screaming. Speaking of Celebrimbor—in the quick glimpse you catch of him, he looks like he might be questioning his reality all over again in the face of your ‘marital spat’.

And he thought you licking your husband’s blood was deranged.

A guard nearly stabs you in the side, and you resume fighting fueled by a brand new bout of anger.

“You do this... every time!” you yell at your husband. “The moment something doesn’t go to plan, you blame everything and everyone but yourself.” Having stripped the guard of his weapon and helmet, you are now in the process of forcing him to his knees. “And since I’m the closest at hand, you blame me!” For good measure, you emphasize each word with a smash of the guard’s head into a nearby table. “Every,” smash, “single,” smash, “time!”

Smash and thud, when the guard’s limp body hits the ground.

Your husband watches, his lips twitching into a snarl as he flings a guard into a wall.

“Very well,” he grunts. “We are both to blame. But if you could restrain your sadistic tendencies—”

“Oh, please! Nothing gets you harder than your wife wreaking havoc, even when it’s in defiance of you. Especially then.” You put a guard in a chokehold, throwing your husband a most flirtatious smile. “If it was in my nature to ‘restrain my sadistic tendencies’, you would not have wed me.”

Snap goes the guard’s neck. Another struggles on the ground, much like a roach beneath your husband’s boot on his chest.

“If I wished only to sate my carnal desires,” he rasps out, “I would have wed no one at all.”

He crushes said chest as he steps over it to lunge at another guard. You cackle like a mad woman as you break a nose. “You are a Maia! You had no carnal desire until I invented it!” You feel the retort on his tongue, no doubt a claim that you are exaggerating—which maybe you are, but not in what you say next, between the occasional pants and grunts of the fight.

“There was always me, or no one—and from the moment you first had me, you could never go back to not having me.” Your current opponent drops to the ground, his heart pierced by your blade. “So blame me all you want, love. I could inconvenience you a thousand times, and you’d adore me still.”

There is no retort. No screams, or clangs of metal, or broken bones, or any noise at all—for all your foes are dead, and your fight consummated. All that is left is you and your husband, standing before each other in the aftermath of your destruction. Panting, covered in blood. Sated.

Gazes locked, you move towards each other, sparing not the slightest of glances to the rubble and bodies over which you step until you are close enough to breathe each other’s air. Weapons lowered to your sides, you do not touch, or speak. One last confrontation, to see which one of you will break first.

“I spoke in anger,” your husband yields.

As he very well should. Still, you eye him with a not-quite-convinced look. “Is that your idea of an apology?”

“What is yours?” he challenges, but his words have no true bite. Not anymore.

It would be less of an apology and more of something you would have done anyway, but the timing is poetically symbolic when the guard whose chest your husband had crushed under his boot suddenly takes a whizzing breath. Captain Malendol himsef, as a quick glance tells you, is still alive—barely—and picking himself off the ground a few feet to your side with staggering resolve.

He raises his sword, charging towards you with one last, valiant cry, and manages the great feat of having his throat swiftly cut by with your blade. A most tragically heroic sight, surely, but you wouldn’t know, since you never once took your eyes off your husband’s while you did it.

The captain’s armored body clatters to the ground, the same time as your weapons. Your husband’s eyes dart to him, visibly satisfied, but not fully so. His gaze meets yours, then lowers to your lips, and he leans in—only half the way, in invitation.

With an indulgent little hum, you close the distance and give him a kiss. No more than a little peck, really. A token of reconciliation. Something clicks back into place within you as the tension in your bond subsides, and you feel a matching sense of relief on your husband’s end of it. Fighting each other always feels like tearing out your own flesh, yet you do it anyway, with lethal consequences—to others, of course.

Towards others, in fact, is the only direction in which you and your beloved should ever direct your fury, as you feel him agree now that you have finally murdered your way to making up.

“Look at us,” you lament, “blaming each other, when the fault is all his.”

The last word is as venomous as the look with which you then fix Celebrimbor, glued to the same spot where he had been standing since he entered. Defiance and terror battle in his eyes as he stares back, mouth slightly open in disbelief at your display, surely aware that any attempt to escape would only end in more suffering than is already in store for him—should he refuse to obey your husband’s command, that is.

“How right you are, my love,” your husband says as you face Celebrimbor, standing as one once more. “You will give us the Nine,” he orders darkly.

Celebrimbor shuts his mouth, clenches his jaw, as if that would be enough to keep the secret of the Nine’s whereabouts locked behind his lips. His eyes dart to the fallen soldiers decorating the floor of his once beautiful forge, and you can practically hear him resolve to ensure that those sacrifices will not have been in vain.

“Oh, my love...” A most wicked smile blooms on your lips. “I think he wants us to play with him, too.”

Your husband’s voice is lethal.

“He shall have his wish.”

Previous fic with same reader -> Old wounds

Next fic with same reader -> Defied

[lovelybutachan]

Second post about Saezuru 😂

On the occasion of the release of volumn 9, the collaboration cafe "Day/Night" has been held in Tokyo and Osaka. Last week my friends travelled to Tokyo and they helped me to visit this place.

This time, theme is mafia and pyjama (like the story in the extra paper included with volumn 9)

Impressive moments of volumn 9 are printed and hung all over the wall

When you order drink or food, you can get random paper coaster as bonus. 1 coaster per drink/food

About goods, we have acrylic coaster, illustration card, can badge, acrylic standee, acrylic key holder and metallic clearfile.

Each 2500yen you spend on books and goods (book is a must), you get 1 of 4 postcards as another bonus (you can choose the one you like). I got all because I have some kind of OCD. Once I buy, I buy all or nothing 😂😂

I also went to another collab cafe when volumn 8 was released but i was too lazy to post here 🤣 i will try to post it in the future.

[marveltrumpshate]

Want to participate in Marvel Trumps Hate, but don't know what to offer? Think outside the box!

Stumped on what to offer because you don't write fic or draw? Marvel Trumps Hate welcomes a huge variety of fanworks and fan labor (see our sign-up post), so there are different ways you can contribute. You'll be amazed by the breadth of skills, talents, knowledge, and types of creative expression found in fandom!

Here's a smorgasbord of offers that we've either had before or seen people discuss as possibilities for MTH 2024 or future years to help inspire you. What you can offer is not restricted to the list below; these are just examples to get you brainstorming about what you can auction off because trust us, even if you think you might not have something to offer, you probably do!

ART (VISUAL/ILLUSTRATIVE)

Drawings/illustrations

Single-page and multi-page comics

Pixel art

Paintings (oil, acrylic, gouache, watercolor)

Mixed-media artwork on canvas

Ink-on-bristol art

Embroidery on canvas

Pour paint/spin art

Rotoscopes

Digital coloring books

AUDIOVISUAL WORKS

Fan music or filk inspired by characters, ships, or fics

Podfics

Videos (fic trailers, themed edits, vids set to songs)

Animations (making original art/animation or turning existing art into animation)

BETA SERVICES

Editing

Cheer reading

Soundboarding/planning/development work

Fact-checking

Culture-picking

Sensitivity reading

Knowledge about specific topics or experiences (e.g., identities, lifestyles, professions, interests, fields of study)

Research

CRAFTS & MERCH

Candles

Lip balms

Soaps

Stained glass/suncatcher

Scented beanbag-style sachets

Candy/chocolate/baked goods/jellies/sweets

Fic/character/ship/theme boxes (like book boxes)

Pins, magnets, patches, charms, standees, key chains, ring holders, calendars, stickers, bookmarks, temporary tattoos

Sculptures and clay figures

Ceramic mugs and other ceramic items

Apparel/wearable accessories (shirts, jackets, scarves, gloves/mittens, hats, face masks, regular masks, cowls, pajamas/onesies)

Backpacks, tote bags, itabags with custom window shapes, leather dice bags, wallets, pouches/pencil cases

Plushie animal or Tsum Tsum versions of Marvel characters

Dolls (crochet, needle felt, matte board, hand-sewn)

Embroidery hoops/wall art and cross stitch pieces

Jewelry (diamond painting, macrame, metal, crochet, wire, beads)

Woodwork/wood burning (cheese board, box/chest, USB stick, coasters, photo frame, alphabet blocks)

Glasswork

Custom Funko Pops

Paper cut light boxes

Pillow cases, quilted pillows, baby blankets, dishcloth/washcloths, potholders

Handmade leather journals

Linoleum stamps

Dog/cat/pet toys

Artbooks, paper doll books, and coloring books

Hand-dyed yarn skeins

Custom tea blends

DIGITAL (GRAPHIC DESIGN)

Gifsets

Graphics/edits

Mood boards

Photo manips

Fic covers/posters/banners

Icons and headers

Webweaving

Tumblr or website layouts

Digital calendars

Wallpapers

Custom Discord emojis

FAN LABOR & TRANSLATION

Typesetting

Bookbinding

Recipes based on characters, ships, or themes

Names, tags, and summaries for fics

Audio/sound editing and/or soundscaping for podfics

Book cover design and printing

Art/comic/fic translation

Website/game/AO3 skin coding

Fic rec lists

Fic playlists/fanmixes

Knitting/crochet patterns

Art coaching

Help with launching and organizing fan events

WRITING

Fic

Poetry

Meta posts

Social media AUs

Physical letters written by characters to the reader or between two characters

Remixes of your fic or an existing fic with the author's permission

Whether you can do something on this list or something else altogether (we're sure there are a lot of other things that you can do that we haven't thought about or seen before), we hope you'll consider signing up before the deadline: September 28, 11:59 PM ET.

[mrcompass]

A critic of the Legendary Bladers concept.

The concept of the Legendary Blader is central to Beyblade: Metal Fury, playing a significant role in shaping the third part of the MFB series. Through this, new characters, themes, lore, and ideas were introduced. In this analysis, I will explore the Legendary Blader concept by focusing on three key points.

The star fragment and bey obsolescence

The Star Fragment is obviously a central element for the Legendary Bladers, as it is what sets them apart from other Bladers. The Star Fragment serves as a convenient excuse to evolve the Beys of pre-existing characters: Gingka, Kyoya, Ryuga, and later Kenta. Evolutions in the MFB anime are actually quite rare. Unlike the manga, characters don’t evolve their Beys through progress or special events. In fact, it’s more common for a character to change part of their Bey (like Chaoxin), and sometimes characters even change them entirely (like Zeo and Toby). However, the latter case was due to their need for a fresh start after being subjected to Hades Inc. Masamune received an evolved version of his Unicorno thanks to Coach Steel’s modifications, but he did this precisely because he learned Gingka’s Pegasus had evolved and wanted to become a Legendary Blader. Finally, Ryuga was able to evolve Lightning L-Drago into Meteo L-Drago by conquering the dark power.

This illustrates that in the Metal Saga, Beys are an essential part of a character’s identity, and they don’t often change them. Beys are considered partners and are too deeply intertwined with the supernatural and the characters themselves (after all, the characters’ designs are based on their Beys) to be modified on a whim. For example, it would be strange for Kyoya or Gingka to ask Madoka to modify their Beys, given the values they hold for them.

This is actually a disadvantage for MFB, as the goal of the anime is to sell Beyblades. As a result, whenever you introduce a prominent Beyblade that you really want to sell, you have to create a new character. This might cause issues with character development, considering the number of characters already in the show and the limited number of episodes.

This is where the Star Fragment is a genius move: it allows the Beys of previous characters to evolve into the new 4D system. This way, they can present the new system as special. Additionally, it was already established that Beys are made of meteorite material, so a fragment of the same thing powering the Beys seems logical.

This doesn’t mean the concept is perfect, though. The first problem is that it is reserved for only a select few, and the evolutions only apply to pre-existing characters. This actually limits the new system to a handful of people: the Legendary Bladers, the Nemesis Bladers, Ryuto, and Masamune. The second issue is that it clearly sets these characters apart from all the others. Even though some of the Fusion characters were outclassed by Gingka and his group, as demonstrated in Battle Bladers, there was still hope for them to come back stronger and remain relevant in the show. After all, Tsubasa and Yu maintained consistent roles in later seasons, and Tobio even returned during the Destroyer Dome.

But now that we have a group of Bladers certified as the "strongest in the world" thanks to the Star Fragment, the hope for other characters to shine, surpass the Legendary Bladers with their own skills, or even create tension in a match has been demolished. The proof is that no Legendary Blader has ever lost to a non-Legendary Blader, and no holder of a 4D Beyblade has lost to a Blader with a non-4D Bey. For example, Yuki was able to beat Cycnus, and Johannes was able to outplay Dashan.

This perfectly illustrates what I call "Bey obsolescence," which refers to a new kind of Bey or system eclipsing the others within the same generation. For example, in Fusion, characters with Beys using plastic fusion wheels played a relevant part, yet in Metal Masters, these Beys are reserved for background characters. This kind of Bey was used by Kenta’s friends, whom we don’t see anymore after Fusion, as well as Hikaru and Hyoma. The latter two were strong enough to defeat Kenta at one point and participate in Battle Bladers, but they are the only participants of that tournament who have given up competitive Beyblading.

Of course, there’s the factor of their trauma, but Tsubasa overcame the dark power, and they could have had their roles switched with others in Battle Bladers. However, it didn’t happen, and I think the explanation is that it was simply convenient to reduce the presence of two characters using an obsolete system to make more room for new Bladers and Beys. As conspiratorial as it might sound, if you look at any team in the World Championship, none of them—not even Team Desert Blaze—used plastic wheels. This obsolescence is real, as seen in Zero-G, where the generic Beys use the Ray and Spiral fusion wheels, which were once used by prominent characters.

I think Metal Fury is painfully aware of this and tries its best to counteract it, mainly by showing close fights, like Gingka vs. Kenta in Beyster Island or Kyoya vs. Yu. In a way, it works. It’s almost impressive how these characters can hold their own with their Metal Fusion Beyblades against Legendary Bladers.Another point the anime insists on is that Gingka and Kyoya needed to learn how to use their new 4D Beys. Before their defeats against Ryuga, they often relied on mode changes, much like Johannes and the rest of the Nemesis Bladers did. It’s notable that Johannes, Pluto, Hershel, and Cycnus don’t have a special move, and for the latter three, they don’t even have a Bey-beast or aura. These are characters who over-rely on their Beys’ abilities rather than fully utilizing their potential. This is presented as the “wrong way” to use a 4D Bey. It’s also noteworthy that Kyoya and Kenta created their special moves by defeating one of these Bladers. So, in a way, the anime tries to tell us that while it’s great to have a powerful new Bey, if you just rely on mode changes, you’re not going to get very far.

So, even though the Star Fragment is a great idea for changing the Bey system, it kind of limits the possibility of characters benefiting from it. Especially considering that only four characters received drastic evolutions. It also confirms the tendency to leave characters behind, depending on their beys. Nonetheless the series finale addresses this issue by having all the Bladers transfer their power to Gingka.

The Legendary Bladers and Character Development

The second point that needs huglight is the legendary blader themselves and how they perforemd as characters. This is not about critizing the choice of these charcters for the legendary blader postion but rather seeing if there is more to them than their title and if they are developped. Now characters developpment is all well and good but it is better if a charatcers is fleshed out so they can stand out more.

Gingka, Kyoya, Ryuga and Kenta

On the eleven people that received a star fragment only four were introduced in a previous season: Kyoya, Gingka and Ryuga and Kenta. All fo them were well established charcters and they all had their time to shine in the season. Kyoya had his little arc, Gingka put an end to Nemesis thanks to all the blader ijn the world and Ryuga and Kenta built a bond with each other. We actually saw more of Ryuga, how he trains and how he lives thanks to his tribulations. For Kenta this was the occasion to grow stronger but also distance himself from Gingka and the rest of the group, which allowed him to stand out more and gained independance. Bulding a relationship between Kenta and Ryuga was obviously surprising and welcomed. As the two had never really interacted with each other and are actually very different. We have Ryuga who was always strong and narcistic and Kenta who built slowly but surely his strenght and tries his best to help friends whenever he can. His journey with Ryuga is actually refreshing and unexpected. In my opinion it is the most succesfull things metal fury did. Reagarding their selections as legendary blader I think it what obvious they would be selected. Kyoya, Gingka and Ryuga are the strongest blader in the world with a lot of achievement to their credit like battle blader and tghe world championship. Kenta succeding to Ryuga as the lengadry blader of summer is a perfect consluon to his charcters journey not only in fury but in the whole series as well.

Yuki

Yuki was introduced very early in the season, being one of the first characters to appear in Metal Fury. Much like Kenta, Yuki starts off by being attacked, unable to defend himself until Gingka intervenes. They quickly become friends. After Kenta left the group, Yuki somewhat filled his role without replacing him. Yuki has elements that set him apart—he is determined, enjoys astronomy, and uses his passions to his advantage (like when he figured out how to open the door of Dynamis's temple). He is intelligent and loyal. However, his biggest weakness is his lack of confidence in himself as a Blader.

After he became a Legendary Blader, he participated in the Tag Team tournament alongside Gingka, and his confidence improved—a trend that continued over time. Overall, Yuki was a well-developed character; he had time to be properly fleshed out, and he actually grew during the season.

The main issue comes when it’s revealed that Yuki is a descendant of one of the Bladers who fought Nemesis in the past, which allowed him to gain the star fragment. Yuki’s reaction is one of pride and joy, as one might expect. However, for me, this was a missed opportunity for introspection. He’s supposed to be a clever and level-headed character, yet he never questions the influence of destiny on his life. Was he always destined to become friends with Gingka? Are his achievements only due to his ancestors? This could have led to Yuki affirming himself—not in opposition to his fate, but as his own person. This would have been a nice way to parallel Rago and Pluto, who mindlessly follow the prophecy of their own ancestor.

Aguma

Regarding the case of Aguma, I believe he also benefited from an earlier introduction compared to the other Legendary Bladers. He is also the first to join Nemesis, which sets him apart from the others. Aguma is part of the Beylin Fist, a rebel faction of the Beylin Temple. He wishes for his faction to get the recognition they deserve, which is why he allies himself with Johannes, who promised that in the "New World," the Beylin Fist would become the one and only school for Beyblade. This integrates Aguma and the rest of his clan into the world of MFB by using the pre-existing Beylin Temple.

Though Aguma does not develop a rivalry with Dashan, he does have an antagonistic relationship with Kyoya, which plays into Kyoya's solo arc. By being one of the antagonists during Metal Fury alongside Johannes, Aguma manages to stand on his own and gain some individuality. After his successive losses to Kyoya, King, and Tithi, as well as Pluto's betrayal, Aguma faces an internal crisis about what to do next: help the Legendary Bladers, do nothing, or side with Nemesis.

This moment of introspection could have been a positive turning point, if it hadn’t been interrupted in the worst way possible. Dynamis reveals that Aguma's ancestor sided with Hades in the past, before switching sides to join the Legendary Bladers after an encounter with Tithi's ancestor. Because of this, it feels like all of Aguma's choices have been dictated by fate, as he ends up replicating the same mistakes his ancestor did. This makes him seem more like a puppet of fate rather than a fully developed character.

King

King was introduced around the middle of the season. Like Yuki and Aguma, he participated in two tournaments, showcasing his performance to the viewers. The most important aspect of King is the friendship he built with Masamune. In my opinion, they complement each other very well, as seen during their battle against Hershel, and King quickly became a part of Team Dungeon.

Of course, King suffers from the same circumstances as the other Solar System Bladers, but what counteracts this is his genuine love for Beyblade, much like Masamune and Gingka. Additionally, his ancestry never got in the way of his actions or choices, and he didn’t seem to place much importance on it. Even if he wasn’t a Legendary Blader, he still had a unique Beyblade, Variares, that can spin in both directions, which already makes him stand out.

In summary, King is a very unique, iconic, and well-integrated character.

Dynamis

Dynamis first appeared in the arc just before the Beyster Island tournament, and he didn’t participate in it. Just like in the manga, he doesn’t have much screen time compared to the previous Legendary Bladers. I think this is due to the fact that his primary purpose is to deliver the lore behind the Legendary Bladers, making it harder to dissociate him from that role.

Later on, Dynamis gets possessed by a dark power, which might be an allusion to Tsubasa’s dark power arc. This is fitting since Zeus, represented by Dynamis's Beyblade Jupiter, has an eagle as its symbolic animal.

Dynamis’s main problem is that he doesn’t have any real meaningful relationships with other characters, making him feel more like a plot device.

Chris

Chris was also introduced fairly late in the season, but fortunately, he has a backstory. He suffered a similar situation to King, being ostracized and abandoned because of his strength, which alludes to the fact that Legendary Bladers in the manga aren’t allowed to participate in tournaments due to their overwhelming power. Unlike the other Bladers of the four seasons, Chris wasn’t introduced in previous seasons, nor did he have an impressive record before winning Beyster Island. He suffered from unfortunate circumstances that prevented him from going to the World Championship.

However, Chris brings with him an interesting concept—that of a mercenary Blader. This is relatively new to the series, and it seems to fit well in a world where Beyblade holds such a significant place. It’s almost strange that we didn’t see more variations of what a Blader can do outside of just fighting in tournaments. Unfortunately, this concept was introduced far too late to be fully explored, especially considering Chris seemingly gives up the mercenary way. After he lost to Gingka and sided with the Legendary Bladers, it appears Chris turned over a new leaf, but since this happened just before the final fight against Nemesis, we didn’t have enough time to appreciate his development.

Tithi

Tithi was the last Legendary Blader to be introduced. What’s original about his introduction is that, unlike the others, he isn’t found by Gingka but by Kyoya and Yu. From the start, we get a good sense of his personality—he’s a shy kid who just wants friends to play Beyblade with, a feeling Yu understands well. Their bonding was very sweet to watch and helped reintroduce Yu into the new season.

During battle, we see that Tithi has a joyful personality. He can be unpredictable and a little wild at times. Of course, who could forget him annoying Kyoya by calling him "Tatakyo/Yoyo"? Tithi later battled Aguma, which contributed to Aguma's doubts (along with Pluto’s betrayal).

Overall, I think Tithi was fleshed out well, but the problem is that he was introduced so late in the season that it feels like he was mercilessly thrown into the Nemesis crisis. Think about it—he was just a little kid minding his own business, finally finding a friend to play Beyblade with, and less than two days later, he’s forced to face this universe's version of Satan. However, his potential was clearly wasted, especially considering he stayed with Dynamis, with whom he had almost no interactions.

Rago

Rago is one of the main antagonists of Metal Fury, and he is also the only Legendary Blader to be truly evil. He appears in the latter part of the season, which seems at odds with how the anime presents him—as the ultimate villain Gingka and the rest must face. Rago is merely the man who wields Nemesis, nothing more and nothing less. He shares similarities with previous main Blader antagonists like Ryuga and Damian by being narcissistic, boastful, and insulting. However, Rago's issue is that he didn’t have the same buildup as Ryuga did in Metal Fusion. He feels like a character pulled from a catalog, especially considering that he appears alongside the Nemesis Bladers.

Though he endangered the entire world and kills Ryuga, there’s no progression to his evil actions. The problem is that we already know he wants to destroy the planet and end all life. In contrast, Ryuga's actions in Metal Fusion became increasingly unhinged, making us fear and anticipate his next move. However, Rago has something that sets him apart from other villains—he's not Gingka's villain but Ryuga's. There isn’t much of a parallel between Gingka and Rago. The Legendary Bladers of the Solar System, much like Rago, are bound by fate, while Ryuga is different.

Ryuga wanted to bury his past in the Dark Nebula, particularly the time he was possessed by L-Drago. Then, in Metal Fury, Doji returns alongside a new Blader who controls a seemingly unstoppable dark artifact that just absorbed L-Drago’s power. Ryuga feels insulted, but the main reason he fights Rago is because he sees himself—Metal Fusion Ryuga—in him and wants to destroy that part of himself. Additionally, Rago is a threat to his supremacy in the Beyblade world, so if Ryuga wants to live up to his title, he must either fight him or die trying.

Overall, I think Rago is a pretty solid antagonist. He serves his purpose, and while his fight with Ryuga meant more for the latter’s character, it allows Rago to be more integrated into the story.

Most of the new characters who became Legendary Bladers serve their purpose well; they are unique characters. Some are more integrated than others into the wider MFB canon. However, they all would have benefitted from more time to be fleshed out, particularly Dynamis and Chris. The new lore surrounding them adds more substance to the series, but at the same time, the over-reliance on it and on fate hurt some of these characters badly (like Yuki and Aguma). The main problem is that Metal Fury was 12 episodes shorter than the previous two seasons. With that amount of additional episodes, the new characters could have benefitted greatly from further development. In summary, this is a big waste of potential, and most of them don’t succeed at being more than just Legendary Bladers.

Gingka Hagane and the concept of fate.

The concept of fate and supernatural forces has always been present in Metal Fight Beyblade. In Metal Fusion, we had Ryutaro, who had visions about the future, while in Metal Masters, Julian and Damian used a vague concept of fate to justify their positions and why they should win. Despite this, Gingka was able to beat them all and even overcame fate. Ryutaro had a vision of an apocalyptic future, but after his losses to Gingka in Battle Bladers, he saw that a different path was possible. Madoka's computer predicted that Gingka had less than a 1% chance to win against L-Drago, yet he succeeded. Finally, let's not forget that King Hades' prophecy hadn’t fully realized itself because Gingka and the whole world defeated Nemesis. The point is that Gingka has a habit of triumphing over fate and preconceived ideas. For him, being a blader is about fighting with his heart, loving his Bey, and getting back up when he loses—it’s how he becomes powerful. Yet, in Metal Fury, some of the most powerful bladers are those who have special ancestors and a star fragment in their Bey. The reason the star fragment chooses those particular bladers is related to fate, as the attribution was tied to the prophecy and is known by Dynamis. This use of the concept of fate and predetermined power in Metal Fury fundamentally undermines the themes that were built in previous seasons of Metal Fight Beyblade. Gingka’s story in Metal Fusion and Metal Masters was about defying odds, challenging fate, and rising through sheer willpower and love for the sport.

The concept of the Legendary Blader brought some fresh elements to Metal Fury but ultimately constrained the series. While it introduced new characters and deeper lore, the overreliance on fate limited the potential for character growth and reduced the tension in battles. Characters like Yuki and Aguma were overshadowed by their predetermined roles, while others, like Dynamis and Chris, suffered from lack of development due to the shortened season. While there were positive developments, such as the evolving relationship between Ryuga and Kenta or the bond between King and Masamune, Metal Fury ultimately fell into the same trap as its predecessor by superficially handling an expanded cast. The season reflects a broader fatigue with the Metal Saga, struggling to balance the introduction of new elements with the need for meaningful character development.

[inkedinfusions]

𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐤𝐞𝐲 | eren jaeger chapter 2

⊱𖣂⊰ | In which you fall into a fictional world with the key to Pandora's box.

⊱𖣂⊰ | masterlist

⊰– prev next–⊱

𝟎𝟐 | 𝐝𝐢𝐬𝐬𝐞𝐜𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧

chapter word count: 3.5 k

content warnings: mild panic attack, blanket warnings

a/n: Zeke was so difficult to write, so I hope I made his character justice. Like three months ago I was a bit neutral -if not indifferent- towards his character, but now I think he is my favorite. I need to pick his brain apart lmao. I think I am getting the hang of him though.

Thanks for reading!

𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐓𝐀𝐏𝐏𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐎𝐅 𝐘𝐎𝐔𝐑 foot against the floor filled the room, creating an unlikely harmony with the dripping faucet and the creak of old wood. You lean back against the chair furthest from both doors, teetering on the brink of falling

You swing your weight back, just so managing to catch yourself before you topple down to the dusty floor. Your heart begins to slow down after the spike of adrenaline, yet still doesn’t reach a steady pace.

And whose would, in this situation? You are stuck in an old creepy house, in the room next to two people who unsettled you even while being on the other side of a screen.

You debate picking the lock on the front door, or maybe smashing a window to escape the suffocating atmosphere. The walls close in on you, the air is sucked out of the space, and the sink won't stop dripping. Your eyes glaze over, tuning out reality

Drip

The house is destroyed in a blaze of giant footsteps, the ceiling crumbles and the kitchen is buried under flaming rubble. The square where people strolled earlier is walked on for the last time.

Drip.

Libero is diminished to nothing more than a barren wasteland, flattened down by the will of a puppeteer turned puppet. Screams stop, replaced by the wet crunches of flesh and blood.

Drip.

The music crescendos. You know. You know and yet you are still unable to do anything, frozen under the dead eyed stare of colossal titans. Your bones are crushed, your consciousness dissolves.

Drip.

Your heavy breathing is interrupted by an opening door, your eyes shooting to the threshold, looking up from where you have curled up on yourself. Yelena scans you over and nods towards the space behind her.

When you blink, you are already halfway across the room, your feet robotically bringing you next to her. You take a deep breath as discreetly as you can, glancing at Yelena when she moves to the side, inviting you in.

You push the door forwards and are brought eye to eye with Zeke Jaeger, the holder of the beast titan, member of the royal family, and the closest way you have of getting back home.

The breeze stills as his gray eyes move from the teacup to you. All in the room is sunk in shadows –not yet processed by your brain– but him. If this were a play, the stage would be pitch black and a ray of limelight would be shining on his person.

Zeke stands, dwarfing your frame, and extends a hand. You hesitate for a moment before gripping it tightly.

“Hello there,” he greets, offering you a smile. You are so taken by his presence that you almost don't notice the door closing behind you.

“Come sit.”

He nods towards a sofa situated in front of his own. The only thing offering a buffer in between is a small coffee table, set with a steaming teapot and two metal cups.

You awkwardly follow his instructions, glancing once at the cup in front of you. A bottle of wine flashes through your mind.

“I’m afraid I don’t know how you take your tea, so apologies if it's not to your taste.”

Zeke continues the one sided conversation by himself, seemingly not bothered by your lack of engagement. He swirls around his own tea, a dark liquid that glitters when hit by the sunlight coming through a small window, parallel to the door.

You tentatively grab the cup, letting the warmth seep into your hands.

“Thank you,” you utter, not really knowing what else to say.

He chuckles and takes a sip from his own, scanning you up and down with more subtlety than Yelena. You wonder how you look from his perspective. Is he evaluating you as a threat? Or as a tool?

“I’m Zeke Jaeger,” yeah, you know, “and it's a pleasure to meet you, Miss…?”

“Y/n.”

You bring the warm cup to your lips seconds after introducing yourself, frowning softly at the bitter taste. You would add sugar if it did not mean having to put the cup down and continue the conversation.

“Well, Miss Y/n, what can you tell me about the story of Ymir?”

You almost choke on the tea, barely remembering how to breathe afterwards.

He can't possibly know… right?

“I don’t… I'm not her,” you repeat, remembering Yelena’s first words to you.

“Now, I know that,” Zeke continues, “but that’s not what I asked.”

He shifts in place, and the gesture reminds you of your father scolding you after breaking a window with a baseball. Not mad, not even chastising, but instead presenting you with the problem and asking you to reflect on its error.

What ultimately dooms you is not that you are familiar with information that you shouldn't be familiar with, but that you're aware that you shouldn't know it. Innocent people would be nervous, sure, but they would answer.

You hesitate.

And you decide to tell the truth. Or at least half of it, anyway.

“I'm not… from here,” you start cautiously, gouging Zeke's reaction to your obvious revelation. He, predictably, stays silent, inviting you to continue.

“I think–” you take a deep breath. “I think I might be from another universe.”

That gets a reaction out of him. You catch an almost imperceptible flash of surprise in his eyes, quickly covered up by his nonchalant demeanor.

“Another… universe?” he asks, pausing in between words.

You nod, your throat suddenly closing up. Regret eats you alive, but you push forward, knowing that the man sitting in front of you was your current best bet at returning.

“There's a story. About her. Ymir,” you specify, the words bubbling up faster than you can process them. You let the dam flow, and now there was no stopping it. The dam, however, still acts as a filter, and you are cautious enough to trim and edit your story to your convenience.

“I read it. I'm not supposed to be here.”

Your last words come out in a hushed whisper, a plea for him to help you. You hate the idea of revealing some of your cards to him, but since he was half of the only two people who could currently access the paths and Ymir, Zeke was your only option if you wanted to communicate with the deity.

“So there's a story, in your… universe–” he pushes through the word like it's made of thick syrup, “ –that basically spells out our own history?”

You timidly incline your head in assent, feeling shy after throwing the ball to his court. There's a small crack in your mug that you trace over and over again, the repetition helping ground your attention instead of spiraling.

Zeke meditates over your words for a minute, his hand coming up to stroke his chin repeatedly. You can almost see the cogs in his brain turning behind his gray eyes, figuring out the likelihood of your story being true.

“You know of the paths, and of the conditions to access them.” He looks up to you again, searching for confirmation. You nod. “You know of my brother too.”

Zeke's eyes narrow, analyzing you once again. You feel like an old, dusty tome, locked away in an ancient library, promising knowledge to those who can decode its secrets.

He hums, processing the extent of your knowledge. You are hesitant to give him any more information that will expose the true reach of it.

“I need to get home,” you continue, not wanting to take part in the horrors to come. Sure, you would absolutely love to meet your favorite characters, but you don't fancy being turned to mush or shot at with a pistol.

And you have a life there. Friends, family.

Are they wondering where you are? Would they look for you?

You cage those thoughts in a box and throw it deep, deep in your mind. Now is not the time to spiral.

“You want me to look through the paths for a solution.” Zeke finishes your train of thought, looking down, and you give him an affirmative nod. While you didn't know of the thing –or things– that brought you here, maybe a higher power could take you back. Thus, Ymir.

Ymir is the closest to a god you had here, and the world be damned if you wouldn’t pray at her feet for a chance at going home. You almost feel like a devout follower, willing to make a pilgrimage for an opportunity to be heard.

You let Zeke process your request, and after a moment he sighs, turning his head to you.

“I know we just met,” he starts. “But I’m going to need you to trust me. If there is anything, anything at all in that story that could be relevant I need you to tell me.”

Your throat dries, and your tongue refuses to cooperate, turning as heavy as lead. No sound comes out of your mouth, so you close it, only to open it again.

“I trust you,” you lie in a raspy voice.

Zeke does not believe you, obviously, but neither does he make an effort to refute your statement. He simply nods, and the silence envelopes both of you until he speaks again.

“Well, let's get you situated then.” Zeke stands up, offering you a hand. “You are supposed to be staying with me, after all.”

In the whirlwind of the conversation you had forgotten all about your cover story. Holy shit. You are going to be living with the very real Zeke Jaeger. Concern rises in your mind, remembering Marley’s obsession with keeping Eldians in line.

“And before I forget. Here.”

His hand dips into his front coat pocket and extracts a ruby red armband embroidered with a white nine point star. Your white armband rustles against your jacket when you take it off, allowing Zeke to tie the new one around your bicep.

“Isn’t there going to be an issue with my, I don't know, blood status? Someone mentioned blood tests at the station.”

No one had mentioned tests, actually, but you feel confident enough that it's such a small detail that Zeke won't bother confirming it with Yelena. Why would he verify such a trivial sentence, when the threat of being seen with her far outweighs the risks?

A single drop of blood would confirm that you're not Eldian, not Marleyan, not anything else. No family or government to respond to too, in case the higher ups wanted to run trials with your genetic material.

“Oh, don't worry about it,” he waves off your concerns. “People in charge are more worried about an Eldian pretending to be Marleyan, rather than the other way around. Puts things into perspective.”

He takes the now obsolete piece of fabric from your hand and lets it take the empty place inside his pocket.

“What does red mean?” you ask, feigning ignorance.

“You are part of my family now,” Zeke responds. “I am a Warrior, and we get special privileges as such. I will explain everything later, I promise. But we have to move.”

Zeke gives you a reassuring smile, and a small, treacherous part of your heart is comforted.

When you get out of the small room, you discover that Yelena had already left, leaving nothing to betray her presence in the house. Smart plan, you think. Yelena and Zeke could not be connected yet in the eyes of Marley. She probably just retrieved you because of the trust already placed upon her.

You follow Zeke out into the alley, and continue down an unfamiliar path until you arrive at a quaint street, flanked by living quarters. You pay half your attention to Zeke’s chattering, and half to committing to memory the scenery.

“I’m sure she already told you,” –he skips over Yelena’s name– “but your father was a distant relative of mine, on my mother’s side.” A lie, obviously. Still, a convenient one. Now he had a reason to keep you under his wing, even if he lived one of the most supervised lives in Marley.

“My parents are a touchy subject with my grandparents, but they shouldn't have a problem with you.” His steps are light and breezy, his slow pace aiding you in falling into a similar stride. “Still, try not to mention her. Keep the comments about your family at a minimum.”

Zeke halts his walking, almost causing you to bump into his figure. His eyes pierce into yours, wanting to transmit the importance of his statement.

“The best stories can still be unraveled when exposed enough.”

He doesn’t need to expand on it. You get a feeling that he's not just talking about your fake backstory. You nod, digging your fingernails into your palms. Zeke smiles and continues on his path.

You stay frozen on the sidewalk a little longer, before shaking your head and jogging to catch up.

“So, uh, you live with them? Your grandparents?”

“No, no,” he shakes his head. “Down the street from them. You'll have your own space, don't worry.”

“Oh, I didn't mean–”

“It's okay, I know how you teenagers get. I've been personally acquainted with some.”

Zeke lets out a hearty chuckle, looking straight ahead. The late afternoon sun rays bounce off his already golden hair, giving him an almost ethereal look. It drenches your coat too, melting the original beige into something more blinding.

You and Zeke strut through town, coming up to a nicer neighborhood than the one with the seedy house. It is still nothing compared to some buildings out in Liberio, and yet you feel a shift in the general vibe.

A distant person raises their left arm in greeting and you notice a difference in their attire. A striking yellow armband has taken the place of the pure white ones, and as Zeke raises his own arm, you recognize that his own armband is blood red.

“That’s Johann Grice,” his voice points out to you, lowering his hand and resuming his walk up some stairs towards a door . “He's got a boy I’m… mentoring. Around your age I'd say.”

You feel a little uncomfortable at the revelation, Colt’s death feeling like a grim reminder of what you feel like you are condemning this world to. Would Johann Grice wave to you if he knew you were sentencing his eldest son to death?

“I'll introduce you later, come on.”

Zeke knocks on a house’s door, his tall body shielding you from half the field of vision of the threshold. A kind looking old woman opens the door, her tired eyes instantly softening at the view of her grandson.

“Zeke!” she greets with a smile. “What a nice surprise. We weren't expecting you until much later.”

Zeke hugs the woman you assume to be his grandma, Mrs Jaeger, and greets her back.

“The train came much earlier than expected,” he explains, breaking the hug and moving a little to the side, exposing you to Mrs Jaeger. “This is Y/n. The girl I told you about, daughter of the dead soldier.”

You give a nervous smile to the old woman, shyly raising your wand to wave, before deciding that that’s not something a normal person would do to someone standing meters in front of them. The result is a jumbled motion of your arm jerking up before clunkily returning to its resting pace.

“Hello,” you instead try. “It's nice meeting you.”

Mrs Jaeger surprises you when she pulls you in for an unexpected hug, making you freeze up before tentatively putting your arms around her, returning the gesture.

“Oh, you poor dear,” she exclaims, seemingly touched by your fake story. “I am very sorry for what happened to your father.”

“Yes. Thank you.”

You notice Zeke giving you a small, reproachful look from behind her grandma's shoulder, still holding you in an embrace. You answer with your own lost expression, wordlessly transmitting that, while you were aware of your robotic response, you still didn’t know how else to act.

“Come in, come in.” Mrs Jaeger ushers you inside. “My husband’s just upstairs, I'll go call him. You make yourself at home, dear.”

She retreats up the stairs after giving you a smile, leaving you alone with Zeke in the kitchen. The sound of the creaky floorboards gets softer as she ascends, and you follow her footsteps with your head.

You are standing still in the same place as when you entered, feeling very out of place in the small home. You lock eyes with Zeke, whose eye corners are creased with his own small grin.

“They’re nice,” you mumble, making his eyes sparkle with amusement.

“See? Nothing to worry about.”

Zeke strolls past you to the counters, opening and closing many in quick succession. He rummages through cabinets, his hand emerging from one of them with a small, silver tin. The opened tin is offered to you, and you peer inside it, identifying small, powdery biscuits.

The flour stains your fingers white as you wordlessly take one, nibbling on it to have something to do with your hands. Zeke takes another before storing the tin where he found it, next to the leak-free faucet and the pile of firewood for the stove.

You exchange words with Mrs Jaeger and her husband when they come down, and they assure you that if you ever need anything, you can just ask. You nod awkwardly at their offer, noting at their coddling behavior. You remember Faye, and just as quickly you push her out of your thoughts.

They offer you dinner, which you refuse, still too jittery to eat anything more than the small cookie. After bidding the couple goodnight, you and Zeke exit their house and make your way to an adjacent residence, where Zeke unlocks the front door, placing a duplicate of the key in your palm.

“Home sweet home,” he says as he leads you inside a property nearly identical to the previous one. The only difference is in the personal items, small trinkets strewn across tables and shelves. Zeke approaches something behind you, you hear a click and light floods the room.

He motions for you to follow him upstairs, turning to a door down the hall across the railing. Picture frames are hung up on the walls of the hallway, small tidbits of Zeke’s life bringing color to the wooden corridor.

This only serves as a striking contrast to the bedroom you are shown, the bare room only containing a bed, small desk, dresser, and shelves, lined with old books. Your eyes zero in on two of them, a red one with what you assume to be anatomy drawings, and another with paw prints across the spine.

A small breeze flows through the window above the bed, making the light blue curtains sway gently in the wind. Zeke walks towards the desk, igniting the small candle lamp that then coats the space in a warm light.

“This is your room,” Zeke makes a flourish with his hand, akin to a circus ringmaster. “You'll find some clothes there,” he points to the drawers. “I can have them mended if they don't fit.”

“Thank you,” you fumblingly answer, taking a few hesitant steps past the door frame, towards the book with the paw prints.

Your fingers trace over the unknown symbols of the cover, the runes forming what you were sure to be the title. Yet, you couldn’t decipher what it was supposed to mean. Zeke strides over to stand by your side, examining your pick in literature.

“What, you’re interested in–” he squints his eyes at the book in your hands, “ –The Beginners Guide to Observing Wildlife? I didn't know I still had that,” he mutters.

“Is that what this is?”

Zeke shoots you a confused look, making you turn your gaze downwards. You mess with a small piece of the cover that is coming off, hesitating.

“I can't read it.”

The confession tastes bitter in your tongue, and you feel strangely embarrassed at not knowing the written language of a world that was not supposed to exist. Your cheeks burn and you turn your face to the side, quickly returning the book to the shelf.

Zeke's face softens, and he places a comforting hand on your back. You can practically feel older brother energy oozing from his figure, and you feel like a small kid again, knowing everything in the world, and yet ignorant of so much more.

“We’ll figure it out,” he says, patting you back. “Goodnight. I'll be down the hall if you need anything.”

The door closes behind him, and you are truly alone for the first time since… well, since you were home. Home sweet home, Zeke had said. Sweet, maybe, you think, the sugar from the biscuits still coating your tastebuds. Home? Not really.

You find cotton pajamas in a drawer below the book lined shelves, and you make a quick work of slipping them on. Crawling into the covers after blowing out the candle, you find yourself revisiting the quick succession of events today, from the ruins, to the train, to the internment zone.

Your heart squeezes painfully, discomfort beginning to stir beneath your flesh. You fall into restless, interrupted sleep, lulled by the distant sound of train whistles.

taglist: @dressycobra7 @xngelsau

ask or comment to be added!

[stardustloserdoll]

hii i was just wondering if you do angst and smut?

since i see it on your master list,

thank you!!🧡

yes i cann 🫡

only one for me

female reader

“y/n i swear i didn’t kiss her.” tom said pulling back on my shoulder, slapping his hand away i walked to the car.

“gimme the keys.” i said stopping in my tracks and holding my hand open. tom handed me the keys, snatching them away from him i unlocked the car, opening the door and slamming it. throwing the key in the cup holder.

tom ran to open his door and sat down in the seat. “y/n please listen to me.” i put on my seatbelt and crossed my arms looking out the window. tom sighed in defeat and got the key, starting the car.

“i’ll be on the balcony.” i mumbled walking towards the glass doors and sliding it open. once i got outside i sat down on the outside sofa. grabbing the cigarette pack and lighter on the small table. popping a cigarette in my mouth.

once i lit the cigarette i gently inhaled. removing the cigarette from my lips, exhaling as the heap of smoke traveled into the dim sky then faded into the city night.

i leaned my head back and closed my eyes. “can i sit here.” opening my eyes i glanced at tom, taking another drag. tom sat down and took the cigarette from my hand, putting it up to his mouth.

i glared at him and crossed my arms glancing at him as he exhaled the cigarette smoke. “she’s only an ex she means nothing to me. i told her i was with someone. she tried kissing me and i pulled her away from me.” tom sighed putting out the cigarette on the ash tray. “like i’m supposed to believe that.” i laughed looking at him.

“because i’m telling the truth y/n. you seriously are the best thing that’s happened in my life. okay? i love you.” tom said moving closer to me, putting his hand on my thigh.

i pursed my lips and looked down at his hand, placing mine on top of his. we both looked up, our eyes locking onto each other. “just kiss me.” i whispered pressing my lips onto his.

our clothes discarded, as we made our way into the bedroom. tom gently pushed me on the bed, kissing down my chest. “please tom..” i whispered in his ear, wrapping a leg around his waist. “patience baby..” tom whispered kissing down lower and lower.

“you want my fingers baby.” tom smirked, licking the side of his mouth to play with the metal on his lip. nodding my head i whispered a ‘please.’ slowly, tom inserted two fingers into my cunt.

“fuck..” i moaned feeling his fingers move in in out. “that feel good baby..” tom smirked, leaning down to kiss my lips. his pace quickening more, leaning down to lick at my leaking folds.

“keep going tom fuck.” i whimpered wrapped my arms around his shoulders. arching my back slightly, until tom ripped his fingers out of me. “come on tom really.. i was so close.” i cried out, watching one of his hands go to his cock stroking it.

“the best parts coming.” tom smirked as he teased his tip between my folds, thrusting inside slowly. “you okay?” tom whispered, putting his hands beside my head, my arms around his shoulders. nodding my head i felt him start to move, our moans in sync.

“fuck always feel so good baby, doing so good.” tom mumbled as he gripped the sheets, going faster. wrapping my legs around his waist, my nails dug into him. pleasure spreading over me, tom leaned down biting on my shoulder, muffling his moans.

“gonna come tom.” i whimpered, my lips leaning up to kiss him. “me too fuck.. come with me baby.” tom whispered against my lips, kissing me harder.

we both came, feeling tom come inside me. tom collapsed onto me, our breaths rapid. i pushed his locks aside putting a hand up to his cheek. “you’re the only one for me y/n..” tom whispered kissing my chest.

literally i cannot write smut at allll.

anyways..

GUYYYYSSSS OMG look at him

[riotsux]

I know it's scary sometimes being trans in this world so here are some wonderful stories from my life (preface: I grew up in a large metropolitan area and went to an arts conservatory for high-school that housed IB, naval and neighborhood schools in the same building):

- one time in the breakfast line I was talking to a cis male friend (former "no homo" and "faggot" as an insult dude) about why I wanted to take testosterone and I mentioned my voice and he said "you sound like a dude now, like a 13 year old but still a dude"

- I once won a hairy leg competition against cis men pre testosterone

- once upon a time I was in a band and after a gig this twink came up to me and said "you know, we need more queers in metal" (I was wearing a "faggot" tank top)

- when I started testosterone, I asked the only older trans person I knew at the time to come with (a key holder at my job), it brought along a few friends and between the 4 of us, we all had only two hair colors (neon red and lime green), the nurse helping us all with our paperwork was very confused

- that same day my insurance was acting up and my clinic waived my fees completely for my first year of testosterone

- a girl my sister met in outpatient wasn't doing to well and being the only other trans person they knew at the time, asked me to write the girl a letter, we met again years later, she's an incredible drummer, and after a gig, I was waiting with a pedal board outside the lead singers car and she's hanging out her friends window pointing at me and yelling "this mother fucker saved my life!"

- when my own mother was working at a methadone clinic, she met this older trans woman, hoping to give me some guiding light, she connected us, she kept an eye on me for years

- the day after I came out publicly, during my freshman year of high-school, my brother's friend's (upper classmen) all clapped for me when I came into the lunchroom

- my senior year I was barely in class but one day this girl I had known for years stops me to tell me I was on her "top 10 hottest guys in the school" list

- in high-school whenever a boy was being unhygienic in the group (typically someone's boyfriend) I would be used as an example for how he should be (ex. Putting on chapstick properly)

All I'm saying is there's kindness out there for us, amidst the violence there is so much love there, there's humor to be shared when others are comfortable with us.

I know I'm privileged to have grown up surrounded by queer people and to have been so accepted but

It's all here, I promise, and I promise you can find it

If you can't find it at the moment, make it

[libraryofgage]

PJO Steddie Part Three

Part One | Part Two

I hope y'all are ready for some backstory in this bitch hfdjsk

Anyway, we learn some more godly parents, but one remains a mystery for now.

Also, if you like my writing, maybe consider commissioning me! I have, like, student loans hitting harder than I'd like, so I've opened commissions on ko-fi. You can read more about prices and such in this post.

Anyway, hope you have fun reading! And, as always, if you see any typos no you didn't ;)

---

Getting to Athens, Tennessee, had required a mix of bus rides, a single divine taxi ride, and a pair of knock-off winged shoes that Eddie should probably put out of their misery before they get him killed. Getting back to camp, thankfully, only requires the van Steve and the kids use to get around.

Said van, at first glance, looks like a hunk of junk. It seems to have stepped right out of the 80s, its paint is faded and scratched with dents in more than a few spots, and the wheels look about two tiny potholes from popping. As they get closer, Steve pulls a key ring from his pocket, and Eddie notices that it's a physical key and not one of the wireless fobs.

When they get inside, though, the whole van is transformed. The seats are made of the softest leather Eddie has ever felt, there are seven in the back for all the kids to be comfortable without arguing about space, and the sheer number of cup holders is enough to bring Eddie near tears. "This is fucking metal," Eddie says, practically melting into the passenger seat as the kids buckle up in the back and Steve starts the van.

"I got it after we outgrew my BMW," Steve says, shrugging as he checks on the kids and Eddie before pulling out of the parking lot.

"Steve says it's a surprise gift from our father," El pipes up from the back.

"Yeah," Dustin says, his voice excited as he leans forward and pokes his head between Steve and Eddie, "Cuz he doesn't know he bought it!"

Steve snorts and pushes down the bill of Dustin's cap as he heads towards the highway.

"So, is Zeus your dad, too?" Eddie asks, twisting around to look at El.

"No. Steve and I share a human father," El explains.

Even without looking, Steve can feel Eddie's confusion. "I try not to think about how I came into being," he says. "Just know our father seems to be a bit of a slut for Greek mythological figures."

"Wait," Eddie says, waving his hand, "does that mean Zeus was, like, a woman? Is Zeus your mother?"

"No clue. Like I said, I prefer not to think about it," Steve says again, shooting Eddie a look.

And Eddie drops it despite his growing questions. When a gorgeous boy tells you to stop asking about the impossibility of his birth, you shut up and listen.

A while later, as Steve is about to drive over the Tennessee state line and the kids doze off in the back, Eddie glances at Steve and shifts in his seat. His leg starts to bounce, his fingers drumming against his knee, as he tries to figure out which question to ask first. Eventually, he ends up blurting out, "So how did you manage to not die?"

Steve blinks and snorts, stifling the rest of his laughter so he doesn't wake the kids. He glances at Eddie, an amused smile tugging at his lips. "Well, how much of the story do you want to hear?" he asks.

"All of it." Eddie wants to know everything about Steve. How has he kept all these kids alive and for how long? When did they start traveling the country like this? When did he learn about his heritage? What does he like? What does he hate? Does he believe in fated love and love at first sight?

Okay, that last one can probably wait a little longer. Like, two more days, at least.

Steve hums softly, tapping his thumb against the steering wheel as though he's trying to decide where to start. "I didn't know about Zeus until I was eleven," he finally says. "I only learned then because my dad couldn't figure out any other explanation for how lightning struck on clear days whenever I was angry at other kids."

"Didn't you have to deal with monsters?" Eddie asks.

"Yes. And no." Steve frowns, rubbing the back of his neck. "You know how in all those stories Zeus will change his form to get with all those women? Like, he'll become whatever he needs to get what he wants."

"I'm familiar, yeah."

"It's a little like that, but I don't change my form. I guess I change my vibe? I can make monsters think I'm the son of a lesser deity. It got even easier when El came along because monsters don't target her."

"Why not?" Eddie asks, perking up some. If El has somehow figured out how to make herself invisible to monsters, maybe other campers can learn, too.

Steve grimaces, and Eddie immediately pushes back the urge to push for more information when he says, "It's...complicated. Let's not get into it right now."

"Okay," Eddie says, flashing Steve what he hopes is a reassuring smile when Steve glances at him. "When did you meet El, then?"

"Five years ago now, when I was fifteen. El's mother showed up, dropped her off with me, threatened me with death if she ever got hurt, and then left. El was, like, just eleven at the time, and our dad was no help. He just shrugged it off and gave me a bigger allowance to care for her."

"Was he not around?"

"No. He...travels. We haven't spoken to him in four years. He hasn't tried speaking to us, either. Despite me literally being Zeus's kid, he can't exactly show me off or anything. And El...well, he can't take her to any functions, either."

Eddie nods, pushing down the urge to ask why. But Steve said he doesn't want to talk about it, so Eddie instead asks, "And what about the rest?"

Steve hums, merging into another lane. "Well, El and I stayed in place for about a year. Then we saw some weird snake monster dragging Will around like a road snack. We saved him, but I almost died. It was my first fight, you know? But I lived, obviously, and El and I agreed to take Will back to his hometown. School was one break anyway, so we just did a road trip in my BMW. We ran into Dustin and Mike along the way. Dustin had made these, like, mechanical wings, and Mike was goading him on to give them a try. We got to the cliff right as Dustin jumped off."

"Wait," Eddie says, holding his hand up to pause Steve's story. "Are you telling me the kid just...decided to recreate Icarus?" he asks.

"Yeah, pretty much. He thought he could actually succeed since he's so much smarter," Steve explains, getting an amused grin as he thinks of it. "Anyway, didn't work, obviously. Dustin fell but managed to catch himself on the cliffside, Mike was yelling his head off but not actually doing anything, and El just took off running toward them. Which meant I had to run toward them, too. So, Will is trying to calm Mike down, El is practically dangling herself over the cliff, and Dustin is lamenting the loss of his wings."

"How'd you rescue him?"

"I just climbed down myself," Steve says, shrugging like it's no big deal. "I had him get on my back and climbed up, chewed both kids out for doing something so dangerous, and then asked if they needed a ride home, which is how I found out they'd run away and were just wandering."

"Half-bloods running away is pretty common," Eddie says, sinking down in his seat as he watches the trees rush by in the darkness. "A lot of us don't feel understood by our human families, or we don't want to endanger them when monsters track us down."

Steve nods, gripping the steering wheel a little harder. "Yeah, that's what Dustin and Mike said, too. I couldn't just leave them alone, so I invited them to come with us. Mike and Will get along really well, and Dustin is a little shit, and it's good for El to have friends her own age, so it all worked out."

"That still leaves out three whole kiddos," Eddie says.

"Well, Lucas and Erica we met in Will's hometown. Their dad and Will's mom had found each other and, like, bonded over having demigod kids. When we brought Will back, we met Lucas and Erica at this, like, barbeque thing to celebrate him being safe. And their parents ended up suggesting that we continue the road trip so the kids could be around others like them before school started again."

"Usually," Eddie says, fiddling with one of his rings, "parents go two ways. They either get really obsessed with keeping their kids safe to the point they're never let out of the house, or they completely ignore and reject the godly influence. But it sounds like their parents weren't doing either of those."

"Having each other helped. There was someone they could turn to when they felt doubt or just wanted to complain. When you're isolated, though, you just do whatever you think will keep you going, even if it might hurt the people you care about."

"You put that...really well."

"I've had a lotta time to think about it," Steve admits, frowning slightly before sighing and continuing with the story. "Anyway, we met Max and her brother a few towns over. It's...not a great story, actually. Her brother was a dick, like, massively horrible. He had a lot of problems and took way too much after his godly father in terms of anger. We ended up fighting because of how he treated Max and it didn't end great, but Max joined us and that's when I realized we needed a new car because the kids were piled on top of each other in the back. We got this conversion van in the next town with my dad's credit card, and we've been traveling ever since."

It's a lot to take in, and Eddie can tell there's a lot that Steve is leaving unsaid, but he doesn't call him out for it. "Okay, so, the whole not dying thing?" he asks.

Steve snorts. "Well, when you're chaperoning a gaggle of demigods, you get good at fighting off monsters. We've also had some...help along the way from a few goddesses, though."

Eddie perks up, looking at Steve like he's an alien. "You got help from goddesses? Which ones?"

"Sometimes, I'll pray to Hestia and she'll direct us to a motel with vacancies that'll be safe for the night. Or, uh, Demeter. I'll pray to her and fruit will grow on some trees or something. Hecate treated us to lunch once, said she found us amusing, and thanked me for the entertainment. Nike, Lucas, Max, and I have all played basketball together. I mean, she smoked us, no question, but she's part of the reason this van can run a few more miles without any gas. Hera helped once, sorta."

"Hera helped you? Hera? The goddess notoriously known for hating children of Zeus? That Hera?"

"Yeah, kinda surprised me, too. But, I mean, she's also the goddess of motherhood or something, right? And all she really ever wants is Zeus to be faithful. I don't think it's too much to ask, and I can't imagine the bullshit she goes through because of him. Anyway, we were getting attacked by this hydra, and I was really struggling to protect the kids. I mean, those heads were practically tearing me apart. And then she just, like, walks up and flicks her hand and the thing is gone. She told me to do better and then, like, disappeared. Not the weirdest thing that's happened, but it's up there."

And Eddie is starting to understand how they're not dead. It's just Steve. Like the prophecy was just Steve. Somehow, he's managed to get himself into the good graces of several goddesses and get their help. It's not entirely unheard of to get a god's favor, but having so many just be genuinely interested in you is unthinkable.

Eddie gets it, though. Steve fascinates him. He's like a magnet that Eddie doesn't want to fight. "So, uh, the kids," Eddie says, trying to keep his mind from lingering on Steve and just how incredible he is, "Who are their parents?"

"Lucas and Erica are kids of Aphrodite."

"Oh, does she like you, too?" Eddie asks.

Steve frowns, looking like he's just been reminded of something sour and gross. "No, we're not on good terms," he says, his voice a little frosty, and Eddie's mouth is suddenly dry.

"Good to know," he manages, his voice a little strained.

"Anyway, Dustin is a child of Athena. Max's mom is Nemesis. Will's dad is Morpheus, and Mike's dad is Plutus. Which has worked out well for us, actually. He keeps finding money on the street whenever we really need it."

"What about El?"

"El's mother...is complicated. We don't really talk about her," Steve says, his words soft and pleading, and Eddie immediately zips his mouth shut, winking conspiratorially at Steve when he glances over.

Then he unzips his mouth and says, "You know, you're pretty metal, Stevie."

Steve laughs, quickly slapping a hand over his mouth and glancing in the rearview mirror to make sure the kids are still sleeping. When he sees that they are, he relaxes a little. "I've never been called metal before," he says, glancing at Eddie.

"Well, that's a shame. I'll be sure to tell you whenever you're being particularly metal, big boy."

"Big boy?" Steve asks, amusement clear in his voice, and Eddie suddenly worries that Steve doesn't actually like the nickname but it trying to play it off.

Unfortunately, the problem is that Eddie has never been one to filter himself. So when Steve calls him out for the nickname and he panics, Eddie's knee-jerk reaction is to say, "Oh, would you prefer something else? How about pretty boy? Sweetheart? Gorgeous? Handsome?"

Even though it's dark out, Eddie can still see the blush that spreads across Steve's cheeks, the way his fingers tighten on the wheel until his knuckles turn white. He's getting flustered, and Eddie feels himself getting flustered, too, at the idea that it's because of him. He suddenly wants to see what else he can say or do to make that blush spread, and he wants to know just how far it spreads beneath the collar of Steve's shirt.

"Just, uh, whatever you prefer, I guess," Steve mumbles, keeping his eyes resolutely focused on the road and missing Eddie's surprised expression. He does, however, sneak a glance just in time to see the surprise morph into an unbridled grin.

"Sure thing, sweetheart," Eddie says, leaning back in his seat and looking forward to spending the rest of this road trip discovering what makes his Stevie tick.

----

Tag List! There is still room, I think lol

@mugloversonly, @mentallyundone, @hairdryerducks-blog, @carriethesaint, @lunabyrd, @weekend-dreamer7, @farfaras, @littlelady03, @my-tears-are-becoming-a-sea20, @mogami13, @a-little-unsteddie, @itsall-taken, @queenie-ofthe-void, @tinyplanet95, @littlebluejane, @hangoversandhandgrenades, @rabbitwhoeatsstars, @bisexualdisastersworld, @steddieinthesun,

@paintgonewrong, @sadcanadianwinter, @deehellcat, @blanketlicker, @angrydonutdestiny, @booksareportal, @fallingchemicaldiscos

[blackdollette]

Hey i’ve never sent a request before and i’m a dumbass 😭 so feel free to ignore this if it’s not rlly your speed. Basically i just want some kinda hurt/comfort with Euronymous where he’s about to leave for a gig and the reader asks if he wants them to come and he tells them they should stay home and he’s doing it for her safety but she takes it as he’s embarrassed of her because she’s not like “Metal” and she has a breakdown while he’s gone about it and he comes back and sees her crying and comfort ensues (that’s prolly the dumbest thing that’s ever come out of my mouth i’m so sorry) anyway thank you so much!! No rush obviously i love your works so much and i’ve just been in need of this trope

thank you so much for the request, anon! my inbox is open to any other brilliant ideas that you want to share :))

"one for the money, two for the show." | euronymous

million dollar man. - lana del rey

✮⋆˙ [tags] @faesucksass @lustkillers @mayathepsychic1999 @josibunn @si1nful-symph0ny @vanlisbon @livingdead-reilly @oliviah-25 @lankysimp@auggiethecreator @livingdead-materialgirl @monkeyfart @imoonkiss @nom-nommmm1 @xxbl00d-cl0txx @k1ll3rh0rr0r @wildathevrt @randyssister @wild-rose-35

female!reader x euronymous

word count: 1.1k

contents: a tiny bit of angst, mostly fluffy, soft euronymous

“alright, baby. i’m heading out.” euronymous’ voice called out from the bedroom. he walked into the living room where you were sprawled out on the couch, eyes now wide with curiosity as he grabbed his van keys from the holder of the front door.

“where are you going, euro?” you clicked the pause button on the tv remote, stopping the program that was currently playing. euronymous pulled on his leather boots, meeting your eyes as he began fidgeting with his keys.

“i… im off to a gig, doll.” you stood up from the couch, clearing up your area and making your way upstairs. “okay, just give me a few minutes to get dressed. i promise i won’t take long.” as you went up the stairs, you felt his hand gently take yours from behind. you looked back at him, his expression more grave than before. “about that, i think it would be best if you sat this one out.” his words were soft but edged with finality.

your face fell and you looked down. “y-you don’t want me to come to your show..?” euronymous stammered. “i-i just don’t know if this is gonna be your scene, angel. this is gonna be an intense show, and with my friends and all…” his voice trailed off and you began to put things together.

his friends. the same ones who’d sneer whenever he’d show up at gigs with his arm around your waist, you two looking like the oddest pair to ever walk the street. you had to credit euronymous for acting like he didn’t care, but it surely had to bother him at least a little bit. but you’d been so inconsiderate, tagging along with him everywhere he went and not even thinking about how he felt about it.

it was all hitting you like a ton of bricks. he was embarrassed to be seen with you. and you couldn’t even blame him for it either. you looked down at your light grey oversized hoodie, pastel-coloured pajama shorts, and white knee-high socks. you’d make him look like a complete joke showing up to another show with him. tears pricked your eyes as the realization sunk in, much to euronymous’ dismay.

he snaked an arm around your waist, looking at your face. “what’s wrong, baby?” he used his thumbs to gently wipe a tear trickling down your face as he pulled you in, pressing your body into the cold leather jacket on his body. you shook your head, sniffling. “n-nothings wrong.” you walked him back down the stairs, taking him back to the front door as you forced your voice to speak as clearly as possible. “i’m just awfully tired, that’s all. have a great show…” you went on your tiptoes to kiss him on the cheek.

he nodded, giving you a half smile as he opened the front door and walked out, shutting it behind him. then the floodgates broke open. you fell to your knees, starting to heave out sobs as you heard his van drive off. giant tears rolled down your cheeks as your mind flooded with all the times you had possibly embarrassed him or damaged his reputation. but he was so sweet and kind that he’d never even said a thing.

you began to spiral, making assumptions that were built on not a single drop of evidence. as the hours passed, you paced around the living room, thinking about the whole situation. you cried until your eyes were red and your lips were all puffy, making your way back to the couch and slumping onto it. you glanced at the clock, seeing that it had been 4 hours since he’d left.

whenever you were with him, you were out for a maximum of two hours, thanks to you and how quickly you’d get tired of all the buzz. he must have been having a blast, and you couldn’t stop the tears that cascaded down your face. minutes later, the front door unlocked and euronymous walked back inside holding a pastel pink box, skin glistening slightly with sweat. usually, you’d greet him at the door with a big hug but you wouldn’t dare do that right now.

he kicked off his boots walking into the living room and seeing your puffy crying face. his eyes widened and he put the box down on the coffee table, sitting down next to you. “oh my god, angel. are you alright? what happened? are you feeling sick, did someone come into the house?” you were bombarded by questions fueled by his concern, your guilt only growing more by the second.

you heaved out a heavy sigh, looking him right in his soft blue eyes. then you spoke, your voice coming out as a hoarse croak. “i’m sorry for embarrassing you, euro…” your words clearly surprised him, but you kept on talking. “i-i don’t want to force you to take me wherever you go. i just love being around you, b-but i understand if your friends don’t like me. i just don’t fit in with you...” you looked at the ground, twirling the drawstring of your hoodie as you felt his gaze on you. then without warning, both his arms wrapped around you, pulling you into a tight hug. 

you froze, your heart hammering in your chest at this unexpected act of affection. you could feel his heavy breath against your neck, the sound of it stilling your nerves. after countless minutes he pulled away, hands resting on your shoulders as he looked at you with sad eyes. “my sweet, beautiful angel. i would never be embarrassed of you. i must be a damn awful boyfriend for making you think that in the first place.” he used his calloused fingers to wipe away your tears.

you took a good look at his face, finally noticing the several cuts on it that weren’t there before. you traced your finger along a long slit on his jaw, making him wince a little. he spoke, his voice even softer than before. “it was a really dangerous show tonight. there were glass bottles flying all over the place and fires everywhere. i thought of bringing you with me, but i just couldn’t bear the thought of you getting hurt out there.” 

you felt a wave of stupidity wash over you. so you had the wrong idea all along. euronymous chuckled slightly as your face lit up, picking up the pink box from the coffee table. “don’t you wanna know what’s in here?” he shook the box a little, making you fill with anticipation. he took off the lid, revealing a large slice of your favourite cake.

he brushed a few strands of hair away from his face. “i had to go all around town to find a bakery that was open at this hour. it took forever but here you go, baby.” your eyes welled with tears once more, but they were joyful instead of sorrowful. you wrapped your arms around his neck, peppering small kisses all over his face until he held your waist, connecting his lips to yours in a tender, heartfelt kiss.

author's note: yall should never ever have any doubts when sending me requests. I'm always in love with absolutely everything i get sent! (that follow my guidelines ofc)

[farejourney]

REPAST – Chapter 1

(manhwas x reader) *will be following the webtoon, which takes in Ancient China.

"Guess it's time to change into a hanfu and pack all my stuff then," they said, putting the key with the pink and white tag onto the counter of the pony wall that was separating the kitchen and the outside while putting the other key back on the key holder on the wall. They went straight to the changing room, which is just the break room with lockers in it, and search for a reconstruction of commoners' hanfu of their favourite colour. Simple and light.

Once they change, back to the kitchen they went and they packed things that seemed important as much as they could inside of a bag of just cloth. "Ah... The food ingredients will spoil once I get there.. oh well, I guess I'll hunt for more in murim.. I should write down a list for that," they murmured when they realise how much of a stock shortage they'll be experiencing on their journey. Thinking positively fast, they wrote down a list of things to hunt for later and also instead pack all the basic necessities for cooking and some ingredients for the other menu into different boxes as well as jars, "I'll just bring salt and pepper... Cauliflower? Maybe that... Mhmn... Ah, I need these too... Two or three jar of hyacinth petals... More of that.. and we're done!" Tying the cloth together tightly and securely, they carry it on their shoulder with one hand. The other hand grab the key from the counter and head over to the entrance, trying to not trip over the hanfu. Inserting the key into the keyhole, turning it to the right which unlocked the door. Then putting the key into the secret pocket, along with money of the era, the ingredients list and a map, to hide it. Opening the door even wider, they glance to the side to see their sword. 'Should I..? No, I'll just beat them up barehanded,' They shook their head at their thought and with that, they exit their restaurant to another world.

Lights blinds them for a moment before the blue sky and tree leaves takes over their vision. Currently standing in the middle of the woods. Taking the map out of their pocket, taking a good look at all the sectors and information written down as well as the list. "Next location is Shaanxi but before that, 'get a jar full of red masrakins and blue sylimes'. Should be easy enough," Putting both the map and list back into their pocket, they close their eyes and focus on their surroundings and use the energy inside of them to locate the ingredients. A pathway of energy connected them to the energy that the masrakins and sylimes radiate. With that, they opened their eyes and took out a metal scrapper and two plastic glass jars. They walk towards a nearby tree and scrapped off the dead skin of it off to reveal red masrakins embedded into the trunk. Gently scrapping it out of the trunk, they spent precious time to finally get a jar full of red masrakins. Now, for the sylimes. Rushing towards another direction that the energy pathway has shown before, they went.

Finally reaching the specific spot, they crouched down and immediately started digging into the dirt. Soon, a bright light started to peak into their sight and they quickly dig even more to get the pieces of sylimes. Once they finally finish digging all the pieces they can find, out they put them all in the other jar. Unfortunately for them, it didn't fully reach the top but they figured they'll try again some other time and place. Gently putting the two jars back into their sack, then pull out a bottle of water to wash off the dirt from their hands. Putting the bottle back into the sack after. Standing up while wiping away the wetness on their hanfu, quickly holding up the sack - they started rushing towards to path to Shaanxi. They already wasted time on trying to find the ingredients, sure it was worth it but right now they have to speed up. In their speedy pace, they still managed to hear the loud scream of someone. They pay no mind or attention to it as it's not important to them right now.

Once they've reached the place, you look around. The streets are full of people, houses and markets. They walked around, looking at all what the markets trying to sell but none of them catches their eye, all of what they sell are not edible - even if they are edible, it doesn't fit into what is needed in their recipes. Still having the, pity or kindness, decency to buy at least a little bit of different ingredients from different markets.

In the middle of the place, they can see a boy with a messy appearance getting panhandling offerings. He looks pathetic, yes but they can see right through him. He isn't innocent as he seems and it's exactly who they're looking for. Fortunately, they didn't have to approach as the boy already approached them. Very brave for a beggar, they thought. He was putting up a pathetic facade and since he has a cute facial appearance, he's capable of doing so. But they know better.

They smile at him but it doesn't reach their eyes. "Are you thirsty, kid?" To which he nodded, he had realised that he doesn't have water amongst the food he has. Smirking, they thought, 'Sure I'll give you something to drink. I may have come here on a 'mission' but that doesn't mean I can't have fun.' They nodded and gesture him to follow them. While the boy is suspicious, he figured that he can still beat them up. They don't look strong to him. The both of them reach a secluded area and they gestured him to sit down with them. Once the both of them did, the boy look in anticipation once the person in front of him put their sack down but does not untie it. Instead, they simply reach inside from an opening - making the boy curious. Before he could peak in to see the inside of the sack however, the person look at him sharply as if they sense what he's trying to do. "Please, would you mind? I need you to close your eyes." It doesn't help the raising suspicion inside him but he did it anyway. If they try anything, he'll just beat them up. The person in front of him saw him close their eyes and they let the smile fall from their face. Sounds of items clanking together was all he heard but he didn't open his eyes. More like, he can't somehow. He can feel his eyes feeling heavy but he's not tired or sleepy. He's confused. Who is this person? Is it weird that he suspects the stranger on doing this?

The said person took out the jar of blue sylimes and took one out. Putting the sylime in their hand while putting back the jar and took out a Boston Shaker. Crushing the blue sylime effortlessly, they put the remains inside the shaker. Then, they grab a box of minpetal and add 4 of it into the shaker with the sylime dust. The cherries on top of this drink, they took out two bottles. One bottle of water and the other is a bottle of egite that looks like the raw egg without the yolk. Pouring half a bottle of water and egite together. 'It would be too cruel to use the higher but definitely more disgusting ingredients, so I'll give him some mercy.' Putting the top back on, they shook the Boston Shaker. After a while, they stopped and pour it into a gourd to avoid questions on where they got a Boston Shaker or what even is a Boston Shaker. After all, they can't reveal their secret just yet. That's way too soon.

The concoction emitted a refreshing minty smell. 'A drink shouldn't emit such smell unless it's medicine,' the boy grow wary. "You can open your eyes now, kid." To which he did. In front of him was their hand holding a gourd to him, 'Alcohol? Are they seriously giving an alcohol to a kid? I'll try to ignore the sound of the 'drink' shaking.' He hesitantly grabbed the bottle and took a sniff. Well, he can now confirm the minty smell so he's wondering if it's medicine but before he could ask them, they stood up hastily. Slinging their sack over their shoulder, they throw him a smile saying, "Well, I better go now. Keep the drink, kid. Bye!" And scurry away after, leaving him in confusion.

"They're so weird..." He said out loud now that the stranger is gone. He turn his gaze back to the bottle in his hand. "Should I drink this..? What if it's poison?" He rationally thought over. He stayed silent for a moment before his body trembles, but not in fear, "...But what if it's actual alcohol?" He laughs under his breath, licking his lips remembering the taste of alcohol in his past life. "Hehehee well there's only one way to find out!" Without hesitation, he drank it all in one gulp. However, he immediately regretted it when he taste it. He spat whatever was left in his mouth back out but unfortunately he managed to drink some. His face turns light green in disgust, "BLEH! What the hell is this?! It's disgusting!" Trying to rub the taste away from his tongue but his efforts are all futile. The taste still lingers on his tongue and he keeps cursing out the stranger from before that gave him the drink. 'That hag! When I see them again, I'll beat them for this!... But wait, something feels different... I feel refreshed for some reason...' His body has never felt so light and refreshed as the purest water. 'Hey.. my dantian feels so much better...' he realises when he figured that out.

"Maybe I'll considering being more merciful if we ever meet again." Then he remembered the taste of the drink, "Maybe not."

[mrhyde-mrseek]

Updated altar tour!!!

Hades & Persephone

They share an altar! Not much has changed since i last posted a picture of it except that i added a bracelet, but to recap, they’ve got:

A raven and skull Halloween decoration

A bracelet i made with Hades in mind and hung around the raven’s neck

Red Crowley-ish sunglasses

A candle holder from the thrift store

A stone snake figurine thing

A geode(?)/sparkly rock

A bat plushie (named Marcel the Mycelium Bat by my friend)

A bracelet i made for Persephone and put on the bat

Persephone’s offering bowl, a flowerpot with a crow(?) feather and a (now dead) flower

Vials of fake herbs (another Halloween decoration)

A poison apple spellbook Halloween decoration

A Hadestown magnet

A little red candle

Hades’ offering bowl, a thrifted metal bowl apparently made in 1978 (that’s the date carved on it at least) with crystals, coins, rocks, a key, a silver Beetlejuice bracelet, a button shaped like a cat eye, and a letter in it

Dionysus

Not much has changed since i last showed y’all Dionysus’s altar, but they’ve got:

A satyr statue i made in an art class

A painting with colors i associate with them

A nonbinary flag-colored heart charm

Two pinecones

A big bead with eerily similar colors to the lesbian flag

A bracelet

A gold paper heart a member of my high school a cappella group made me

Two amethyst crystals

My pronoun pin

A purple candle

Athena

Athena’s hasn’t changed much either, but it’s got:

My kindle

My vintage-looking desk light

Its offering bowl, a flower pot shaped like a statue head, with a crow feather, a little turkey feather, a massive turkey tail feather, and a Good Omens pen

A fall-scented candle

A Kamala Harris magnet from The Female Power Project

Two little plastic trophies

A few blue stones

A puzzle

An offering of iced tea & lemonade that Athena didn’t really like but didn’t want me to take it off its altar and still doesn’t (i tried it and it’s really sweet but like in a bad way so i can see why it doesn’t like it lol)

Hermes

Hermes’s altar has some new additions! I mainly got then because i wanna bring something from each altar with me to college that i won’t lose, and since candles aren’t allowed i got him something else, so now he has:

His candle (which I’m still obsessed with)

A wax doll my dad got me from a Voodoo practitioner’s shop on a business trip to New Orleans

A feather

A Newsies keychain

A marble

A tiny rubber duck figurine

Dice

What i think is Dalmatian Jasper but I could be wrong??

A couple more shiny rocks

A bracelet

A couple coins

A brand new statue (which is what I’m bringing to college)!!! It came with what I’m guessing is a little baby Hermes but I don’t really know, and a caduceus that I just realized he can hold

Artemis

Artemis’s hasn’t changed much either, except for a few added trinkets, so right now she has:

A candle

An animal skull-shaped fish tank decoration i got from my friend’s yard sale (coincidentally the same friend who named Marcel the Mycelium Bat)

A silver ring from prom

A few rocks

A little crystal, i think it’s amethyst??

A Totoro figurine

A crescent moon selenite offering bowl

An acorn

A mug inspired by her I made junior year of high school with a crow feather in it

A gold crescent moon charm

Apollo

I haven’t shown Apollo’s altar yet because he’s relatively new to the group of deities i work with/worship! He’s got:

A tall ass candle

A wolf plushie

A rainbow… thing, it’s too big to be a bracelet but too small to be a necklace so it’s his now

A gold plastic coin thing

A fake lavender-looking flower

A glass bauble charm filled with yellow glitter

My tarot cards

An award i got senior year from the music program (I scribbled out my name on the photo)

An HRC water bottle that’s kinda hidden behind the award

A couple rocks

A yellow plastic gummy bear

A squishy yellow unicorn fidget toy

A plastic toy milkshake (he thought it was funny)

Aphrodite

Aphrodite has a couple additions to her altar, too! We’ve got:

A drawing I made for her

A pretty little teal rock

Two shells

A tiny pink candle

A piece of a plastic crown from my high school’s production of Mean Girls last year, I have no idea how i ended up with it but here we are

A thing of blush (rarely used, i thought she might appreciate it more)

Coconut and pear-scented chapstick

A shell kinda shaped like a bowl with a pearly charm, two pink paper stars, and a tiny rose charm in it

Her offering bowl, a teacup, saucer, and spoon shaped like a flower, leaf, and ladybug respectively that was a graduation present from a friend!! While they’re not quite Aphrodite’s style, she still likes them on her altar because they were a symbol of platonic love!!

A bracelet in her offering bowl

[starcrossedreaders]

The Hills

Author's Note: IT'S MY BIRFDAY!!!! To celebrate I wrote a little drabble so enjoy ;)

Warnings: Sexual tension, semi-police officer role-playing SMUT & MALE STRIPPING, shirtless Leon, horny reader. LEON IS HELLA CRINGY IN THIS SORRY NOT SORRY (It's not a fanfic without his shitty one-liners) Doggy, bondage, backshot,

Today was a long day, despite it being your birthday you still got up and went to work. Even though Leon practically begged you to stay home. Sighing you unlocked the front door to your shared home before you walked into a dark and quiet house.

Confused as to why the lights are off, you slipped your shoes off and hung your keys up. Walking into the living room you noticed one chair placed in the middle of the room with candles lit around the place.

Confused you called out to your fiance, "Leon?" Walking further into the living room your brows furrowed.

Before you could call out Leon again a big hand wrapped around your throat. Leon's hot breath fanned your face as he whispered. "Ma'am you are under arrest for being too sexy," His other hand grabbed both of your hands. Cold metal ate at your wrists as a clicking sound filled the room. "You have the right to remain silent. Anything you say may be used against you in a court of law."

Leon's chest pressed against your back as he moved you to shuffle down in the chair. You could only shake your head and laugh.

"Leon what is th-" Your jaw dropped when Leon stepped in front of you.

He had dug out his old R.P.D gear. He was utterly shirtless with only his vest on. His vest squeezed his body in all the right ways, and his muscles flexed with each movement as his nipples barely showed on the sides. His cargo pants even seemed too small, his bulge was very transparent through the pants. His belt hugged his hips where his holster, cuff holder, and another small pouched lay.

Leon gripped your chin between his pointer finger and thumb. "What did I say, sweetheart," You shut your jaw real quick at his words.

Looking up at him, your eyes were glossed over as a piece of hair fell in front of your face. "I would call you a good girl, but good girls listen to their orders." Leon cupped your cheek before he tucked your hair behind your ear.

"Well, I'm sorry officer," You could barely take yourself seriously as you snorted trying to compress a laugh.

Leon on the other hand would not drop his facade. He was dedicated to this, and he wouldn't let your cute ass laugh ruin it. Standing up straight Leon turned around and walked over to the JBL speaker that sat on your TV stand. Pressing down on it, thick and loud music began to flow throughout the room.

The Hills by The Weekend, you didn't want to believe it but, Leon turned around and slowly walked towards you. His hand made good work of taking his belt off. Throwing it to the ground it made a soft thud. Looking up at him you could only laugh as he stood one step away from you. Right as the beat dropped he ripped his pants off of his body.

Dropping your jaw you began to laugh at the g-string that barely covered him. Leon tilted the chair back making you squeal as he began to grind over your body.

"Oh my fucking god!" You could barely contain the laughter that spilled past your lips as your face turned red.

Your fiance was actually stripping for you. You had joked that Leon should be your stripper for your bachelorette party and he always just laughed it off. But here you are, with your rather awkward fiance grinding on your lap.

Before another laugh could escape Leon put the chair back down and basically sat on your lap as his semi-hard-on poked into you. At this point, he was grinding on you to relive the straining of his cock on you. The weight of his cock sent a wave of pleasure down between your thighs.

Standing up again he snapped off his vest and let it drop it the ground. Leon looked up at you kneeling in front of you. Picking you your right leg he slowly left a trail of kisses up your leg. A wave of red washed over you the further he moved up your leg. He started at your foot, leaving a fat kiss on the top of it as he began to take your work heels off. He then began his ascent upwards, kissing the ball of your ankle. He made it all the way to the top of your thigh before he repeated his actions on your other leg. Your heart fluttered at the sight, even if he was basically butt-ass naked.

Standing up Leon dragged his hands up your legs as he stood. His right hand ghosted over the buttons on your pants as his left hand hooked his fingers around the loops. His hot breath fanned over your neck as he left a kiss on your shoulder.

"May I?" You could only nod your head.

Leon made quick work of unbuttoning your pants. Sliding his hand he tapped your ass twice as a signal to lift your hips. When you did he took your pants off in one swoop. The wooden chair bit into you as you placed your hips back down. Leon had stepped back to admire the view. Your cheeks were twinge red as your clothed pussy was covered by your dress shirt. A piece of hair fell on your face as you looked up at Leon with lust.

Leon could feel his cock practically jump at the sight. He stepped in between your legs, spreading them open. His bulge rubbed against your aching clit. The wetness between you two could be felt in the thin fabric you both had on.

Gods you really wanted to touch him, you would do anything to take these cold cuffs off to run your hands all over his body. You both looked at each other with lust-filled eyes. Leon's ocean-blue eyes darken. There was a storm behind them, and the small voice in your head was telling you that you would get the experience. Not being able to handle it Leon picked you up and moved you to the couch. He laid you so you were on your knees as your face pushed into the throw pillows. Your hand stayed cuffed behind your back. Leon was quick to knead your plump butt.

He groaned as he bumped his cock into you. You were both desperate, and you decided to make the final push. Pushing back against him you wiggled your ass.

"Come on officer, y'know I've been a good girl. Besides, it's my birthday, can't you just let me go this once?" Your voice was seductive in hopes that Leon would take the bait.

He did just that, your panties are somewhere on the floor, your blouse is unbuttoned and your bra is pushed up to your chest. Leon's hands groped your body as his hips snapped into you at a rough pace. He was hitting the spongy spot you adore so much making your eyes roll and stomach tighten.

"Fuck fuck fuck," your voice bounced with each thrust.

Leon grabbed your hair and pulled your body up so you were flush against him. "Yea? You're such a naughty girl, getting an officer to stuff your pussy full with his cock. But you like it don't you?" He dropped your body down to smack your ass.

The pain was sharp causing you to squeal and bob your head. "Yes, Yes! Your dick feels so good filling m'sluty pussy," You squeezed around his cock, making Leon groan.

"FUck, you're really trying to milk me dry huh?" His thrusts became more frantic and faster. You knew he was going to cum any minute.

Your moans became higher as your pussy became tighter. Leon wrapped his hand around your body to rub erratic circles on your clit. That was the last tug on the knot. It came undone as your orgasm rushed through you. Moaning your body went slack at the intensity of your release. Leon on the other hand was quick to pull out. He hissed as the cool air hit his cock. Fisting himself, hot ropes of cum spurted out all over your lower back and ass. It was a sight for sore eyes. Leon icing your body with his own cum. Dropping his shoulders he lout a sigh of pleasure before he leaned over your body.

Kissing your shoulders he mumbled. "Happy birthday my love."

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