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Art by @solmesia - Go give him love!

Caressed by Claws - A BG3BigBang fic

AO3 LINK HERE

Pairing: Astarion/Halsin

Rating: Explicit (Lots of smut & a little plot)

Tags/warnings: 18+, monsterfucking, werebear halsin, trans astarion, Halsin eats pussy like a man dying of thirst in a desert, creampies, breeding kink, knotting

Word count: 9,966

Also fic pasted below :3c

Silvanus never spoke to Halsin in an audible way. Not like how he would converse with his mate Astarion, or even swap stories with the wildlife of Faerun. Despite this, the Oak Father found other ways to pass his intentions, blessings, and commandments onto the druid - through dreams, urges, and signs. And during his three centuries of life, Halsin had experienced the calling of his god many times.

Halsin had been experiencing all three phenomena as of late, while helping Baldur's Gate recover after the intense battle with the Netherbrain. His dreams and instincts were vivid and raw, the signs from Silvanus appearing during his daily work; he'd volunteered to help rebuild the city's parks. He included the requirement that they would be expanded, with a special area reserved for children to be able to romp and play, allowing city-goers a larger green space in which to commune with nature. While the parks, with their sapling trees and spindly wildflowers blooming in the wind, was no vast wood like he was used to, it was better than nothing. Especially for a battle-ravaged town that was actively being rebuilt. 

Though the work was tiresome, fully exhausting his spell power and even his physical bulk and muscle each day, the druid could not find inner peace. He was restless, aching with the impulse to roam, to explore. An urge so deep and carnal that Halsin understood it had to be yet another sign from the Oak Father… but stronger. A sign of which he had no choice but to take heed. He decided to take a break from his rebuilding duties, with Astarion supportive and encouraging him to do whatever "dancing-with-bears-rituals” that he needed to do.

With his lover's blessing, Halsin set out and began to roam the craggy wilderness surrounding Baldur's Gate. It took weeks for him to feel another sign, as the days passed and the moon went from waning, to new, to waxing. It was an internal sign, a heat from within that could only mean that his bear side - animalistic, raw, hungry , was growing stronger. It had become easier for him to call upon it, to have his fingernails elongate and his hair run down his back, turning into a pelt as he fell on all fours to shift into wildshape. He found himself wandering for days on end in bear form, rather than elven form, feeling more at home and "in his own skin" when digging his claws into the wet clay of the earth, or using his nimble lips to pluck ripe berries from the bushes. He spoke to Silvanus mentally and spiritually, even in this form, pleading for some answer to the unsettling feeling he'd wrestled with since they'd defeated the Netherbrain.

In his day-to-day life, pre-Netherbrain, pre-adventuring, pre-self-imposed spiritual exile, Halsin had always battled with his bear side for control. Whether in fits of rage, or in the heat of passion, he felt the throbbing of his head (or other regions) announcing the presence of the Bear deep within him, clawing to be free. Astarion had been most gracious whenever he had lost control of his ursine side, including on their first sexual encounter. The vampire had also giggled heartily when Halsin ripped apart foes in battle after the bloodshed necessitated his wildshape. And yet, Halsin still felt a sense of shame when his control was weak and his inner bear called hungrily to him.

On the first full moon out of Baldur's Gate, Halsin felt the calling even more deeply. The urge to shift into bear form, to slip into the comfort of fur and claws and teeth, was as tempting to him as a tall glass of cold honey mead, as comforting as the warmth of the bedcovers he shared with Astarion. But Halsin felt he had to resist. And to resist, he had to focus intensely on the present, the now, and on his current state. He realized that needed to listen to the bear; not to succumb blindly to it.

He settled in the middle of a clearing of birch trees, lowering himself to the damp moss that cushioned his large frame. The druid crossed his legs, laying his palms facing upwards on his knees. He closed his eyes, and listened. A mild wind, just enough to stir the leaves and brambles within the clearing, passed through the wood. The rustle of squirrels died down, as though they paused their hopping through the underbrush and barking amongst the treetops.

Before him in the blackness of his own eyelids he saw flashes of spirits, the sparkle of magic. He wanted to see, to open his eyes and behold the motes of light firsthand, but could not let himself disconnect now, from this place of intense focus. He felt himself float upward, almost as though he were sitting in a tree high above. But it was not his body that floated, merely his consciousness - he thought, assuming it was some form of astral projection. Meditation, and crossing into a spiritual realm, was a finicky magic at best. Though he was blessed by Silvanus and able to do so relatively at will, the planes of existence were still difficult to traverse, even to the former Arch Druid. He couldn't recall any time during the past 300 years in which he had experienced a similar sensation, of incorporealness, of his physical form feeling foreign and "separate".

Although the transcendent out of body experience was new to Halsin, spiritual beings and energies were quite familiar, and the air crackled around the clearing with the energy bestowed upon them by the full moon and the elf's druidic power. Below, he saw the sparkles of energy materialize from the shadows, and lumber over to his corporeal form. If his spirit-self could breathe, his lungs would have stopped inhaling and exhaling. The energy, now in the form of a gigantic bear, much larger than his normal wild shape, sniffed about his body below. His body still sat cross-legged, deep in the meditative state. Even in his projected form, though, the druid could sense the raw energy materializing within the clearing, emanating from the bear as it padded slowly in a circle

You have kept me from fully awakening, druid, the bear said, its energy crackling as its thoughts manifest in Halsin's mind. Halsin wasn't sure whether it was telepathy or just through just a feeling , but he understood the intent of the bear, as it padded in a path around him. It wasn't an uncomfortable feeling - it rather felt quite like when he would mumble to himself whenever he assessed patients, or when he had read aloud from dusty tomes in the Emerald Grove's library. It almost felt as though he was talking to himself when speaking with this bear. Halsin saw his body's eyelids twitch, his head nod slightly, and heard, despite his body's lips not moving, his response. 

"I have. It has always been difficult to control the beast within." He had embarrassingly morphed into a bear on more than one occasion with Astarion. Vivid memories flashed in his mind: as the heat of their passion settled into his loins, he had lowered himself on all fours above the vampire only to find that his hands on either side of his lithe frame had turned to paws. Astarion had always taken it in stride, in good-natured teasing at the most. He took it as a compliment that Halsin could hardly control himself during their lovemaking. However, it was not something upon which the druid enjoyed dwelling. He saw this loss of control as a weakness in him.His rumination was interrupted by the echoing of the bear's words in his mind, reverberating between his ears like the dripping of water hitting the bottom of a cavern.

But why control what has been gifted to you by the Oak Father? There is balance in the loss of control, as well. To always remain in control is not a natural state. Do you believe that nature is something that can be directed and commanded at anyone's whim? Even one blessed by Silvanus?

"That may be so, wise one," Halsin readily admitted. Astarion had often taken over in their lovemaking, directing Halsin's movements, his touches, sometimes even his breaths. Halsin felt goosebumps rise on his skin at the thought. What relief it always was to him, when he did not have to control himself, and he could relax and follow the directions of his lover. But again, that was a form of control, to be subject to the whims of the little vampire. "However, it is a risk to those I care for and to others if I do not reign in the…animalistic tendencies," he finished.

There was a long silence as the energy seemed to die down, although the ursine form below was still present. It had stopped in front of Halsin’s body, and shifted its weight from paw to paw, its magical breath exhaled in what seemed like puffs of fog. The fog settled around his cross-legged body below, wafting over the soft moss surrounding him.

Perhaps then, a bargain? The spirit bear asked. Its hulking frame was imposing even though it was immaterial. Were it a physical being, despite that he regularly spoke with animals including the wildest of bears, Halsin was positive he could not have remained so calm. You are quite dear to the Oak Father, a true steward of nature. It behooves you to fully accept the gift of wild shape.

Halsin did not respond; or, he realized, could not respond, for he felt somewhat dizzy at the idea of being held so dear by the Oak Father. He merely waited, both in his meditative, projected form, and his large body below, bathed in the light of the full moon. With how bright the moon shone upon him, he seemed almost as pale as the bear. He could not find a reason to disagree with the spirit; any gift Silvanus could bestow upon him should be graciously and fully received. And yet… he was filled with trepidation. He had made a fool and a beast of himself enough times in the past purely by accident. But to embrace that possibility?

I can give you respite for most days . In exchange that once a month, you free me - fully - without holding back.

Halsin's mind raced with the implications, and he sat in silence for many minutes, but the bear was in no hurry. It merely paced slowly around his body, facing towards him the entire time. It said nothing - just watched. And waited.

"The full moon?" Halsin felt himself ask, though no words crossed his lips. He saw his body below him shift only slightly, as though squirming with discomfort. The full moon was predictable, at least, so he knew when the bear would come "without holding back", whatever that meant. But what would happen when it did? His mulling was interrupted by the spirit's response.

Indeed, for the veil between realms is thinnest at the moon's peak. The moon affects the tides of Faerun, the minds of the unwell and magic-sensitive, and also the energy and magic of your bond with me. Once per month, you will become truly one with the Bear.

It was a heartbeat. It was a decade. Halsin could not tell, could not know, how much time had passed. For the bear had stopped moving again, and simply faced his body, sitting on its gigantic haunches. Halsin's meditative astral form did not move on its own. Rather, it felt itself pulled towards his body, almost as if he were made of magnetic material and his body were true north.

Halsin did not need to speak his acceptance verbally to agree to the deal. He would acquiesce to this compromise with the Bear. With himself. With Silvanus. It only took the thought of his acceptance to mark his agreement.

The bear, sparkling with spiritual energy as though it were a ghost, bared its teeth in what could only be interpreted as satisfaction. It lowered its head, stepping forward, and seemed to melt within Halsin's body like snowflakes on skin. As it melded into him, within him, Halsin shifted from his cross-legged position to all fours, as if by instinct. The soft moss cushioned his fingertips. Then soon, his claws.

In a mere moment he had changed, much more quickly than his normal wild shape transformation. And he was large, much larger than his normal cave bear form, which would seem a mere yearling cub to his bulk now. Halsin sniffed the air, the ground, his wet nose wrinkling as he picked up so many alluring scents, trails to follow, to hunt . To mark his territory, his territory, no one else's, no bear nor elf or creature. The full moon above bathed his gigantic, furry body in silvery light until he disappeared into the strand of birches and his presence was only a low growl rumbling from the shadows.

Astarion had been impatiently awaiting Halsin’s return, hungry for his partner both proverbially and literally. Halsin was willing to provide his daily meals; and just as eager to sate his desire for intimacy. The vampire had not gone hungry with his mate away, having fed on beasts from the bush surrounding the camp. But he missed his beast, how the warmth from Halsin's body heat, always turning their bedroll into a furnace. How he could make even their temporary camp feel like a home. After a few weeks, even the bedroll and its furs had begun to lose Halsin's scent of honey and basil.

Halsin had decided to return to him in the evening, when he knew that Astarion would be awake and probably fussing over his mending, or hunched over some dusty tome. Astarion was indeed thumbing absentmindedly through a novel in front of the campfire, nestled on top of a cushion he had dragged from his tent. Halsin's arrival was announced by his soft footfalls, shuffling across the cobblestone path surrounding their camp. Astarion's sensitive hearing could pick up that walking pattern anywhere, and the vampire automatically rose to his feet. The book fell from his hands and dropped to the ground, an act that would normally have Astarion wincing in horror and uttering an oath. But the importance of not wrinkling pages or smearing ink paled in comparison to the importance of seeing his Halsin.

"My heart," Halsin said, his voice low and heavy with affection. He stepped forward to receive his lover right as Astarion leapt into his embrace. The vampire wrapped his slender arms around Halsin's neck, burying his face into the druid's chest. "I missed you too, Astarion," Halsin continued, inhaling deeply into the pale elf's silver curls. Bergamot and rosemary, a tinge of aged brandy. A mixture of aromas that brought deep comfort to Halsin any time he caught a whiff.

Astarion pulled away from Halsin's chest, but remained solidly in the druid's embrace. He stood on tiptoes and craned his neck to meet Halsin's soft hazel gaze. "Next time you need to find yourself darling, do try to do so faster ," Astarion said, his words bouncing with playfulness and half-serious whining. His lips were full and pushed into a pout. Halsin couldn't resist the urge to take them into his own, and kissed Astarion softly. Slowly. Their lips barely brushing together, and just a tentative flick of the druid's tongue on Astarion's bottom lip.

Surprise caused Astarion to pull from the kiss first. He had anticipated that Halsin would devour him the moment they reunited, and had satisfied himself many of the nights alone while daydreaming of the various ways in which Halsin would take him. So for the druid to meet his lips with such… caution, tenderness… rather than his typically ravenous hunger was disconcerting.

"My love, whatever is the matter?" the vampire asked, swaying slightly side to side, causing the larger elf to shift in place as well. Halsin gazed down at him, his eyes flashing golden - from the fire, Astarion concluded. "Surely you're pleased to be back with m-" His words were crushed from his lungs as Halsin pulled him nearly off his feet, into a crushing embrace.

 "Of course my heart, your presence soothes and relieves me. I am immeasurably pleased to be back," Halsin said, kissing the top of Astarion's head before releasing the vampire to hold him at arm's length and gaze at him. "It has just been a… trying time. A test that rivals any of my experiences - save for the banishing of the shadow curse." His voice betrayed his weariness, his volume trailing off toward the end of his sentence.

Astarion frowned, clicking his tongue in a series of tsks , and raised his hand to cradle Halsin's cheek. "My poor sweet bear…," he said, holding his hand still as Halsin nuzzled into it. "As much as I'd love to hear all the juicy details, I suppose I can wait to hear about how well you danced with those bears."

Halsin's chuckle shook his shoulders. He deeply appreciated his partner’s dry humor.  "I appreciate that, Astarion," he said, pressing another kiss to the vampire's lips. This kiss was more certain, more intentional. "Let us make up for some lost time, hm?" the druid asked with a wicked grin, nodding his head toward their tent.

The next few weeks passed uneventfully, mostly full of lazy days enjoying each others' company, reading, and hunting together (and hunting each other) in the evenings. They'd done enough work defeating the Netherbrain, and prior to Halsin's stint in the wilderness, helping rebuild the city overall. So, Astarion had insisted it was time that others do some work for the good of the city. Halsin could only chuckle at his lover's insistence that do-gooding was nauseating.

Eventually, languidly lounging about the camp become a bore, and though he enjoyed the bounty of nature and camping quite thoroughly, Halsin felt the need to again move . To roam. In his restlessness, he had found himself willingly accompanying Astarion for an evening foray from their camp into the markets of Baldur's Gate. They would also be staying in more chic settings than their campsite, for the evening. Astarion had been complaining of sleeping in their tents when the Elfsong was now right there , newly renovated after the mindflayer attack, and now with private rooms.

He had agreed to join his mate to satisfy both Astarion's need for a good day's sleep, and his own desire to roam. His own need was more intense now than ever before, as the moon had waned, then disappeared altogether, then began waxing again closer and closer to being full. The instinct pulled at him, the need to explore, to… claim a territory?

Halsin shook his head, brushing away the thoughts just as he brushed away the sensations of the flies, the mingling crowds, and the noise of the markets within the city. He often found himself overwhelmed by the bustle of crowds, the shouts of vendors and the smells of the unwashed masses, manure, and other various scents. Not to mention, the wanton crime and seemingly endless homelessness and squalor. It was enough to unnerve him on any given day. But on this foray, Halsin felt a particular distaste for the less savory aspects of the city, and acted almost without thought to “correct” unsavory situations.

On their way in, Halsin scruffed a man who had attempted to lift some coin from a blind beggar’s donation cup, throwing the man against a wall as if he were a ragdoll. Astarion giggled with glee, clapping at Halsin's uncharacteristic brutality. Halsin stared at his hands before raising his gaze to the bloodied nose of the failed thief. After the would-be bandit recovered from the shock, he had scampered off into an alley. Halsin felt something within him aching to chase the man, and he fought, not without difficulty, to stand firmly in place instead of following him.

"Well done, darling," Astarion cheered, always up for a bit of chaos, whether or not in the name of being a do-gooder. He reached around to grab a handful of Halsin's muscled rump over his trousers. Halsin had hardly noticed; he was too lost in his thoughts.

He would, of course, have remedied the situation regardless, either by holding the thief for the proper authorities, or scaring him senseless as a wild beast. His unthinking, instinctual urge to thrash unsettled the druid, who had spent countless years wresting control of his temper, of his wildshape, of the desire to stay in bear form more often than in his true elven form. He nearly ran into several other market goers as he mulled over his outburst while navigating the market. He was mostly still lost in his thoughts when Astarion meandered up to a booth.

He watched from afar as Astarion bartered with a vendor of perfumes and bejeweled bottles of essential oils. One of the things he enjoyed most about his vampire is that he smelled so, so good. Trips to the perfumer or alchemist were not uncommon for Astarion, and Halsin hadn't thought twice about the relationships he had been building within the city as vendors returned slowly once their storefronts were rebuilt. His ever-talkative and ebullient vampire was chatting with the vendor as he reached out for a particular bottle on the table.

Halsin felt his eyes narrow and the fine baby hairs on the back of his neck raise as the vendor ran his hand on top of Astarion's fingers, lingering there a beat too long. Before Halsin realized it, he felt pulled, like the ocean being pulled by the forces of Faerun's moon, towards the booth, his top lip curled in a snarl. His bulk cast a shadow over the perfumer's table, then his face.

"That's enough ," he barked at the vendor, who withdrew his hand quickly, eyes wide at the hulking bear of a man, whose eyes glinted an odd gold. Both the vendor’s hands raised upward in a gesture of surrender, and he backed several steps away from his table, eyeing Halsin all the while. Astarion took advantage of the distraction, slipping the bergamot essential oil into his pocket. 

"My apologies, darling," he purred at the vendor, before wrapping a delicate arm around Halsin's bicep. "Come now, dear Halsin," he said, steering the large man away from the booth. "This is the second time today that you've thrown a tantrum," the vampire purred under his breath as they ambled back towards the Elfsong, Astarion's pockets heavier with the same amount of gold he had set off with, but several vials of oils that were new. "Not that I mind your recent spree in enacting violence or threats thereof, to be clear. But is something wrong?"

Halsin did not need Astarion’s words to know that the vampire didn’t mind the violence. From the moment he'd stormed to the booth, the large druid had been able to smell Astarion's arousal. Halsin did not answer immediately, acknowledging the question with only a growl from the back of his throat. He was distracted by the dampness that had to be staining Astarin's panties. Halsin's hand quivered as it pulled the little elf closer, settling on his lower back, Halsin's fingertips pressing into his flesh after slipping under the vampire's linen shirt.

His scent maddened Halsin. He pulled at the front of his trousers absentmindedly, trying to hide his own growing erection. He normally had more self-control than this - to be brought to half-hardness in the middle of public was unheard of. A shameful loss of control. He felt his face and ears flush, adding a tinge of red to his suntanned skin.

"I… do not know what has come over me," Halsin muttered, running his hand through his auburn locks. A lie. He did know… or the deeper, instinctual, beastial part of him did anyway. Halsin's knowing was not based off his centuries of life, and the subsequent knowledge he had of the movements of the celestial bodies around Faerun. Halsin knew the full moon was approaching, even deep in his unconscious mind, the deep, feral part of him that made the druid restless amongst the camp.

"I simply… can't abide the thought of anyone else touching you," he admitted after several additional minutes of quiet, when they finally had made it to the private room in the Elfsong they had rented for the evening. Astarion had been eyeing him up and down the whole time, his hand lazily dragging up and down Halsin's well-muscled forearm as they strolled side by side. Their room was on the bottom floor, conveniently close to the bar, but far enough down several twists of a hallway that nothing could be heard - and no one could hear them.

The solid oak door, salvaged from the original Elfsong after the Netherbrain attack, creaked as it was opened, revealing their far-more-superior-than-a-bedroll amenities for the evening. Heavy curtains hung on either side of several windows. Gauzy sheer curtains hung between them, allowing only the flicker of the city streetlamps to seep through. A settee, table, and a couple of chairs were arranged on one side of the room, and on the other side was a large four-poster bed, draped with burgundy velveteen bed linens and piled with pillows.

"Could it be something to do with the whole…" Astarion said as he turned to lock the door, then sauntered over to perch himself on the edge of the bed, "you know. Bear thing ?" The vampire accentuated his question with a wave of his delicate wrists, then mimed claws by curling his thin fingers.

Halsin raised his gaze to Astarion's ruby eyes. Gods, he was beautiful. Stunning. Inconceivably tempting. He was drawn to the little elf, and knelt on the floor before Astarion, his hands wrapping behind his calves. He could nearly touch his fingertips to his thumbs with the motion. His little vampire, his little bird; so vicious, Astarion could be, but also so delicate. Halsin felt possessiveness roil in his stomach as he thought again of the handsy vendor, and of anyone's hands touching his territory. His sigh had an edge to it, almost like a growl.

"That is precisely what worries me, my heart," Halsin said, his eyes not raising to meet Astarion's. He was face-level with his mate's crotch, and he felt his hands pull at Astarion's legs to part them, to give him easier access to the sweetness at the apex of his thighs he had been smelling the whole way to their room.

"Worries you?" Astarion asked with a little yelp at the sudden opening of his legs. He fell back onto his elbows on top of the velvet bedding and peered down at Halsin. "Darling, you worry too much. I know exactly what the problem is."

Halsin's face jerked upward as his hands slid up too, dipping into the waistline of Astarion's trousers and pulling downward. "What would that be," he asked, his voice low and deep.

"Well, to begin with, you haven't allowed yourself to finish in a week," the little elf said, a smirk pulling at the corner of his lips. "That's enough to drive any man mad, let alone with the stress you've been under from this whole finding-your-inner-bear process." He raised his hips to allow Halsin to more easily remove his trousers, his back a delicate arch. Halsin wanted to pin the smaller man beneath him, to have that arch reversed, to press his hips so hard into Astarion's that there would be bruises for a week. His breath shuddered at the intrusive thought and he shook his head. 

"It is too close to the full moon to allow myself to take you fully," Halsin explained, pressing his face against Astarion's panties. They were soaking wet, the pale lace stained darker where Astarion's slit pressed against the material. Halsin's erection throbbed against his pants, but he pushed the thought to the back of his mind. "Last month. The full moon. I…"

Astarion couldn't answer at the moment, biting his lower lip at the sensation of Halsin's nose pressing softly against his swollen clit. He fought back a whimper as the druid dipped lower, his nose pulling from his clit and sliding down the gusset of his panties. Astarion's legs were lifted from the floor, and up, as Halsin rose from a kneel and pushed Astarion by his knees further onto the bed. He clambered onto the mattress after him, his tongue lapping sloppily at the apex of Astarion's thighs the entire time.

Halsin had always been one to ask for confirmation, verbally or otherwise before a change of position, before he made big moves. But the larger elf's tongue was too busy lolling about, dragging along Astarion's inner thighs where the lace met his milky skin. He settled in comfortably on the mattress, lying on his belly with his head framed by either of Astarion's thighs.

"You were fine ," Astarion whined, raising his hips, against the warmth, "And you will be fine tonight, too, if you'd stop thinking so bloody much." He ached to toss one of the pillows onto which he had been pushed. Maybe a gentle bonk would knock some sense into his lover. Astarion's confidence quaked, however, when Halsin's head pulled quickly away from his groin. 

"Astarion… you cannot possibly know.." The druid shifted on the mattress, raising up on his elbows to make eye contact with the vampire.

"Know? Please , Halsin. You were fine last month, what's different now?" His voice was whiny, petulant.

Halsin paused, a rumble in his throat, both at Astarion's casual dismissal of his concern and at the desire to lap at the sweetness pooling between his legs. He slipped a finger past the lace, grazing slightly along the outside of Astarion's slick folds.

"Did you know that more babies are born on full moons? And that a myriad of spells and rituals must be performed when the moon is brightest?" Halsin explained, slipping a finger inside the smaller elf, who was so deliciously tight around even just one finger that it made his head spin. Halsin pressed his groin against the mattress, rolling his hips against it absentmindedly. "Do you truly believe that the moon, which influences even the ocean tides of Faerun, does not affect people as well? Last month, in that clearing, I felt…closer to the Bear than I ever have in my life."

He shifted again, crawling upwards along Astarion's torso, before pressing his body to his lover's. The coolness of Astarion's porcelain skin was a balm that Halsin ached for. A territory he ached to claim. If Astarion had to breathe, he would have struggled to do so underneath Halsin's thick body, so firmly did he press his lover into the goose feather-stuffed mattress. Halsin's bulk was fully spread across him, and Astarion could not have been more delighted at how the larger elf seemed to lose himself in the moment with him.

Despite his words, his hesitation, his concern… Halsin felt an instinctual pull to touch Astarion, to claim his body and mind with his touch, his tongue, his cock, that felt even more intense than normal. He couldn't have pulled his hand away from the vampire's cool wetness if he tried - and he was. Trying, that is. His biceps burned with the attempt to curl his hand upward and away, to prevent this delicious touch that was satisfying his most carnal cravings. Instead, Halsin's fingers curled inside his mate's cunt, stroking rhythmically against the spongy tissue inside that marked the spot that pleased his lover the most.

Astarion's legs quivered in response, shaking against Halsin's sides, a cooling effect as opposed to the heat emanating from the druid like a sun-warmed brick. The contrast made Halsin shiver, and he lifted up with a grunt, the haze of lust lifting only slightly from his mind, and fear nagging at the back of it instead. He bid his tongue to work, to function, so that he could speak his concerns audibly to the vampire. While he struggled for his words, his thumb swirled languidly around Astarion's clit. The pale elf's whimpering at the sensation demanded his attention - and also his pause.

"I cannot hurt you, my heart, and I…. I fear that I will lose control if I allow myself to indulge in your body while the moon is at its brightest," he finally said. He wasn't sure that Astarion was truly paying attention, by the way the vampire was writhing on the bedspread and pressing his hips into Halsin's thick fingers.

Astarion scoffed at the thought, his sharp nails scraping against the sheets of the bed, pulling the linens taut in his fist. "I am immortal darling, and heal quickly. Please, spare me the hero act," he tutted, raising himself up with one hand to sit at an incline. He brought his other hand to the bony part of Halsin's chin, curling his fingertips underneath, pulling his face forward. "If you don't take me here and now…" Astarion warned, his voice an octave lower and tinged with the rumble of a slight growl.

It was an empty threat, of course. The vampire would never seek satisfaction elsewhere, he was wholly satisfied with Halsin. But he knew how Halsin enjoyed being told what to do, how the druid hungered for direction after so many years of having to choose, to be in control, to set expectations. Halsin was also dreadfully territorial, and the threat of Astarion flitting away to satisfy himself with his own fingers alone was enough to send the druid into a fit, not quite a rage, but a fervor to thoroughly debauch and lay claim to what was rightfully his. To make Astarion his. And to make sure that he knew it.

The pale elf did not have to finish the sentence; Halsin's eyes flashed a golden glow only a second before he lunged forward, pressing his lips against Astarion's smirking mouth. Astarion found himself pinned once again to the mattress, Halsin's chest and groin pressed against his. The larger elf ground his hips against the vampire's damp panties, teasing the sensitive nub against the delicate lace. A pity, that it would probably get torn, but Astarion didn't care - he was too preoccupied with how Halsin's tongue teased apart his lips to explore his mouth. It was hot and dominating, as if the druid seeked to claim his mouth by touching every bit of his tongue in wide, searing, open-mouthed kisses. Astarion returned the passion with gusto, curling his fingers into Halsin's auburn locks, grabbing a fistful at the base of his skull.

But only for a moment - for a growl from Halsin startled him, it seemed different than his normal lovemaking noises. It was almost animalistic, rather than elven-made, and Astarion's grip loosened enough for the druid to grab his wrists in one large hand and pin them to the mattress above the pale elf's head. Astarion grinned mischievously as Halsin's face pulled from his, capturing his lower lip between his teeth, which seemed... sharper, somehow. As if Halsin had grown fangs like his own.

His deep ruby eyes squinted at Halsin's mouth, but he could not tell a difference in the candlelight of the rented room, especially when Halsin's head was moving lower, to press kisses - and bites? - along his slender frame. His mate was not normally a biter. He let it be Astarion’s habit, and yet the vampire felt his large, hot mouth open wide to mark his porcelain skin, his flesh sucked between Halsin's teeth and held firmly. Not too painfully, for Astarion had experienced much worse, but the bites were hard enough that the vampire was sure he'd have bruises for several weeks once they blossomed on his pale skin.

All Halsin could think of is how he wanted to mark his territory, to cover the pale canvas before him in purple and blue and red marks, using Astarion's flesh and blood as paint, to leave teeth marks on his skin like he had left claw marks on the bark of birches in his forest. Typically, he loathed the idea of leaving welts or bright red stripes from his nails. Astarion was a marble sculpture that Halsin's more conservative side hated to mar. With what little restraint he felt that he still had available to him, Halsin lowered himself instead, further down, trailing teeth and tongue along his lover's pale belly, lower still to the lace panties which seeped with Astarion's need.

Astarion's scent was intoxicating, like a she-bear in heat, and Halsin dove in, pressing his face against the fabric again, so firmly that it pushed his nose flat. He opened his mouth, his wide wet tongue leaving a searing stripe along Astarion's pussy lips even through the fabric. The movement pulled a pathetic mewl from the vampire, whose hands were shifted lower, pressed to his own chest as Halsin dove down into his cunt. Astarion’s fingers clenched, sharp nails digging into his palms. How he hated being held down. How he loved it. He could only gyrate his hips, raising them as much as he could, but not for long.

Halsin's other hand wrapped around Astarion's waist, and the druid growled in satisfaction. He relished in the size difference between himself and his mate, how he could touch his fingers when fully encircling the little vampire - especially when he pressed down, pinning Astarion’s lower half to the mattress as well. He groaned at the thought as he lapped his broad tongue at Astarion's lower lips through the lace.

"A mess," Halsin growled, again, deeply, in a more animalistic manner than he had ever previously, glancing upward from Astarion's needy cunt to make eye contact. Glowing golden met ruby red only long enough for Halsin to speak. "Such a sloppy, sweet boy for me. So needy, my heart… how badly do you ache to be filled by me?" 

Astarion had no words in response to Halsin's, nor in response to the druid's actions. His lover enjoyed dirty talk, and was generous with his praise at all times, including in their bed, but this was on another level. Before he could process the words fully, the larger elf dove back down to Astarion's pussy and gathered the lace in his teeth. Halsin nodded downward, and his teeth - the druid's mind faintly realized they must be sharper than normal, tore the fabric with ease, leaving the vampire fully exposed. The remnants of the lacy fabric rolled upward, curling about the silk waistband.

Astarion was not one to be taken by surprise during their evenings (and mornings, and afternoons) of rolling about in the bedrolls, but Halsin had always been most careful with his belongings, including any delicate little thing that Astarion had purchased to wear for him. So, the snap of the fabric was accompanied by an audible gasp from the vampire.

Now that Astarion’s cunt was bared fully, Halsin paused for just a moment to take the sight in, to appreciate how beautiful his mate truly was. Astarion was stunning, his lips plump and pink from Halsin's attention, slick with both saliva and Astarion's wetness, his need . Halsin stroked a calloused finger between the folds, circling his clit lazily, but with intent, pulling a whine from Astarion's lips. Something within Halsin stirred, and he felt some of the stitches at the front of his trousers rip to accommodate his growing girth. He hadn't had that happen before, and looked down. Did the growth of the moon also mean now the growth of…? Halsin shook away the thought, that's not what he cared about at the moment.

Instead, he felt as though he was still starving, despite his face and chin being covered in the vampire's slick already, and he wanted to direct his attention solely on Astarion. He was so pitifully empty. He slipped a finger inside, then two, testing how needily Astarion's cunt gripped his fingers, then he withdrew them, licking his fingers while keeping his gaze trained on Astarion's eyes. The vampire's expression was full of surprise, his pupils blown out fully in a haze of arousal and need as he teetered on the edge of his pleasure. His alabaster skin shone with small beads of sweat from Halsin's teasing, and his hair had been mussed by being pressed into the silk pillows behind him.

Oakfather help him, Astarion was in a wretched state, so full of want, so ready to be fucked, to be bred. How Halsin couldn't wait to fill him to the brim, to press himself and his seed deep inside Astarion's womb. Had he been more conscious of his thoughts, he'd think it odd, for of course his seed was null when inside a vampire. 

But you must , something within him spoke as he stroked at Astarion's outer folds with his thick fingers. The druid inhaled deeply, then broke eye contact to dive into them, slathering his tongue inside Astarion's slit like licking honey off the comb.

Halsin's nose pressed against Astarion's clit, and the pale elf's hips rose to press against the sensation. He curled his slender fingers in Halsin's auburn mane, pressing his head down, harder onto the throbbing bundle of nerves that ached for attention. He'd been eaten out by Halsin dozens, if not hundreds of times at this point, but had the druid's tongue ever slipped inside his pussy so deeply? With such a…curl to it? Almost as if it were prehensile, pressing against his G-spot relentlessly.

Astarion couldn't recall, but then again, he could barely think. Halsin's mouth was too much a distraction as it explored inside him, between his folds, and then to his clit, suckling on it as though it were a teat, the friction and speed making his head rush so much, almost too much. And yet, not enough either, because he was close to that moment of bliss in which the lines of pleasure and pain blurred and became most intoxicating when enjoyed together.

Halsin noticed how Astarion's nails dug into his scalp, how his legs wrapped around him and his heels dug into the druid's shoulder blades, pulling him close, trapping his head and mouth against the vampire's soaking, needy cunt. He couldn't hold back the growl that was forming deep in his belly, then his chest, and finally from his mouth, snarling like a bear that was being stung while lapping honey from the hive. But he dove incessantly, lifting Astarion's hips from the mattress and pulling them up, do his face, to bury his nose and lips and chin into his wetness. Astarion could only mewl pitifully in response. He gripped onto Halsin's head and shoulders with what little strength he had; his hands and legs shook with pleasure.

 "H-Halsin!" Astarion said, his voice cracking, almost raspy, as the druid's practiced tongue and scorching mouth pulled him over the ledge... And into the orgasm which made stars burst behind his eyelids, his head spin, and wetness erupt from his cunt and drip down, over Halsin's chin, between Astarion's asscrack, soaking the bed beneath them. The vampire's arms and legs went nearly limp. He was held up only by Halsin's strength before having his lower body pressed to the mattress once more, Halsin's broad hand spanning his hips almost completely when spread wide, from thumb to pinky.

His vision was blurred as he stared at the ceiling dreamily, still riding the waves of bliss from his climax. Halsin's attentions this evening were intense, unforgiving, and almost…feral. The word came to Astarion's mind right as Halsin's face appeared above him. The druid crawled up, over the smaller elf's trembling body, to press his torso fully against Astarion's, shoulder to pelvis, and gaze down at his lover. His expression was almost unreadable, and tinged by something Astarion couldn't quite place. It pulled a memory from the back of his mind, back when they hadn't yet banished the shadow curse. Fear?

"Halsin?" He asked, abandoning his 'darling' pet name, the bliss of climax fading quickly in the literal face of fear he gazed into. Halsin's hair had fallen from his ponytail, his braids fluttering about his face.

"I… I need to stop. I cannot do this today. Not tonight," Halsin whispered hoarsely, pulling a hand upward to hold the side of Astarion's face, caressing the flushed tip of his pointed ear. "I keep… feeling wild urges. Almost as though I'm experiencing what bears do, their...seasons."

Astarion's ruby eyes grew wide with realization - it wasn't some noble, heroic act that Halsin was acting upon, no white-knight silliness that the vampire always viewed with derision. Halsin was genuinely concerned about how dangerous he might be with the 'full acceptance' of the bear, or however he had explained it. His need to mate and breed.

How thrilling . There was nothing that could get the little vampire going more quickly than a taste of danger, the thrill of the hunt. And the idea of his noble, gentle Halsin, losing himself to his monstrous side. Becoming as monstrous as vampires are. Astarion's loins tingled at the idea of his lover losing control - more specifically, losing control over him .

"I already explained darling, I'm immortal…" Astarion purred, leaning upward to press his lips against Halsin's, cool tongue begging for entrance. Their tongues met briefly, before Halsin pulled away, panting. Sweat had beaded on his forehead, and Astarion could feel the press of his hardened cock - hells below, was it bigger than normal.. and what was that ... a knot against his slick-soaked cunt? "Breed me, Halsin," he whispered, pulling at the nape of Halsin's neck to lick along the sensitive ridge of his ear and further egg the druid on. "Breed me then, my love, knot me. Make me yours ." His words came out almost as a hiss, before he lapped at the tip of Halsin's ear. The larger elf groaned at both the sensation and his words, his erection grinding through his trousers against Astarion's pale skin.

"My heart… you… don't know what you're asking of me," Halsin panted, his voice low and gravelly. He pressed on the mattress to raise himself, unlace his trousers to free his pulsing erection. As his trousers slid down his well-muscled thighs and settled around his knees, Halsin's cock bobbed in the air. It was bigger than normal, shaped differently too… and a thick bulge at the base, near Halsin's balls. Astarion swore the druid had thicker body hair than normal, and traced the line of it with his eyes back over Halsin's torso, up to his neck, his face… where the druid's eyes glowed even a more fierce golden. His mouth was agape, and as he spoke, Astarion swore he saw elongated fangs poking out. "Once I enter you I will… not have control, Astarion," he explained, not breaking eye contact with the vampire, "I'll be ruthless. I'll ruin you."

Astarion's expression turned from curiosity, as his eyebrows raised and a sultry grin spread across it. His nimble hands reached down to grasp Halsin's cock - hells it was much bigger than normal - and brushed the sensitive tip against his slick folds. Halsin groaned with the sensation, his hips bucking in response, but kept his eyes locked to Astarion's.

"Then ruin me," replied the vampire in a husky voice, his words dripping with a tease, a taunt. It was a plea that came from the heart - Astarion ached to see this side of Halsin that was more like him , running on instinct, the basest level, the most animalistic and monstrous version he could get from Halsin save from a curse of vampirism or lycanthropy. And he wanted it all.

Halsin's eyes narrowed at his words, the hesitance in his expression fading instead to a feral focus as he slowly rolled his hips, thrusting into Astarion's hand, then past it, past the wet folds and inside the vampire. The pale elf moaned and lifted his hips, his eyes rolling upward momentarily at the stretch of Halsin's girth in his cunt. Halsin's breath escaped in a growl as he hunched over Astarion's form, his vampire's grin almost a taunt as he gazed up.

The stretch was delicious, Halsin was absolutely larger than normal, and so much warmer inside of him. The druid thrusts were tentative, as though he were testing the fit, or experiencing territory previously unexplored. It was too slow, too careful, too…. contemplative . That's not what Halsin's 'inner bear' or whatever was aching for, Astarion reckoned, and grinned to himself wider as he thought of how to truly have Halsin lose himself to his own need.

Astarion himself needed more , and nipped at Halsin's bottom lip, pricking it slightly while lapping inside the druid's mouth, seeking to deeply entwine himself with his lover. Halsin nearly snarled at pinch of his fangs, but in a way that didn't seem angry. It seemed more… primal. Astarion held back a pleasured scream as he felt the druid thrust himself into his pussy harder, deeper than he had previously. It was almost painful, the the head of the druid's thick cock pressing against his cervix, the walls of his pussy, slipping all the way out, brushing his lips, before quickly slamming back in.

Astarion fought the urge to crawl away, to escape the relentless press against his insides, the ache that hurt so deliciously, the stretch that stung to accommodate Halsin's girth. His hands were free now, and he grasped at the velveteen covers and the pillows as a way to not float away in pleasure, to remain somewhat grounded to this realm, to this experience. But a stronger means of keeping the vampire grounded appeared around his body - Halsin's large hands grasped at his hips, holding the vampire in place. Halsin's mouth curled into a snarl as he rutted into the tightness, his grunts of effort more like growls. Astarion's gaze flitted downward, at Halsin's firm grip, and in the fog of desire he noted briefly how Halsin's nails were longer, sharper. Halsin seemed to have grown claws of his own. The vampire's grin grew wider, his teeth grit together in satisfaction and lust. 

"That's it love," he panted, his words ending on a high-pitched moan. Astarion wrapped his legs around Halsin's hips, digging his heels into the small of the druid's back.

It suited Halsin just fine, for he wanted nothing more than to be made one with Astarion. For the vampire to be made his . More than just lust whirled through Halsin's mind as he slammed into Astarion's cunt. The desire to fill him, make the vampire heavy with his seed, and then his cubs, to continue his lineage. To breed.

"Astarion… you…" Halsin's words coming between his thrusts. The druid wrapped one arm around the vampire's lower back, lifting his lithe body up to his own bulk. Halsin’s other arm slid upwards and pressed onto the mattress, holding him up to not crush Astarion fully.

"Yes, darling, yes ," Astarion replied, egging him on, his slender fingers skittering up Halsin's chest, to grip onto his thick muscles. His claws dug in to keep the druid close. The pinpricks of blood drawn by his claws dribbled down Halsin's chest, and Astarion's eyes flashed with a different type of hunger. The druid bared his teeth at the sensation, his face hovering only inches from Astarion's. The vampire's eyes widened, as did his grin. He did have fangs…

"You are.. going to come for me," Halsin growled, his hips moving more slowly, agonizingly slowly, the broad head of his cock pulling all the way out, pressing against Astarion's pussy lips, slick with wet, swollen with desire, and oh-so-sensitive. Astarion was in no place to argue, the sensation almost too much, nearly taking him to the edge then and there as the flare of Halsin's cock. His eyes closed, his pale white eyelashes fluttering against his reddened cheeks. Astarion was stunning, captivating, one of a kind. And his . 

"And after you do," Halsin continued, "I am going to fill you up with so much of my seed that it will drip down your thighs for days." He continued rolling his hips lazily, immersing his cock deeply into Astarion’s body, grinding the front of his pelvis against his lover’s clit. The vampire could only writhe beneath Halsin, under the muscle and bulk of the druid. It delighted him to be in such a place, to be chosen and cherished and…

"You are going to be bred like a bitch in heat, Astarion," Halsin huffed, his voice a rumbling growl as his mouth pressed firm bites on the vampire's pale porcelain neck. Astarion could only whimper in response, especially as the druid's mouth traveled over his old bite scar. Halsin's fangs slotted neatly into the old scarred divots, and he bit down hard, tasting a faint hint of copper as small droplets came to the surface. Astarion's eyes shot open and he gasped in shock, his breath coming out in a loud whimper, his throat vibrating in Halsin's mouth. The pressure of the bite was more of a surprise than the pain, and the blood drawn by the druid's fangs was miniscule at best, nothing like he had experienced before he became what he was. They fluttered closed again, his head tilting backwards, his silver curls falling about on the pillows and velveteen blanket under him.

But the most surprising of everything was Halsin's words , and Astarion's head spun with the idea of being claimed, being made Halsin's mate. His breath hitched and he keened with each thrust of the druid's thick cock inside him, the thought of being filled with Halsin's seed and then.. eventually…His thoughts were spinning about in his head, his previously-unconsidered-until-today desire for this.. this breeding , this claiming, driving him into more of a frenzy than he thought previously possible. 

" Yesss ," Astarion hissed in pleasure as his cunt was filled once again with Halsin's cock. "Yes, darling," he keened, his legs tightening around Halsin's hips, which seemed to be more of a stretch than it had been just minutes ago. And… hairier?

His eyes opened to a view which he could not have predicted, even with Halsin's forewarnings, muttered concerns and resistance. The moonlight filtered through the window panes, casting a pale white glow on his lover Halsin, who.. didn't look like Halsin. Not anymore.

The druid wasn't elven. He wasn't human. He was - something else - Astarion's grin returned to his face as he made eye contact with this bestial being above him - one whose eyes glowed golden much like Halsin's. And while there was also the scent of animal, slightly musky, it still smelled like Halsin, of fresh basil and honey. But the beast above him had a muzzle, and a wet black nose, and a maw full of sharp teeth the size of steak knives. The fur along the right side of his face had a swirled pattern, with four scars borne across the left side of its face.

A bear. A bear standing on his haunches, but not a true bear like found in the forest. It reminded him of a gnoll, but in a bear's skin. Its paws were more like humanoid hands, black thick claws at the fingertips pressing into Astarion's tender skin. Its shoulders were broad, and it stood upright like goblinkin and gnolls. And its cock - hells below - its cock was so thick, hotter now than just before Astarion had closed his eyes. And then it spoke.

"You're going to give me a whole litter of cubs, Astarion," he spoke, in Halsin's voice - but deeper, a bit more gravelly, rougher at the edges.

Halsin was one with the Bear. Astarion gasped, relishing with delight at not being the most monstrous partner of the pairing - for once.

" Darling ," moaned Astarion, for that was the only word he could speak at the revelation, his realization that Halsin was a werebear, and had shifted as the moonlight had made contact with his skin.

Halsin's balls ached for release each time it pressed against Astarion's ass with each thrust. But Halsin held back. He needed to wait. He needed to -

"Knot - '' the vampire moaned as Halsin thrust in particularly deeply, and Astarion felt the pressure of the bulge at the base of the werebear's cock. " Knot me , Halsin, please ." His begging was pitiful, uncharacteristic of the vampire. And Halsin, in this werebear form, could not resist the instinctual call to claim his mate. Especially when his mate was begging for it, in both his words and his wetness. Halsin's cock throbbed with need, with each thrust into Astarion's cunt getting him closer to claiming his mate. Halsin's furry balls slapped against Astarion's cool flesh, then pressed firmly at first, against the resistance of Astarion's pussy.

He needed to calm his mate, to soothe him, and Halsin pressed his wet nose against Astarion's ear. His long, hot tongue lolled out of his maw to lap at the edge of the vampire's pointed ear. It curled about the tip, stroking it steadily, matching the thrusts of Halsin's hips into Astarion. The vampire's pleasure came out in breathy moans as he leaned his head into the sensation, and as his pelvis rose to meet the hairy hips of his werebear mate.

The tongue unfurled from around his ear, and the druid growled his words beside Astarion's head. "You're going to look beautiful with a belly full of my cubs, Astarion," Halsin rumbled, his snout wrinkling as he bared his teeth in pleasure. Halsin's assertion was all Astarion needed to relax, to give in, to allow himself to experience the waves of climax that he had been hungering for. 

The vampire keened with satisfaction, dragging his nails across the werebear's furry chest. Astarion's cunt spasmed with his orgasm, with pleasure, and then relaxed - and the werebear took his chance slamming further into Astarion’s cunt.. The vampire screamed in both pleasure and pain at the delicious stretch of Halsin's knot pressing against his insides, filling him completely. The druid's cock pushed against his cervix, fully against every pleasure point inside the vampire, and Astarion could only continue his silent scream of satisfaction as his cunt was filled to the brim and stretched to nearly tearing.

But he didn't care, it didn't matter, all that mattered was being filled by his love, by his mate, being claimed by the heat that coated his insides as Halsin reached climax right after him, his thick bear cock twitching as he came inside of Astarion. Halsin roared in satisfaction, his erection still pulsing. His seed poured past his knot, dripping more spend onto the sheets that were already ruined by the claws on his hind feet that had been tearing at them.

Both men's breaths came in panting huffs, and Astarion had closed his eyes again as he climaxed. He held Halsin in place with his legs, forbidding the druid from pulling out of him, and noticed that he had to soon squeeze tighter... and that the body he had encircled with them was markedly less hairy. 

"My heart," Halsin said, his voice less of a growl, "my mate." 

Astarion's eyes fluttered open, to look upward at Halsin, now back in his elven form, his eyes flashing golden still in the pale moonlight. Astarion smiled at him, at the mess they both were - sweat and blood and cum-slicked all over, the ruined bedcover beneath them. And at the knowledge that he could never doubt his druid's devotion to him.

"My sweet bear," drawled Astarion, pulling Halsin in for a lazy, gentle kiss as they lay intertwined, "You know…I've never minded being caressed by claws..."

[blurredblu]

Announcing Sonic Supernova 2025!

Hello all!

I'd like to announce that planning for the fandom event Sonic Supernova 2025 is officially underway!

What is Sonic Supernova?

Sonic Supernova (Supernova for short) is an unofficial community event made by Sonic fans for Sonic fans, where artists and writers collaborate in teams to create unique fanworks for the Sonic the Hedgehog fandom over a creation period. During this time period, participants can also get to know one another in the social space created for the event, i.e. a Discord server. The end result is a fandom-wide, celebratory event aimed to contribute an explosion of fan content to the Sonic the Hedgehog community over a publishing period during which each team's creations are released.

What's special about Sonic Supernova?

Supernova takes inspiration from Big Bang events! Big Bangs are a popular and well-known format of fan-organised experiences. We wanted to make an event inspired by the Big Bang format but with aspects of it adjusted based on what fans like you and me would like to see in a collective fandom activity. Hence, instead of an explosion kick-starting the universe (Big Bang) we're naming our event after the explosion of a star that gives off light to a degree of a billion times more than our own sun (Supernova!).

For starters, we want Supernova to prize creators first in their humanity and their autonomy. Art is powerful. Stories are powerful. It can be as liberating, cathartic, relieving, and thought-provoking to read them as it is to create them, giving us the space to explore concepts and situations safely and at our own pace. So, to support a wider range of creative possibilities for our participants, Supernova will allow creators to make mature-rated content as an option for the event. Proper tools and moderation will ensure only adults who opted in will be able to submit and see mature works.

We also want to do team-ups differently for Supernova. In Big Bang events, artists and writers are typically teamed up via a blind match-up where artists select from a list of anonymised summaries of each writer's story. While this has its draws, our team is looking to implement different team-up methods where artists and writers get to be more aware of what project they're signing up for and who they're working with. The end goal is that participants are given the absolute best chance to be fully satisfied with the project and people they end up with for a creation period that will last a few months.

While it's still in its early days, we're also discussing features to make Supernova a memorable time for our participants, including making our own website for the event and offering exclusive digital art goodies for everyone who participates in it.

Above all, we at Supernova aim to put creators first. What we can say about the goals of Supernova—what we as organisers aim to accomplish—are the following commitments:

Bridging together creators in the Sonic fan community

Respecting the depth, diversity, and humanity of our creators

Upholding fans' autonomy to choose what content they wish to make and/or see

Organising the event in a transparent and considerate way

Ensuring creators' safety and no tolerance for harassment

Can I participate in Sonic Supernova?

Yes! Everyone will be able to participate in Supernova. All you need is a Discord account, an AO3 account if you're a writer, and a love for Sonic the Hedgehog!

As we're allowing fanworks with ratings ranging from general audiences to mature ones, we're working on a robust, thought-out system that supports creators' autonomy by ensuring people will only be able to see what they opted for. This will apply both for the Discord server hosting the event and the final, published works.

The event isn't restricted to visual artists and writers only. If you're passionate about making GIFs, graphics, music, animations, knitting, sculpting, or anything else, Supernova is more than open to you, too!

When will sign-ups open?

Unfortunately, we don't know just yet. We're still in the planning stages and we want to take the time to make sure we get things right, including getting community feedback on an interest check form so us organisers can make decisions with your wishes at heart. 

We'll provide more information as we get closer to milestones in our development stages (like when we open sign-ups for the event!) and fully welcome questions, comments, and feedback from other Sonic fans! Feel free to contact us at the following accounts:

@blurredblu

@franticmelody

@soft-anomaly

We hope to hear from you either in our inboxes, or through our sign-up form once it comes out!

On behalf of the Sonic Supernova organising team,

umi  

(a.k.a. blurredblu/shizuumi151)

[livingfandomly]

This show is right out of ao3 because let me explain how serious this shit is OKAY!! Agatha is (probably) cursed with a kind of power that drains people of their magic until they’re dead. She can’t control it. Imagine the first time this happened and she’s freaking out over the body of a fellow witch who she maybe even cared about, crying, begging for the death to be reversed and suddenly there’s Rio. She came to collect the body but couldn’t stand to see this young girl in pain over a curse she can’t control, over a death she maybe didn’t actively want… Rio sees her and sees herself. More than that, Rio sees her and realises how much more pain life has in store for her. Rio can’t stand that this young girl is forced to bear the same weight that she bears and so she introduces herself to Agatha.

Agatha immediately recoils and hates her for what she’s doing. For taking away the soul of someone she didn’t mean to harm. She begs and pleads but Rio is tied to her duty and she cannot help. This happens a few more times until Agatha just breaks. Numb, she runs away from her coven, terrified of anyone finding out but even more terrified of hurting yet another person. She just runs. Rio watches from a distance. Eventually, Rio approaches her and this time instead of Agatha screaming at her and telling her to get lost, she just sits there. And as she sits there, trying to sink into her own shadow, Rio sits down next to her. Neither of them say a word. They sit in the silence of the lives they live, the lives they don’t want, the lives that make everyone around them hate them. They sit and they sit until one of them slides her hand over the other’s. Those hands go from lying against each other to intertwining, to holding onto each other as the only salvation they both know. The only person in the whole world who understands how they feel.

Agatha eventually goes back, not wanting to give up on her family and friends. She goes back and she gets pregnant or she adopts a little child. And then she gets scared. Terrified beyond reason and she realises she can’t let her powers hurt someone that precious. She begs Rio for help and, alas, Rio know this desperation. Rio also knows there isn’t much to do. But she loves her. So she tries and she searches and she hears of a book. A book that can help Agatha control her powers. But a book that can corrupt beyond evil. Rio doesn’t know what to do and before she can decide she feels it, the beckoning of a new death. Even before she leaves to find the location of the soul she knows who it is. The baby’s dead.

Agatha, beyond herself in grief and pain, tells Rio to leave her son alone. She threatens, she begs, she screams and she weeps and all Rio can do is what her curse demands of her… she takes the child’s soul. She knows in doing so she will sever a relationship that is dearest to her but she has no choice. However, even she can’t bear to see the pain she is causing Agatha so before leaving she tells her about the book. About this magic entity that can solve its readers problems. But she also tells her it’s hard to obtain and will require power and once obtained, it’s hard to control. Agatha doesn’t hear any warning all she hears is a solution and in her desperation goes to the coven for help. Instead of loved ones and supporters she finds an ambush waiting for her. An ambush led by her mother…

I mean…….. fuck me you guys but I just had to write all this down. Just a fragment of what this show is making me imagine but oh my god…….. I’m an addict and my drug is agathrio.

[coaldustcanary]

I voted "Yes" given the various Admin tabs/windows open in perpetuity.

[ruskaroma]

ordinary, corrupt human love. | chapter 2: you get me closer to god.

Summary: John is a manipulator, and she, is the new subject of his obsession.

Warnings: this chapter contains stalking, mentions of large age gap, graphic descriptions of violence, and manipulation.

read the warnings. john is not only a menace, he is evilllll.

Author’s note: and we are back, baby. today, in this chapter, you are going to be witnessing a LOT of fucked up shit from none other than john wick himself. my man’s been doing a lot, god bless his poor soul.

also may i remind you all that the reader here is naive! she is stupid! she is not the brightest! she’s just desperate for attention and affection, so her decisions are always stupid and all of that. (please do not hate her, she is trying her best.)

this took me a while to write because it’s long asf and also because you know me, i always struggle with the english language, but i hope i won’t disappoint you with this chapter!

thank you so much for waiting and continuing to support this fic! really, it gives me a lot of motivation to keep writing, and i really appreciate all your sweet comments and reblogs on my last post.

i hope you also enjoy this new chapter since we’re going to have another peak of what goes on in john’s dark, dark mind. (I PROMISE THE SEX SCENE WOULD BE IN THE NEXT CHAPTER.)

and again, this is not edited so all mistakes are on me! i really do apologize, english is not my first language.

Word count: 10.6k

also read on AO3

In this business, you’d see different kinds of reactions when a man walks into a room.

They all see themselves above everybody else. They think they’re better, deadlier, smarter. That’s the kind of mindset you need if you want to survive. How will you get out of being held at gunpoint when you’re a weakling?

When a man walks into a room, they’ll take a moment to stare.

On the outside, you’d think these people have a lot of respect for one another since they all work in the same circle anyway. But in real life, you’d see the blatant lack of respect these people truly have for each other, because they’ll stare and judge.

When John walks into a room, it’s a different story.

Fear.

John is not like any other man in business they think they could just judge and get away with it, no. John is well respected and feared. He could see it in their eyes when he pass by. The extreme discomfort and alarm to be in the same presence as him. Even if they try so hard to hide it, John sees right through them.

They view him as… something but human. He’s a killing machine. An attack dog. A monster, some would even say. 

Back in the days, John wasn’t exactly fond of the names they’ve been giving him. When he was still new in the game, he didn’t like how he struck fear over these people because he wasn’t quite sure how to handle the power he truly has over them.

But now, something has shifted.

John is a free man. Not the kind of free when he was with Helen, but free nonetheless. Free because instead of getting alarmed with the fact that he’s feared all over this underworld, he’s taking advantage of it. Much to the higher ups dismay. They have been having a very hard time keeping up with his recent activities.

Growing up, it seemed like John got the worst sadistic discipline in Ruska Roma.

All of them did, don’t get him wrong. All of them suffered – blood, sweat and tears. They were all forced to go through extreme discipline, because it’s the crack of the whip that gets the rats going.

But John… John got the worst of it.

He used to take the fall for his fellow students. Fingers couldn’t count just how many times he was belted on the back for someone else’s mistake. The amount of times he was starved, denied of any kind of food or water, and that’s how it’s always been.

John has always been denied for the things he wanted. The things he needed.

Now, he is not greedy. He’s not just going to take everything in his way like a kid that got away from its parents’ grip, because he doesn’t want a lot of things. John already has a house, a dog companion, enough money to last forever.

John already has everything except her.

His most happy moments couldn’t compete with the hot curl within his guts that he feels every time his mind flashes back to that night. That night when she gave in, when she gave herself away to him – willingly. 

John didn’t need to give her a little push to finally get her. She practically offered herself to him, bared her neck and John’s itching to take a bite. To finally make her his once and for all, but really, he doesn’t need to do that to know that she’s his. 

Like he said, he’s not going to force himself into her life. He’s going to be welcomed. By the looks of it, it seems like it wouldn’t be such a hard thing to do after all. Not when she’s already giving up information about herself to John through texts – she’s practically making it easy for him to get her.

So naive. Doesn’t got a fucking clue in the world.

Mine. Mine. Mine. Fucking mine –

John looks at his phone, reading the messages both of them sent each other the night before, and there it is again. The itch in his hands, the need to possess.

13.06.15 11:46 PM

Bambi: hello! this is Y/N from the club the other night

13.06.15 11:46 PM

Bambi: also that Y/N who returned your super expensive looking coin hehe ;) i hope you didn’t forget about me!

John changed her name on his phone. He changed it to something more… intimate. More sweet. 

13.06.15 11:48 PM

John : I could never.

13.06.15 11:48 PM

John : You’re hard to forget.

He remembers – no, saw – how she responded. With a smile on her face, hopeful.

13.06.15 11:49 PM

Bambi : using my words against me, i see :D 

13.06.15 11:49 PM

Bambi : good to know you’re still as slick as the last time we chatted haha

13.06.15 11:49 PM

John : Hard not to. I wanted to impress you.

13.06.15 11:50 PM

Bambi : you already did.

13.06.15 11:50 PM

Bambi : with all your brooding and intimidating look. just my type ;D 

John smiles to himself as he reads the message. He remembers the look on her face when she’s typing, and hasn't got a clue that the man she’s flirting with was observing her just from across her building. John wouldn’t call it invading her privacy, he calls it keeping her safe.

13.06.15 11:50 PM

Bambi : anywho i asked for your number for a reason. i really do want to talk to you again. not just in chat, i mean, but also in real life :) 

13.06.15 11:50 PM

Bambi : maybe we could get to know each other more? what do you say??? meet up again, but this time planned unlike our other previous meetups?? haha

He is not a teenager to be feeling this giddy over reading messages, but she truly brings out something shameful in him.

13.06.15 11:51 PM

John : I should be the one asking you that.

13.06.15 11:51 PM

Bambi : you were taking too looonggg :( 

13.06.15 11:51 PM

Bambi : so what do ya think?

13.06.15 11:52 PM

John : Of course I’ll go. I told you I’d make time for you, didn’t I?

13.06.15 11:52 PM

John : I’m a man of my word.

13.06.15 11:52 PM

Bambi : ok that’s great! i was so worried you wouldn’t say yes.

John had averted his eyes from the phone that night and onto the little lady across the building. She was rolling around on her bed, still dressed in her pink, fluffy robe and her hair was still wet. She looks like a puppy that John wanted to pet; stroke her hair and tell her she’s his good girl.

13.06.15 11:52 PM

John : When do you want to meet? 

13.06.15 11:53 PM

Bambi : aahhhhh let’s see

13.06.15 11:53 PM

Bambi : i have classes tomorrow morning BUTTT we can def meet up during lunch! i get out of school at like 12 and go to work at 3 :D

I know, John wanted to say. I’ve memorized your everyday schedule in the span of two days.

13.06.15 11:53 PM

John : How about I pick you up from your school, we grab lunch, and I drop you off to work?

13.06.15 11:53 PM

John : Or is it too soon? 

13.06.15 11:53 PM

Bambi : oh my god no way REALLY?

13.06.15 11:53 PM

Bambi : nooo it’s not too soon don’t worry! you def could so we have more time to talk and everything! i just hope i won’t be bothering you or anything.

13.06.15 11:53 PM

Bambi : do you have work tomorrow? you look like a 9 to 5 kinda guy :P 

God, she’s fucking adorable. 

13.06.15 11:54 PM

John : I don’t, so you don’t have to worry. I’d love to talk to you more as well.

13.06.15 11:54 PM

Bambi : ok! i cannot wait for tomorrow. i should probably sleep now tho so i wouldn’t look shitty when you see me :D 

13.06.15 11:54 PM

Bambi : here is the address of my school. [Address]

13.06.15 11:54 PM

Bambi : can’t wait to see you tomorrow, john! goodnight, see you soon! x

13.06.15 11:55 PM

John : Goodnight, sweet girl. Have a good sleep.

John hadn’t meant to type that. He felt his heart drop to his stomach, terrified that he somehow scared her away with the sudden affection. But then he saw her read his message, dropped her phone on the bed, and then rolled over again like a lap dog.

She’s too easy to tame, so gullible. John almost couldn’t believe how fast she folded, how desperate she really is. But then again, he could say the same about himself. Lonely and desperate, they were meant to be together. He likes to believe God had put them in this position because of fate, because he has a plan for every single one of us.

John’s never been the one to believe in Him, but he finds himself grasping to that very little delusion that keeps him from going insane.

*

11:55 AM, the students are already making their way out of their designated buildings. 

John is keeping his guard on high alert, eyes scanning the crowd to find her. He’s parked just across the school gate, leaning against his car as he checks the time on his wrist. He’s also holding his phone in the other, waiting for it to vibrate in case she drops a message.

He’s never felt this giddy before. Hands clammy and eyes searching frantically, excited because he’s finally getting to spend alone time with her, but also worried in fear of losing her in the crowd. John doesn’t like it when he doesn’t have the upper hand. When he doesn’t have control of the situation. When she’s not in his line of vision and could be doing god knows what without his supervision.

He checks his phone again. 11:58, where is she?

John knows at this time, she should be out and about already, waiting for a cab to her apartment. His fingers itch, hovering over the screen of his phone. He begins contemplating if he should send a message, but that would make him look demanding and clingy. He doesn’t want to leave that kind of impression on her, or otherwise he’d have no choice but to abduct her and keep her locked away if she thinks about running –

He blinks, sucking in deep breath. 

“Shit,” he whispers, looking up to the school gate again. This isn’t good. What the fuck was he even thinking? 

John tries not to think about it. Tries to convince himself that he is not as fucked up as his mind is making him out to be. He wouldn’t stoop that low, he’s not that cruel –

Are you not?

A certain someone appears in the crowd, standing outside the school gate, already spotting John and waving at him from across the road. Her face is bright, smiling wide. John never wanted to possess something so bad.

He waves back, all his dark thoughts suddenly gone, and everything is rainbows and sunshine. John watches as she crosses the road carefully, looking left and right, seeming small with the people around her. She looks like a lost puppy.

John wants to pet.

“John, hey!” she beams, running up to him to give him a hug which catches John off guard. She’s on her tiptoes just to wrap her arms around his broad shoulders, and John doesn’t want to make her upset for not immediately reacting with her affection, and so he puts his arm around her waist and bends down to place his chin on her shoulder. 

He fights the urge to bury his nose in her neck, then maybe sucks a few hickeys, leaving a bite mark to show that the big, bad wolf has already marked his mate.

She’s so fucking easy to get, John thinks.

When she pulls away from the hug, John tries not to look disappointed. Her cologne lingers in his nose. “Sorry. Force of habit.”

“You don’t ever need to say sorry for that,” John says, faux stern as he places a hand on her waist subtly. She looks like she doesn’t mind, that’s a good thing.

“Okay then,” she smiles politely. “Oh, and I’m sorry if I look like a mess. Just say the words and I would totally change to more appropriate clothes before we go somewhere.”

“You look beautiful,” John says smoothly, standing up straight. Even though she looks underdressed next to John who’s wearing a three-piece suit, she is still heart-wrenchingly beautiful. In fact, John likes the contrast.

“T-thanks.”

“Should we go?”

“Sure! I’m excited,” she giggles, the sound practically dancing in his ear. “I’m hungry. Where will we eat?”

“Hm, what do you like?” he asks.

“Dunno. Burger and milkshake.”

“Sounds unhealthy.”

“The only thing I can afford, unfortunately,” she jokes, though John doesn’t answer, only opening the car door for her. “We should eat in a diner. I know a good one! Also cheap, so you won’t have to worry about the price.”

“I never worry about the price, darling,” John murmurs, but still loud enough for her to hear as she gets inside the vehicle. He swiftly walks to the driver’s seat and starts the car, glancing at his little bambi who’s observing the interior intensely. “You like it?”

“It’s so cool. I’ve never been in a car like this.”

“You’re going to have a lot of firsts when you’re with me.”

As John starts driving, the girl beside him babbles. Not that he minds, of course. He listens and nods, so obsessed with her voice that he could listen to it forever. It’s amazing how John could easily hide the fact that he was just stalking her from across her apartment the night before in the back of his mind, like it never even happened. It’s amazing how he could act like he wasn’t just thinking about kidnapping her and locking her away from the public forever.

But then again, everything about his little bambi would make anyone risk it all for her.  It’s not just John. Anyone would do the same if they were in his shoes.

“How was school?” John asks, averting his eyes from the road for a moment to look at her.

“Eh, it was alright. Classes always drain me, no wonder I’m so hungry now,” she answers politely. One of the few things John noticed about her. How she doesn’t run out of things to say, how she can get the conversation going. “How about you? You going to work after our lunch? You’re dressed up for it.”

“I took the day off today,” he replies vaguely.

“What? Why?”

“I have a date with you.”

She seems to be shocked by John’s choice of words, but she’s more concerned with the fact that John took the day off for her. “Y-yeah, but you didn’t have to do that. We could just go on a date next time.”

“The sooner, the better,” he explains, feeling another surge of something hot into his veins. She agreed that this is a date. Just how fucking gullible can she get? “Work is no problem for me. I want to get to know you more.”

“O-okay. I wanna get to know you more too.”

When John catches a glimpse of her bright smile beaming at him, his hands tighten around the wheel and he steps on the gas harder.

*

John doesn’t like how his mind isn’t making him remember about Helen.

He should be remembering her. He should feel some kind of guilt for being in a restaurant with another woman, but he doesn’t. Every single day since she died, his mind would always make him think about her. But now, it’s like John completely forgot about her existence at all.

The wedding ring on his finger is long gone. Ever since his unhealthy obsession began, he thought that wearing that while doing something so sinful felt so wrong. Helen shouldn’t have to witness all the things he had done in the name of a girl he had only met once that time.

The diner isn’t packed with people. The sizzling of the burgers grilling on the pan and the chatters seem to drown out eventually when his little bambi starts talking.

John gives her a small smile, barely there, just to show her that he’s listening, all his attention is on her.

“Time seems to pass by so fast, huh? I remember when I bumped into you the first time, I really thought I wouldn’t see you again,” she starts the conversation with a bang, but thankfully John’s prepared for this type of talk.

“So you really wanted to see me then?” he smirks slightly.

“Yeah! You’re really good looking and it’s not always I see a guy as handsome as you in my apartment complex and my school,” she says bluntly, though John could see the faint blush on her cheeks when she mentions the word ‘good looking.’ “So of course I had to take my chance when I met you again at that club! God, you were my knight in shining armor. I would’ve been crushed to death if it wasn’t for you.”

“That’s why you should always be careful on the road. You’re small, everyone could look past you if you weren’t careful enough.”

She pouts, placing her chin on her hand as she stares lovingly at John. “You’re exaggerating. I’m not small. You’re just saying that because you’re too big. And I’m always careful on the road – it was only that time that I lost balance and almost fell.”

“Then it better not happen again,” John says sharply, leaning back against the cushioned seat as he stares back at her challengingly. “But there’s no need to worry for the next time. I won’t let that happen again.”

“Next time?” she teases. “So you want to see me again next time, then?”

“Have I not made it clear with my actions and words?” John shoots back, raising another eyebrow. She likes it when he’s being stern like this. All authoritative. She might not know it yet, but her body language speaks for itself. “Do you want to see me again?”

The little bambi smiles brightly, and It hurts. It hurts John to see that smile because she’s just like the sun. But no matter how much she shines, John would do anything just to touch. Just to possess. Just to break.

“Of course! I wouldn’t have gotten your number if I didn’t, right?”

“Good.”

It’s not like she could do much anyways if she says no. Nothing will ever stop John from seeing her again, no matter how bad the procedure would be.

The food then arrives and is served on the table, and John thinks he has never felt anything like this before.

His hands have never felt this itchy before. That desperate, longing feeling to just possess the very thing that’s placed right in front of you. Everything about her is just so captivating, staring up at John like he’s the one who hung the moon, so full of adoration and hope.

Seems like John isn’t the only desperate one between the two of them. He could see it in her eyes. She’s practically begging him to take care of her.

And really, he can’t blame her.

An absent mother and an alcoholic father. No wonder she’s seeking attention from a man like John. A man old enough to be her father – if not older than her own father. John would be more than willing to fulfill the role her father failed to be when she was young. He’d do anything to protect her, morals be damned.

She looks too good to be true sitting right in front of him and he didn’t think watching someone devour a burger twice as big as her face would be so endearing. The way she licks her lips, the way her eyes sparkle every time John would pay attention to the little things she’d absentmindedly insert in her stories. No one must’ve given her this kind of attention before. No one but John.

“Oh, before I forget!” She places a hand on John’s arm that’s perched on the table. A mere innocent touch, yet he can’t help but feel a little giddy on the inside. “We’ve been talking for like, an hour now, and I still haven’t asked what your job is. I’ve been really curious ever since you told me you took a day off just for this. Are you like the boss or something?”

Ah. Of course.

A question like this is inevitable, thank god John came prepared. 

“No,” he simply says. “I’m a book binder. I collect and restore books as both a hobby and job.”

“Wow,” she nods her head, now interested as she leans forward and closer to him. She smells so sweet, John feels like he’s snorting sugar. “I didn’t think book binding could earn you so much money. Considering you’re dressed pretty… comfortably. And you have a nice car.”

“It pays enough,” John replies. Sooner or later she’d find out what he really does for a living, and no doubt she’d be scared. John already has a plan of action for when that would happen, but for now, he’ll try to keep it a secret as long as he can. “Pays enough to let me spoil you in the future. In fact, I think I might just start spoiling you now.”

“You say that to every woman you meet?” She quirks an eyebrow, teasing. 

“Just for you. You’re special.”

John sees the way she immediately turns shy and nervous from the statement. It must’ve felt overwhelming, having someone so much older and with more experience to hit on her like that. But John would say it brings a whole different feeling in him, like ego-lifting of some sort, knowing he just might be the only man that treated her right in her life.

Does killing one of her guy friends and storing him in his basement means treating her right? Does stalking her and watching her sleep from across the building is a way to treat her right? Different story to be told for another day.

“I believe you,” she says, smiling. 

Of course you do.

John diverts her attention from him. “You’re a veterinary student and also part time in a veterinary clinic. What made you want to pursue it?”

“Uh, let’s see. I don’t really have like, a very logical reason for it. I just really love animals and I want them to be part of my job as well,” she shrugs. “As for the part time thing, one of my older friends works there and got me in to gain some experience. I don’t really do much, I help with the paperworks and watch how they do stuff around there.”

I know.

“Your unconditional love for animals is logical enough.”

“I know right. Best job in the world, I might add. I get to pet all kinds of different animals everyday, and mind you I’m not even a real doctor yet,” she giggles, then tilts her head in curiosity. “Do you have a pet, John?”

“I do. I have a dog,” he answers, taking a sip of his own milkshake. It’s sweet, it’s something he’s not used to, but it reminds him of her. “Unfortunately, I haven’t named her yet.”

She frowns. “Why not?”

“I don’t know how to. I’m not good with names,” John shrugs. This conversation with her alone just might be the longest conversation he’s ever shared with someone ever since Helen died. And even with his late wife, he wasn’t as talkative as this. “Maybe you could name her. She’s a large pitbull but surprisingly very gentle for her size.”

“Oh my god, John, I have to meet her!” She beams. “Maybe on our next date, don’t you think? Let’s bring her with us to the park, have a little picnic there or something.”

Next date.

She wants to go on another date with him and she is making this a lot easier for John.

His lips stretch into a rare smile, fingers twitching subtly around the glass as he stares right into her eyes. There’s no hidden intention behind them, just pure adoration with a twinge of hope. Probably hopes that John wants the same thing as her, but he wouldn’t let her know that she is in for a lot more than she bargained for.

“I can’t wait for our next one.”

*

John could still remember the little things that made him feel human. 

Back in the Marines, when he first killed somebody, he felt a tremendous amount of guilt and self-hating that he couldn’t sleep for a week. He’d have nightmares of it; of holding his gun up to somebody’s head and blowing it up with just one single movement. The residue of the flesh splattered all over his face, some of them even went to his mouth. His hands shaked but he didn’t let his crew see it. In their eyes, that wasn’t the first time he had done it.

When he was recruited by Viggo and his little minions, the guilt of killing people was still there, but barely. He used to wish he didn’t feel any guilt or remorse at all every time he pulled a trigger, but looking back at it now, he wishes he could just take it all back. It was only guilt that he felt most of his life, but it made John human.

Now, he doesn’t feel very human as he stands in the middle of an abattoir holding a machete with pints of blood pooling at his shoes.

Back then, he used to kill. Point, shoot, leave. A very short routine he told himself to stick with unless he wanted to get in trouble. But now, he is not only just killing. John is fucking slaughtering people.

His eyes land on the dead body hanging from the meat hook. Naked, gutted alive just a few moments ago. His stomach is sliced open with his own intestines wrapped around his neck, and it fucking stinks.

The raw stench of human blood mixing with the already reeking smell of the slaughtered pigs hanging just besides the one John had slaughtered himself. 

Really, John should feel even just a little amount of remorse or disgust. His client didn’t particularly gave him a specific order on how to fucking kill the target, John did it himself. He didn’t know what the fuck was he thinking when he was doing the wet work, all he knows is that he’s getting worse each day that passes.

The killing part took some time considering the man certainly put up a fight. He was smuggling drugs inside the pigs he was slaughtering. It works on people too, though it’s too risky. Dying with balloons of cocaine up your throat or ass isn’t exactly the way you’d want to die, nor the kind of state you want your body to be in.

John really didn’t mean to go this far, but all the pent up anger and frustration led him to do something so ugly. He feels like a ticking bomb. Every second a little part of humanity just starts fading away, who knows what would happen if all of it were gone. 

This is his first kill since his date with his bambi. That was five days ago. John decided to take another job while he’s waiting for her next decision. He doesn’t want to look clingy and creepy by constantly texting her every chance he gets, so he lets her do it in her own phase. Though, waiting for her texts sure did take a lot of rampant rage on John’s side. Lots of broken furniture and a creepy amount of hours watching her sleep from across the building. 

Just because John is letting her do her own thing for the meantime, doesn’t mean he gets to take his eyes off of her. It’s for the best. 

Their last conversation was yesterday. It was a pretty long conversation, but not long enough for John’s satisfaction. She left it off by saying she’s going to be busy studying for her test and cleaning her apartment, which John didn’t have the time to check if she was telling the truth since he was busy himself.

John is dying to see her again but he knows he’s gonna have to wait it out in the Continental. Or maybe if he’s feeling a little bit insane, he’d ditch having to rest and spend his time sitting on a dusty chair in the same dusty room he’s been staying in for awhile; the building across from her apartment. But until then he’ll have to see where time will take him.

His phone ringing in his jacket is what snaps him from his thoughts. Bringing a bloodied hand to get it, he almost couldn’t press the screen by the slippery liquid covering his fingers. John presses the phone to his ear, waiting for the person to speak.

“Hey, boss. How’s Russia treating you so far? Hopefully not great ‘cause I’ve got some news that will cheer you up.” The deep voice of Alex echoes in the abattoir. It must’ve slipped John’s mind that he had sent Alex again to tail her again while he’s out overseas.

He furrows his brows, curious. “How is she?”

“Hm, let’s see here. Your little pet has been up and about all day with her little friends after they’ve finally noticed the disappearance of that little shit we took care of a while back – speaking of which, how is he by the way?”

“Rotting. Dissolving in my basement,” John replies, hands tightening around the handle of the machete. So this is what she’s been doing and the reason why she hasn’t messaged him all day. “I say the fucker got what he deserved. He’s a creep who preys on women to rape, I’m just thankful we got him out of the way before he got to her.”

“Yeah, well. She doesn’t know that and I doubt she’d even stop looking for her creepy friend unless they’ve found him. What do you want me to do?”

“Give it a day or two. Wait for me to get back and I’ll take it from there.”

“Anything else?” John hears loud chattering in the background, he furrows his brows.

“Yeah. Where are you right now?”

“Uhh, keeping her in my sight like you told me to?” Alex sounds particularly sassy. John doesn’t know if he should be pleased or not. “She’s at a restaurant. I think she’s having a meeting with her other friends or something – she looks upset.”

“Upset because of her missing friend, I assume.”

“Probably. Have you talked to her at all today, boss? Pretty sure I have not yet seen her pick up her phone all day.”

“No,” John simply says. “But she will. I’m sure of it.”

“I see you’ve finally gotten her dependent on you now.”

“Not enough, apparently, since she’s gone a full day without talking to me.”

“Well, you’re definitely getting there,” Alex says under his breath. “I’m going now, boss. They’re leaving to god knows where.”

John doesn’t say anything else, only ending the call and pocketing back his phone. He looks around the area, the coppery smell of blood is stronger than before. He is the reason why it stinks in here, the reason why there’s so much blood and brutality. The body that hangs right in front of him is lifelessly staring with dead, cold eyes. John resists the urge to shove a balloon of fucking cocaine into his stomach, the same thing he’s been doing with these pigs, brutalize him more if that’s even possible, but he knows it wouldn’t help his already worsening mentality.

The thought of someone seeing this body and thinking about how fucked up the person who did this doesn’t concern him as much as it should. 

Instead, John turns his heels and walks away from the scene. 

*

Unsurprisingly, getting her to depend on John isn’t the hardest task to do.

It just might be the easiest.

The moment John arrives at the Continental, he takes his time to message his bambi. It’s only reasonable, he wouldn’t come out as a clingy creep since it’s been a full day since his last message, he has every right to know what and how she’s doing despite already getting enough pictures and updates from Alex.

He asks her how she’s been, waits for approximately ten minutes before he finally gets a reply. In those ten minutes, John takes his time scrolling through the pictures Alex had sent him. Pictures of her bundled up in large, colorful sweaters and wearing a frown on her pretty face. She looks rough, but she makes looking rough look good.

Bambi : hi, john :(( sorry i didn’t text you all day. was busy with something 

John : That’s alright, I understand. I’m just glad you replied. Did something come up? Was it about school?

Bambi : kind of. my friend from school is missing and we don’t know where he is. we’re worried because he hasn’t answered any of our calls for a week and his apartment is practically empty.

Reading that almost makes him resist an urge to sickly smile to himself. His fingers hover the screen, careful of what his next words might be. 

John : I’m sorry to hear that. Have you gotten any updates from the police? What did they say?

Bambi : nothing yet unfortunately. no one saw him the night he went missing :( 

John : I’m sure you’ll find him soon enough. I hope nothing extremely bad happened to your friend.

He sounds… manipulating. There aren’t any more words that could describe what John is doing to her. He doesn’t even know if he can still make up excuses to tell himself that everything is completely fine and normal.

The girl that he likes is currently sharing about the horrifying tragedy her ‘friend’ is facing, the horrifying tragedy being John’s fault, and he’s fucking lying about it. And what truly terrifies him the most is not about the fact that he’s manipulating her, he’s terrified because it feels normal and just… fine.

Normal, normal, normal–

Can John really win her over by going this path? If not, would it really matter?

He will still have the upper hand if this doesn’t end well. But then again, there’s a very small chance that it wouldn’t – if not none at all. John just needs to play his cards well and there wouldn’t be a problem. 

Bambi : thank you john. really hope that too. it doesn’t feel the same without him

John’s jaw ticks.

What do you mean it doesn’t feel the same without that fucker? I killed him for you! He was a creep who only wanted to fuck you and take you away from me and–

A dangerous feeling suddenly surge into his veins that he wants to put back together all the pieces of that fucker just to destroy it in his hands once again.

Maybe mutilating him and dissolving him in pure acid just isn’t enough. Maybe he deserved more. Maybe John should’ve took his fucking time torturing that little shit instead of killing him instantly.

John : And how are you? I hope you’re not too worried about this matter that you start to forget about taking care of yourself.

Bambi : i’m doing fine, but a bit sad bc of it. i also miss you and i wish u’re here so i wouldn’t be too sad

And just like that, it’s like all his resentment and rage just one minute prior vanished in a snap of a finger. A small smile makes its way to his face and a surge of ego soars into his chest. She has no idea she’s got a dangerous assassin wrapped around her finger and the consequences it’d bring her.

Bambi : are u still overseas? when will you be back?

John : Tomorrow, hopefully.

John : And I miss you too, sweetheart. I promise I’ll be back as soon as I finish work.

Bambi : can’t wait to see you. do u want me to pick u up at the airport? :D

John : Thank you, baby, but that won’t be necessary. I don’t want to keep you busy when you already have too much in your hands.

Bambi : mkay. but call me or text me when u arrive, ok?

John : Of course.

*

John is not stupid.

If he ever noticed a man following his every step, he didn’t once care or say a word.

It’s one of Winston’s men, obviously, following him around throughout his business in Russia up to boarding the same plane as him back to New York. Considering John had managed to catch on pretty quickly at the fact that Winston sent someone to trail him, this poor guy is not doing a particularly good job.

At first, John thought about taking care of the guy himself and bringing Winston a souvenir of his dog’s fingers or even one of his eyeballs, but decided that he is not that cruel.

He could be, but knowing he holds all the power over several people under The Table makes John wants to play the game a little longer and just fucking shiver in excitement.

Obviously Winston had noticed that John is up to no good. Not that it’s any of his business, he’s more likely just scared for his own life. He’s probably thinking it was a bad idea to bring John back into the game now that he’s living up to the horrors of his reputation and giving people exactly what they wanted.

When John first returned to the field, it was only to avenge his late wife and nothing more. But now that a bigger monster has grown within him over the course of his stay, he’s now also looking for the fuel to his fire.

And boy did he find it.

The fuel being in the form of a young woman who’s unaware of how much power she has over John. It’s only a matter of time before all hell breaks loose. 

*

10:56 PM.

“Hello.”

“Hello? John?”

“It’s me, darling. How are you?”

“Doing fine. Studying for my exam and all. Why are you calling at this hour, though?”

“Just wanted to let you know that I just arrived back in New York and see how you’re doing.”

“Oh, John, it’s so late. I was thinking earlier that you would arrive tomorrow morning or afternoon, you didn’t tell me you boarded a flight.”

“I wanted to be back as soon as possible and wanted to surprise you, but my flight got delayed so I only just arrived now.”

A soft laugh rings in his ear.

“You’re so cheeky. We can just meet up tomorrow if you’d like, go on a picnic at a park or something. I really, really wanna meet your dog.”

John hears a sigh, then the sound of paper rustling in the background. He counts – one, two, three – here it comes.

“I miss you, John.”

He pushes the curtain aside with two fingers, peering his eyes in the small opening as he watches the figure at the other side of the building. She’s sitting on her study desk in front of a laptop, freshly showered and wearing specs that John can’t help his heart to ache.

It’s been so long.

“I miss you too, sweetheart. Couldn’t stop thinking about you when I was away.”

“That’s very sweet. I hope you brought souvenirs for me, though, or otherwise I will be very sad.”

“How can I forget? I bought everything that reminded me of you when I was there.”

“Now you’re just spoiling me.” Another laugh, then John sees her getting up from the chair and laying on the bed. “I’m happy that I’d get to see you again tomorrow, John. Everything that’s been happening is just so… I don’t know. Stressful, I guess. From my friend missing and school work, I don’t even know where to start. I just wanna be with you again.”

The mention of her friend Jay ticks him the wrong way, but he can’t also help but notice the longing and desperation laced in her voice as she said the last part. John knows it wouldn’t be too hard for her to be dependent on him, he just didn’t expect it to be this easy. They’ve only met once in real life, but their constant texting and calling through the phone makes it up for it. 

“Don’t let yourself worry too much on matters that don’t concern you.”

Silence, then John watches her bite her nail anxiously. “What do you mean by that, John?”

He doesn’t particularly like the way his name just rolls off her tongue like that – like she’s his age, the same way Helen used to call him. He doesn’t want to be reminded of Helen when he’s with his little bambi, it just makes him feel even shittier with the situation. It sorta reminds John how much he truly changed when he lost Helen.

“Don’t worry about your friend too much. I know it’s hard that he’s missing, but don’t put him first before your own well being,” John advises, manipulation just dripping off his tongue like it’s the easiest thing in the world. He doubts she would notice, though. “I’m sure the police got it covered by now. I’m more worried about you.”

John could still see her expression through the window despite being far away. She’s thinking about it, letting herself get swayed by his lies and persuasion. She’s too easy, she just doesn’t know it herself, but John does. And he’s going to take advantage of it as much as he can. 

He counts again – one, two, three – and she’s dropping her hand to the bed and sighing softly. There she is.

“Okay. You’re probably right, I worry too much.”

John doesn’t reply but gives a silent hum that indicates he’s agreeing. He sees her taking off her glasses and putting it on the bedside table, suddenly the itch in his hands is back.

There’s a voice nagging at the back of his head and asking him just what the fuck is he doing, that he should stop this madness before it gets out of hand, but would that really make a difference? Even if John did stop, he’d still continue to live with the fact that he was a monster who stalked a young woman out of sheer obsession. He’d already got her dependent on him, he’d already laid out the plan on how this would turn out, why is he suddenly questioning now?

He had done stuff that was worse than manipulating. He didn’t feel a single drop of empathy when he was slaughtering people and shooting them in the head, but why does he feel guilty manipulating her?

“John? Did you already fall asleep on me?”

Soft voice snaps him out of his thoughts, then it’s followed by a soft giggle. John feels butterflies exploding in his stomach. 

“Sorry. I was just–”

“It’s okay, John, you can sleep. You’ve probably had a long day since you’ve been on a flight and everything. I’m going to sleep now too, we have a date tomorrow, remember? Don’t forget.” The faux strictness in her voice makes him smile, then he sees her smiling just as big through the window; giddy and excited. “Goodnight, John. It’s really nice talking to you again. I can’t wait to see you tomorrow.”

“Goodnight, darling. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

She hangs up first, smiling to herself before putting the phone back to her nightstand. She settles on the bed comfortably, tucking herself into her blanket, unaware of the fact that there’s a monster lurking on the other building, watching her every move like a hawk.

He catches a glimpse of himself in the old mirror on the dusty wall, dressed in black and predatory, reminiscent of the devil himself. 

Might as well live up to the name.

*

John is aware of how dead he looks in people’s eyes. He barely smiles, he’s always dressed in black, and he always has trouble showing emotions through his face. He makes sure that he gives off that aura that shows how much he dislikes everyone in the fucking room. How much he just wants to pull out his gun and shoot every single one of them in the head.

John despises the way they look at him. Like they pity him for losing his wife, for getting dragged back to the life he had already left. Though, he can’t really blame them, really. He used to pity himself too, even now for letting himself get even worse, but he wouldn’t really call it pity. He doesn’t know what it is, but it’s not pity.

The next day is interesting, to say the least.

He couldn’t get a minute of sleep the night before, the image of her sleeping so peacefully without a worry in the world bored into his mind. It’s extremely fascinating to him just how careless and… dumb she is. Dumb in a way that it’s benifiting John – the both of them, actually – and not in an offensive kind of way.

It was around two in the morning when he returned back to the hotel, managed to sleep for an hour or two before ripping off the blankets and had a drink the first thing in the morning. John didn’t bother taking a nap after that, just walking around the room making sure all is well and everything will be according to plan.

At 8 AM, she texted John a good morning and said it would be better for their date to be at 4 PM. John then replied that it was perfect, though he doubts he can wait that long.

12 PM, for a man as calm and collected as John, he sure as hell can’t fucking sit still in one place.

He’s paranoid. No amount of texts from his bambi is enough to keep him calm. The time is ticking too slowly for his liking and he has no other things to do in his free time. Except be paranoid.

John grabs his coat, kisses his dog goodbye and decides to stop by a grocery store to prepare for their date. He should at least make them both a sandwich and buy drinks, knowing that the little gesture would be enough to put a smile on her face.

1 PM, John comes back with shit ton of paper bags in his arms. He’s doing too much, he knows it, but too much is still better than not enough.

John goes to the kitchen to prepare. The orphanage taught him how to cook – well, not really. John taught himself how to cook, because if he’s not going to cook for himself and half of the kids back in Ruska, they’d all be dead with no survival instincts to save them from starvation. Being an assassin who could withstand any form of torture all while not knowing how to cook would be the greatest joke of the century. John’s not the one to be laughed out.

2 PM, everything is settled and in place, his little bambi texts him to let him know that she’s getting ready and cannot wait for their date. John then takes his time to get ready too.

3 PM, John is dressed in a nice white t-shirt with a brown leather jacket on top. He looks civilised, no one would know a damn thing that he’s one of the most feared men in the underworld who slaughters people for a living.

His dog is quiet in the corner, chewing on her bone toy until John puts a collar and leash around her neck. Her eyes perks up in excitement, already knowing they would go outside to play. John always takes his time making sure she gets to socialize with other dogs, whether it’s in a park or just down the street.

“You’re excited, baby?” John murmurs, petting her ears softly as he kneels down to her position. “You’re gonna meet someone special. Want you to be nice to her, alright? She’s gonna be your mom.”

John hauls everything into his car in a matter of minutes. The picnic basket, the blanket, his gifts for his little one that he got from Russia, also including his dog. She’s behaved yet excited as she peeks in the mirror watching her owner work.

He slides into the driver’s seat and locks his seatbelt, starting up the car and driving away from the hotel. Earlier, John had seen a couple of his co-workers loading up his trunk dressed like he’s going on a date – because he is – no doubt they’re snitching and would tell Winston. He couldn’t care less.

He arrives outside her apartment after thirty minutes, parking his car right by the entrance. He can’t help but grimace as he looks around the place. He remembers meeting her here, the day after he killed that good-for-nothing junkie. He wonders if she ever got the news, how she reacted when someone got killed the same day John was visiting her area.

It won’t be long before she wouldn’t be living in this area no more. It’s too dangerous, filled with a bunch of goons who get themselves tangled up in petty gang wars. John knows a gangster when he sees one, and it looks like every single man who lives in these crowded apartments are either pushers or gangsters with no sense of direction in life.

She doesn’t belong here. She should be in John’s house, locked up and isolated where she’s safe under his supervision. He would treat her like a princess, give her the things she deserve.

John gets out of the car, pulls out his phone and sends her a message to let her know he’s outside her building. He leans against the car as he waits.

A minute passes and a very happy bambi appears in the elevator, dressed in a pretty sundress and a white tote bag with a text John can’t see. She’s beaming up at him as she exits the building, and John hasn’t got the time to react before she’s lunging herself forward and going on tiptoe to wrap her arms around his neck.

“Whoa easy,” John murmurs, immediately wrapping his arms around her waist for support, placing his face in the crook of her neck and inhaling her scent; it’s sweet, not a surprise. “You miss me that much?”

“So much, you don’t even wanna know,” she murmurs in his chest, not quite reaching his neck despite being on her tiptoes. “I hope you miss me just as much.”

John pulls away, gives her a look as he places her large hands on her hips. “I might’ve missed you more than you missed me.”

She giggles, John could see her eyes through the heart-shaped sunglasses she’s wearing. It’s cute. “That’s not possible, I will fight you for it.”

“Hm,” John hums, eyes wandering down her lips to her dress. It stops just above her knees, John has to mentally prepare himself for the worst. “You look beautiful.”

“Thank you,” she says sheepishly. “You like it? I think it’s the perfect picnic outfit.”

“I love it,” John clarifies. “Looks perfect on you.”

“You look gorgeous yourself,” she giggles, eyeing John up and down teasingly, catching her bottom lip between her teeth. He isn’t so sure how to react to that, hopefully his dick wouldn’t take the liberty to rise from the dead at this moment. “This is the first time I’ve seen you not wearing any suits. Domestic looks good on you.”

“What can I say, I’m a changed man.” John means both good and bad. “And before we go, I want to introduce you to someone.”

Before she gets a chance to ask, John slides out of the way from his position of covering the car window and reveals a very happy pitbull waiting to be introduced to her mother.

Her smile is wide when she spots John’s pet excitedly wagging her tail inside the car. “Oh my god, she is beautiful! John, open the door, hurry, hurry, hurry–”

“Okay, okay–”

The moment John pulls the door open, the dog comes rushing out to jump and starts licking her face.

“Oh, lookie here, baby! You’re such a cutie! What’s your name, hm? Don’t got a name yet? Your dad can’t think of a name to give ya’?” 

Her giggles are like music to his ears.

The sound of paws pattering on the concrete and her high pitched voice talking to the dog fills the empty street in a matter of seconds. When she isn’t looking, John begins looking around the area, his eyes landing on the apartment building where he preys at some nights. 

There’s a person at the front desk, staring at him like he knows something, and like a switch that goes off in his brain, John recognizes this man as the same one who bumped into him a few nights ago in the hallway in front of the abandoned room where he’s staying.

They meet eyes, John flashes him a knowing look, then the man immediately looks away.

John’s jaw ticks. He’s gonna have to deal with that later.

He turns his attention back to where it’s most needed. She’s still playing with the dog, crouching beside the car while the puppy just drowns in her affection. John really hates to break the moment.

“Shall we get going?” He interjects, voice deeper than usual, still feeling a little on the edge from that man by the front desk earlier.

“Sure. She gonna be in the backseat?”

“You bet.”

John opens the door for the both of them and lets her help the puppy get inside. Before he slams the door close, he makes sure to take another look at the apartment, seeing the man already staring back at him.

Yeah. He’s really gonna have to deal with that later.

*

They arrive at the park around 4:25 and John is the one to set up their spot while she and the puppy play in the empty field. It’s empty, totally empty, and John couldn’t be more thankful than that since he really doesn’t want to be around other people besides her. She’s the only one that matters.

John notices that she brought her own dog toys, probably the ones she keeps to herself since she does work in a vet clinic after all. The sight of her happily running around the grass with his dog is enough to bring him to his knees, he is only but a man.

John calls her to eat and the two of them come running towards him and plops down on the soft blanket next to the basket full of fruits.

“Had fun?” John speaks, sitting beside her on the ground as he watches her get a plate of pasta for the two of them. She insists she gets to plate their food, John lets her.

“Very. Didn’t know she’s quite energetic, luckily for her I can match her energy extremely well.”

“It comes with being young, I guess. Can’t really relate,” he jokes, receiving the plate full of pasta she gives him while she snickers at the statement.

“Come on, John. You’re still fit despite being old.” John watches her take a bite of the food. He’s not subtle, he’s straight up staring at her lips as she wraps her mouth around the fork, savoring the flavor with closed eyes. “Hm, this is delicious. Where did you learn to cook like this?”

“By myself,” he shrugs, taking a bite of his food to keep him from taking a bite of her instead. “I’m surprised you aren’t creeped out.”

“With what?”

“With my age,” John makes it clear. “You’re young with a bright future ahead of you–”

“Yet here I am having a date with an old man?” she interjects, wiggles her eyebrows, teasing clearly with the way she emphasizes the last part. “I can’t believe you thought I’m gonna get creeped out. You’re a grown man with a stable job and not to mention very hot, I find that very sexy.”

“You think I’m sexy?” he raises a brow.

“Yes, I think you’re very sexy. I haven’t once encountered a guy my age who has the same status as you,” she sets down the plate on her lap for a moment. “You know, experienced and mature.”

“I see,” John nods. It’s very clear that she’s always found the people who contrast her so well attractive. She wants a savior that would save her from everything, luckily John fits in the description quite too well. 

They delve in a normal conversation after that. John makes sure to steer away all questions regarding him and his life, a way to learn more about her other than the pictures and videos and information he’d been sent by Alex.

John already knows a lot about her, it wouldn’t hurt to learn a little more.

Ten minutes go by, a bottle of wine has been pulled out of the basket and she’s spilling her whole life to John in a matter of moments. From lttle memories from childhood to how she moved from her hometown to New York to get away from her father. How when she was younger, she begged her toys to talk to her and she wouldn’t tell anyone. How their family pet back in the days impacted the choices she made to choose her career path – to become a veterinarian.

John listens. He’s always been good at listening instead of talking, so he listens. 

5 PM, the two of them play with the dog and she decides to name her “Blue.”

“Is it because she has blue eyes?” John asks.

“Yeah. Not really original, I know, but it fits her.”

“Blue is perfect.”

It’s already 6 PM when they decide to head home. She’s still talking the moment they’re in the car and John is still listening. There’s something about her voice that just… pulls him in. It’s so sweet and soft.

When they arrive outside her apartment complex, it’s dead silent. 

“I really enjoyed our date today, John,” she smiles when he opens the door for her, now standing in front of him and looking up to meet his eyes. “The pasta was delicious. I hope I get to eat more of them in the future – and oh, I really, really enjoyed playing with Blue! I’m so thankful that you let me name her even though it wasn’t really special–”

“Hush,” John jokingly interrupts. “The night might be over, but I can assure you that I will see you soon again.”

“How soon would that be again?”

“Eager to see me already?”

“Maybe.”

“You know I always make time for you, sweetheart,” John croons, placing a large hand on her chin and staring deeply into her eyes. “Is it too early for me to kiss you?”

She laughs, then wraps her arms around his waist to pull him in closer. John looks at her and falls in love for what to be a millionth time today. She never fails to take his breath away. “Not too early, I promise you. You should’ve done that sooner.”

“Well, I’m gonna do it now.”

Before she can add another word, John leans down to smash his lips against hers, his large hand finding its way on the small of her back to deepen the kiss that she can’t help but whimper into his mouth.

Fuck.

Her lips are so, so soft. John can still taste the lingering sweetness of the wine from earlier and being so close to her that her scent is shutting off his entire brain. If he won’t stop, he might just end up fucking her on the hood of his car until she can’t walk straight.

Their lips move in tandem and she’s following his head like she always does. Her small hands are gripping his leather jacket for support, so pliant and vulnerable, already trusting him enough to kiss him on their second date. 

This is a sudden shift in his universe, John knows he’s already won.

He’s the first to pull away and their lips are wet and connected with saliva. She’s flushed and out of breath like expected, John wants nothing more but to break her and make her his.

Oh wait, she already is.

“How was that?” John asks, voice deep.

“I wanna do it again.”

He chuckles, rubbing his thumb on her cheeks while she’s busy avoiding his eyes. “Let’s save it for next time.”

He’s gonna control himself.

“That next time better come by fast,” she threatens jokingly. “I’m gonna miss you.”

“Don’t talk like you’re not gonna see me for days, baby,” John whispers. “You know I won’t let you go that easily. You’re mine now.”

He doesn’t miss the way her pupils dilated and the way the clutch she has on his leather jackets becomes tighter. She’s already fallen deep into his trap, John wants to push his claws in even deeper.

“Say it again,” she mutters, leaning in against his warm large hand as she closes her eyes. “Say it again. Please.”

John smiles when she isn’t looking. He really won.

“You’re mine.”

*

That same night, 4 AM, John is back in his work clothes and arranging something in a dark room.

The stench of metallic blood hitting his nose, and he stands in the middle of the room to inhale that scent – god, does he truly miss it.

The sight of a man in front of him wakes something dangerous within John’s veins. Hands tied up behind the chair, head dropped forward, lifeless and cold. His lower stomach is open, guts hanging off the floor as the other half is used to gag him in the mouth. His eyes are missing, John took the liberty to take them out for staring at him too much, and he couldn’t be any more relieved when he did.

“What do you know?” John had asked as soon as the man woke up from his head concussion.

“Y-You!” The man had yelled, John didn’t bother finding out his name. “You fucking creep –”

John’s hands twitched beside him. He remained silent.

The man went on a rant about how he’d seen John around lurking outside the apartment complex and using the abandoned room on the fifth floor and that’s all John needed to know.

He didn’t need another pair of eyes to tell him what’s right and wrong. Winston is already enough.

The next morning, John receives a text from none other than his bambi. A picture of numerous police cars outside her apartment and an ambulance, and another picture of a dead body covered in white blanket getting pulled out of the building.

Bambi : there was an accident that happened near me, john :(( 

Bambi : the police said somebody was killed and i’m scared

Bambi : they said he was gutted alive 

John is smiling to himself when he types his response.

John : What kind of a sick person would do something like that?

He is not a sick person. He’s just in love.

Taglist: aerangi starrgir1 heluvsvalefr danika1994 fraisejoon doggodorime ohmytate

[sotwk]

The Best Gift (Legolas x unnamed OC)

Summary: Legolas wishes a "dear friend" a Joyous Begetting Day--but anonymously.

Dedication: For my dearest @quickslvxrr, who has been such a constant and patient supporter. I'm so sorry it took forever to grant such a simple fic request from you. I hope this brings you some joy during rather difficult times. <3

Word count: 1.3k

Rating: General Audience

Content: Fluff, comedy, romance, shy young Legolas, secret pining, brotherly banter, OC Son of Thranduil (Prince Gelir) 

Warnings: None

To Read on AO3: LINK

The Best Gift

Third Age 556 June 26th

The Woodland Realm

“What in Araw’s name are you doing?”

Legolas gave a muffled cry and stumbled back a couple of steps, but caught his balance before he could crash into the shrubbery outside the small kitchen window. 

“Get down!” he hissed at his brother Gelir, grabbing the older ellon’s sleeve and yanking him down to the dirt beside him.

His heart racing like frightened deer’s, Legolas listened carefully for changes in the movement within her cottage, any sign that she might have overheard his dolt of a brother’s voice and sought to investigate. Mercifully, the melody of her sweet humming continued to float uninterrupted from the open window. 

“Oh, are you the only one permitted to wish our dear friend a Joyous Begetting?” Gelir smirked and punched him on the shoulder. “If I too had a gift I wished to present to her for the occasion, would you pound me?”

“No!” Legolas blurted out quickly; too quickly. “Wait--have you brought a gift for her?”

“I have not, because I had assumed your answer to that question would be yes. And as little as I fear your wee hits, honeg, I do not particularly enjoy being on the receiving end of them.” 

Gelir shoved the younger prince aside, leapt lightly to his feet, and crept over to peer above the windowsill. Legolas held his breath, despite knowing Gelir would never be seen or heard by any elf, man, or beast if he did not wish for them to. The worrisome issue was the great pleasure his brother seemed to derive from embarrassing him at every open opportunity--something one might assume a grown elf would grow weary of after two and half centuries, but it had yet to happen. 

Thankfully, after an agonizing few seconds, Gelir dropped back down to their hiding spot. “I see you opted for the purple night lilies.” He cocked an eyebrow at Legolas. "I seem to recall Ammë setting certain conditions on the use of the rarest blooms from her garden."

"You recall correctly," said Legolas tersely. All four of his elder brothers were frustratingly knowledgeable of the details of his personal business--a result of the powerful bonds that linked them. But Gelir was easily bored, and the only one to actually stick his nose in for active meddling. "She did not set a time by which I am required to make myself known."

"And is Ammë also aware you have spent--on my guess--at least the last two hours sitting outside this unwitting maid’s window hoping that she would come to some sort of epiphany?”

Legolas thought about the smile that lit up her face so beautifully his entire chest ached, and the way it had stayed on her face the entire time he waited there, content to just observe the joy he had caused. 

“I believe she knows. Or is close to discerning it.” 

“You are right. She must realize eventually that a plant so rare and valuable could only come from a high lord or prince.” Gelir snapped his fingers. “Perhaps I should walk in there and take the credit and her fair heart to boot!”

Legolas jerked his head suddenly. “You wouldn’t!”

“You are right. I would not; that would be wrong.” Gelir leaned in closer, his expression suddenly stern. “But it is just as egregious to carry on as long as you have, making veiled overtures to this lady rather than mustering the courage to speak the truth of your feelings plainly to her face.”

“The pursuit of someone’s affections must be like hunting. When you hunt an animal, you go with the focused intent of finishing the job as quickly as possible. You do not toy with the creature to scare or confuse it and cause it needless pain.” 

Gelir clamped a hand on his younger brother’s shoulder. “I may not know what it is like to lose my heart in this manner, little brother. But I know it is unfitting that I show greater respect to animals I stalk than you do to someone you profess to love.” 

The sudden outpouring of wisdom from his wise-cracking brother rendered Legolas speechless.  But something on his face must have quelled Gelir’s baser instincts to tease and mock him. 

“Explain your struggle. Where does all your hesitation lie?”

“I…she…” His brother seemed so genuine this time in his desire to help, that the words broke through Legolas’s reluctance to expose his vulnerabilities. “What if she does not feel the same way I do? What if she will not have me?”

“She does and she will.”

“How do you know for certain?”

“Because I have two eyes and I use them,” Gelir said flatly, his patience already worn thin. “Unlike the both of you, evidently, who cannot gaze directly at each other's faces long enough to notice how nauseatingly smitten you are with one another.”

Legolas’s hands curled into tight fists. Against his better instincts, he wanted to believe it. What maiden could refuse a son of the Elvenking if he offered her his heart?

Well, she could, in all likelihood. For what was his title against true beauty and grace such as hers? Why should he be her first choice when she could have anyone in the entirety of Eryn Galen?

“Bah! Enough of this tragic nonsense.” Gelir’s hand around his arm easily tugged the dazed Legolas to his feet.  “I will not let you waste any more time squatting here like a toad. And even toads have the sense to croak and announce their intentions.”

Gelir hooked his arm around his brother’s hunched shoulders and gave him a firm shake. “Perhaps a few bottles from Ada’s cellars might rally those nerves, eh? Come. With any luck,  you can make another go of it before the day’s end.”

As they trudged around the hedges to start the trek back up to the King’s palace, Legolas wrestled with the sense of failure at his retreat. Why could he not be more like his brothers, if not like their father? Afraid of nothing, brimming with confidence to speak their mind to anybody. What was stopping him?

Nobody. Nobody but himself. 

Legolas froze in place so suddenly that Gelir nearly lost his balance. “What--?”

The younger prince turned to squarely face the pathwalk leading back to the cottage, glaring at the bright green door with the intensity of one about to leap across an impossible distance over a deadly chasm. 

“Yessss. Go on!” He distantly heard Gelir hoot as he began his determined stride up the path. 

But then he heard something else. Footsteps. A doorknob turning. 

The color drained from Legolas’s face and his legs turned to lead. He twisted about to scurry away and out of sight, but a pair of powerful hands suddenly seized the back of his tunic, lifting him so that his boot soles left the ground. 

A hard, rough toss pitched the helpless elf to the cottage just as the door swung open. He flailed his arms out to regain his balance and avoid face-planting on the stoop, but not quickly enough to avoid bumping against the maiden that had stepped out of her home. 

“H-Hello.” He gulped down the panic that rose up his chest, as the nearness of her, such as he had never experienced before, enfolded him. Her scent, her warmth, her…touch? Legolas realized that she had raised her hands and planted them firmly against his chest, likely to help break his ungraceful fall. 

“I… uh, I came to wish you… that is…I-I just wanted to say…” Valar, did Gelir’s shove knock his tongue loose from his mouth?!  

“I wished so badly for it to be you!" she suddenly blurted out, and stuck forward her chin in her willful defiance of protocol.

“R-really?” Unexpected joy and relief burst out of Legolas’s chest like a flock of sparrows exploding from a bush.

The sweetest blush rosied her cheeks, but she still had not moved her hands from the front of his tunic, he noticed. “The flowers are the most beautiful present I have ever received, but knowing that what I had hoped for is true, that they came from you… that is really the best gift.”

“I do not believe there is anyone gladder about your begetting than I,” the elf prince avowed.

And as her whole face lit up brighter than Gil-Estel, as she slid her arm through his and guided him into the cottage, Legolas felt the nudge of a distinct sound inside his head: the chuckle of an older brother whom he had just given yet another anecdote to refer to the next time he wanted to crow over being “always right”. 

Elves HC Tag List: @a-world-of-whimsy-5 @achromaticerebus @aduialel @asianbutnotjapanese @auttumnsayshi @blueberryrock @conversacomsmaug @elan-ho-detto-elan-15 @entishramblings @fizzyxcustard @freshalmondpandadonut @friendofthefellowshipsnerdblog @glassgulls @heilith @heranintomyknife23times @ladyweaslette @laneynoir @lathalea @lemonivall @LiliDurin @quickslvxrr @ratsys @scyllas-revenge @stormchaser819 @talkdifferently6 @tamryniel @tamurilofrivendell

For more SotWK Fanfiction: Fanfiction Masterlist

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[olderthannetfic]

This is partly a vent and partly hoping someone reading this can offer some advice or at least insight into wtf the person/people doing this are hoping to accomplish.

Over the past few months, someone(s) has been sending purity policing “concerned” anon asks to people in my fandom, mostly about supposed untagged triggering content. Which sounds like standard anti bullshit at first glance, but there are some really weird aspects to this situation, and I don’t know what to make of it.

First, in both of the cases I’ve seen, the “untagged” content Concerned Anon complained about was comprehensively tagged, way beyond fandom norms. Concerned Anon is complaining about something that isn’t even true.

Second, the people who received these asks seem to me like really weird targets for anon harassment. From what I’ve seen, they’re both really nice people. Not in the Cult of Nice way, but in the welcoming to newcomers, supporting all shippers even the people who ship things they’re not into, willing to chat about even the most wild theory or headcanon you might have without judgment kind of nice. Good stewards of fandom, I guess is what I’m trying to say. So I don’t get why anyone would want to target them. Especially since one of them wasn’t even being harassed about their own work, but about a fic someone else wrote that they happen to like!

Third, if the source material for this fandom were a fic on AO3, it would easily meet the threshold for all archive warnings. This isn’t about Stephen King fandom, but it’s got that level of things antis lose their shit over. Why is Concerned Anon even in this fandom? Why are they ~*so concerned*~ over fic when canon is like that?

Since the first Concerned Anon ask, I’ve noticed a sharp drop-off not just in ~*problematic*~ fic, but in fic in the fandom in general. I know fandom engagement comes and goes and there could be a lot of reasons for that unrelated to Concerned Anon. I can even think of a couple specific reasons it would be happening in this fandom. But the timing rubs me the wrong way, especially since it doesn’t seem like there’s as much a of a drop-off in general fandom activity, and I’m worried the latest set of Concerned Anon asks will have an even more chilling effect on fic writers.

I hate that this is happening. I hate that people who are just out here making fandom fun are being targeted. I hate that it might be discouraging people who haven’t been targeted from writing. I hate the possibility that Concerned Anon is out there harassing other people in the fandom who haven’t responded to them or that I just haven’t seen. I hate that, as a complete fandom nobody, I probably have no power to do anything about this. I hate that the person or people behind Concerned Anon probably aren’t even going to have to face up to being this kind of shitty, because it’s all anonymous.

--

People pop up in the inboxes where the owner can get their comments in front of more eyeballs.

Of course they want to poison the blogs of the welcoming fans who get the newbies writing fic.

The way to combat them is for those bigger blogs to either ignore them entirely or to politely but firmly tell them where they can shove it while pointing out that they're a liar.

They're a toxic blight on other people's inspiration, and the "nice" blogs should tell them so. The failure to do so is going to have at least as much of a chilling effect as their shitty comments themselves.

[coaldustcanary]

On a related note, if there's one thing I'd have done differently 8 years ago when I started volunteering for the OTW, it's choosing a totally anonymous name to volunteer under or even just using my first name. Because I've been fannish for nearly 30 years at this point, 20 of them under this username, it's now all mixed in with my volunteering in ways that cannot be easily detangled. Especially if you volunteer for a public- facing committee, you probably will want to have from distance from your fannish identity as a volunteer, and for some positions it is required that you do so.

Do you have any advice regarding volunteering with OTW with a real name vs a fan name? thx

Hi! I'm not sure if you mean real first name verses real full name so I'll answer both--

For first name, it's really up to personal preference, and maybe how common your name is. Since mine is very common, and there were already half a dozen people volunteering under that name when I joined, I didn't think or worry about it that much. But a lot of people also go by fandom names, and no one really blinks about it either way. (And obviously just because someone's real name is more likely to be George than Pop-Tart, it doesn't mean George is George's actual name.)

Choose carefully though, because it WILL stick, especially if it sounds like it could be an actual name. Ask yourself if you want your friends calling you George even when you're at meetups, or sharing a house, or attending their wedding.

Re full name: Some people do volunteer under their full wallet name. For some roles it's required (Board, treasurer, DCRO) and in some roles, it doesn't have to be your volunteer name, but your wallet name has to be on documentation that select people have access to (for example, if you're in a role where you're spending money directly instead of asking Finance to put payments through for you, or getting reimbursed via PayPal, Finance will know your full name.)

If you don't have to volunteer under a full name, I wouldn't recommend it, just out of basic privacy precautions.

[yaut-jaknowit]

Can we see how Gawtin got caught/lost her armor/weapons while she was prego?

-🥤

To Far Off Lands

Character: Gawtin

Word Count: 2069

Summary: As a pregnant female, cravings can hit hard. There is nothing that can stop one from going after their cravings. It's best to step out of the way and let them go. Gawtin leaves Yautja Prime a week before she is due. She has a craving for a ooman treat.

Author Note: I don't know if you wanted this serious or not. I wanted to go silly a little before doing down a dark hole. The beginning isn't all that great, sorry. But I redeemed myself towards the end!

This part is .5 | Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3

Masterlist

Ao3

Throughout Gawtin’s whole pregnancies, there was something particular about her. It’s common amongst females to crave a special food or treat. May it just be from the baker down the street or a deep hunt on a planet long forgotten. Gawtin was no different. Something deep within her belly demanded a sweet treat she had long ago on a planet that’s highly populated.

Dangerous, yes. To see a raging pregnant female was to see you your doom. That’s a situation no one rarely survived.

Gawtin wasn’t stopped. Not even by her own mother. The heavily pregnant female took her ship and flew off into the stars.

A trip expected to take at most a week. As a female Yautja, she was more than capable of handling herself. But pregnant was a whole different deal. Heavily pregnant. Though, they can move nearly the same as any other day, the risks weren’t favorable. It was safer to stay in the comfort of home and wait out the last couple of weeks until birth.

.

The vessel landed smoothly inside of an empty parking lot. Long had the night swallowed up any light. A quick trip. This was all that was.

She dawned little gear deeming it safe enough to roam the streets. It was just enough for some protection; plus, the cloak that would hide her from prying eyes. Then, the green Yautja was heading out the back ramp and into the night.

No moon light up the sky and darkened the space around her. Gawtin quickly found the tops of buildings to take her towards the bakery. All of her senses were locked onto the sweet smell that led her there. Drool dripped from her covered mouth. She was on the move and nothing could stop her. Her main focus was to quell her cravings that rumbled her stomach.

In the random city, there wasn’t much traffic at night. Nor was there much light to spot the rapidly moving alien on the rooftops of businesses. No one was the wiser at the silent steps. She was just a shadow, too quick to see in the night.

Her steps skidded to a stop on a familiar rooftop. The Yautja glanced around and finally used her training to ensure no one was around. Then, she dropped down into the back alley. Not a soul was to be found. Dirty water splashed up and wettened her leg. A sneered over took her features before she walked up to the door.

The cloak was activated, hiding her from any eyes. With brute strength, Gawtin grips the door handle and easily rips it clean off. The metal groans and gives into the higher power. She’s able to open the door and takes in a lungful. The smells and odors that poured out was relieving and only made her all the hungrier.

Purple eyes peeked around the edges and found no one inside. Her lethal form stalks inside the little shop, gaze deeply scanning the place. When they landed on the one thing she was hunting for, Gawtin lit up and instantly rushed over to the shelf protected by glass. Inside were snickerdoodle cookies. An elbow to the fragile glass caused it to shattered.

The cookies were brought out. Gawtin lifted up her biomask and shoved one into her mouth already. A heady groan escaped her throat. The green Yautja nearly melted to the floor at that moment. A wall acted for her support while she heavily leaned against it and savored the delicious taste that overtook every sense in her mind. This was hitting that spot the needed to be itched desperately.

It suddenly turned sour. Her stomach twisted with a horrible feeling. She stood up and observed her surroundings. Too late. Something sharp pinched her skin. Her head snapped towards the direction.

For the first time in a long, long time, Gawtin felt fear.

Gawtin’s body jerked. Loud sounds vibrated into her head. Pain radiated from her skull, throbbing and pounding. Stars sparkled behind her eyelids. Gawtin didn’t even attempt to open them, for the pain was too great to fight off. She could barely feel the tips of her toes and fingers. This felt like the first time the day after she had a drink of c'ntlip. Her worse decision in life with lots and lots of trouble.            

Nothing moved. Gawtin pulled. None of her limbs would listen to her command. She groaned and scrunched up her face. This didn’t feel right. The biomask no longer sat upon her face, forcing her to breath a more oxygen rich air. It caused her to breath heavier to find the nitrogen that her body requires.

This meant… she was still on earth. Where exactly was she?!

Despite the pain, Gawtin ripped open her eyes and immediately regretted it. Bright, luminescence lights blinded her vision. All she could see was white for what felt like hours before her pupils constricted enough. The pain didn’t go away.

The ceiling was a stark white. Only the circular rings for the lights embedded into the metal disrupted the flat surface. The rest of the room stayed that plain, blinding white. A sterile environment that reeked of death and bleach. Gawtin pulled her mandibles in tight but that did little to save her from the smell.

From what she’s seen, this looked like a doctor’s office or… a lab. Gawtin pulled harder and felt metal dig into her flesh. There was enough space for her to glance down. Metal cuffs locked her snug to the uncomfortable metal bed. She tried again to break free but the metal barely gave a groan of protest. She clacked her mandibles together and furrowed her brows. Thoughts were running rampant in her mind. Anyway to get free. She had to get back to her ship at least.

Her suckling was due soon.

Fear stuck to her like a second skin. Her heart pounded in her chest. Nothing she could do would be able to calm her down. Gawtin was trapped. By ooman’s. While she was ready to give birth in the next week. She held back a whine and gritted her mandibles together. There had to be a way out. She knows the stories by other Yautjas who’ve been captured. There are chances for escape. She’ll have to take every possibility and survive. She’ll have to be quick.

A whoosh of a door had her eyes snapping over to the direction. It had been some time since she had woken up. The female refused to sleep or doze off. No one would touch her. Let alone her unborn suckling.

“Oh, she’s awake!” a masculine voice echoed throughout the room. With the little movement she could perform, all Gawtin could do was listen to the noisy oomans filling into the space.

A head peered over her lying down form. Black hair and bright blue eyes greeted her. A bright light was flashed into her eyes, causing her to flinch uncontrollably. “Good, good. She’s responsive to light. The tranquilizer hadn’t caused any damage,” he continued. Gawtin snarled deep from her throat and tried to lunge up, mandibles spread wide.

One sharp fang is able to nick the man’s pale cheek. Bright red blood dots the line. In any other moment, Gawtin would’ve smirked. He jerked back with a cry and cupped at his injured face. “Fuck! It needs to be tighter,” he demands, eyes darting off to someone else out of her vision.

Another ooman grew to close for comfort and knelt down. The strap around her throat tightened to the point it choked her, preventing even more nitrogen from reaching her lungs. Gawtin thrashed around on the table.

“Not that tight!” A curse left a different creature’s mouth. The strap loosened up again. Only for her to have the ability to breath. Gawtin couldn’t even lift her head off of the table anymore. The position was uncomfortable to say the least. She snarled again and projected death with her eyes only at everyone she could see.

The same man from before huffed and closed in on Gawtin again. “Good try. But, you’ve got to be quicker than that,” he taunted. One of the worse things to do to a Yautja. It only grew worse with the fact Gawtin was a female and pregnant. It was a pot full of bad decisions and ideas on how to slaughter this creature for even looking at her.

“Now-“ he clapped his hands together with a look that caused her spine to tense up. The man sidestepped down her body to stand directly in front of her belly. Gawtin’s purple eyes widened. Instinct instantly surged inside of her. Gawtin strained against the metal cuff’s holding onto her and roared so loud the walls vibrated.

Fear filled the air. Everyone stumbled away from her and knocked into things behind them. Gawtin panted heavily, her blood pumping for the fight was ready to perform. They were all going to die. All by her hand’s and talons. She’ll bathe in their blood and walk out of this place with no one to stop her.

“We need to sedate that thing!” Someone yelled at the top of their lungs. Fear controlled their actions and words.

“No, we can’t. We don’t know what it may do to her after a second dose. We need the child alive and healthy,” the black haired man argued and stood in front of her to block the other person. She looked to be a fighter. The stance, her voice, even the way she used her voice.

She closed in on the lab coat man and stood eye-level with him. “Are you willing to risk the entire safety of the facility for an alien child? It’ll be your head that thing will go for first,” she grounded out and harshly pointed a finger into his chest. Gawtin narrowed her eyes on them. If anyone got close again, she’ll have no trouble tearing them apart. Limb from limb.

The man sputtered and wildly shook his head. “That’s the whole point for this capture. You signed up for this task, Captain Jones. If you can’t handle a restrained Yautja, you aren’t fit for the job. This is a once-in-a-century opportunity. No one has been able to even study these guys like we have. Now the fact we have one that’s pregnant, is beyond anything possible.” This deepened her hatred for the ooman race. She’ll even advocate for the elimination of the entire planet. No one shall survive.

Captain Jones dark eyes flash with anger. Her sharp lined face twisted. “Why yes I did sign up to protect you and your team from injury. But, I cannot do that when you are willingly placing yourself in danger,” she snapped back at him. Her piercing gaze flickered over to Gawtin. The Yautja would’ve been impressed if she wasn’t in the predicament she was in right now. To look a Yautja in the eye for long than a few seconds issued a challenge.

“I’m in charge of this operation. We are keeping her awake the entire time,” he demanded and put his foot down. For once, she was relieved of one good outcome. If she was awake, she can watch, observe, plan. She can deter anyone from getting too close. Let them watch. She’ll be their downfall.

“The blood will be on your hands, Cunningham.” The warrior pivoted on her heel and marched straight out of the room.

From the corner of her eye, she saw the way Cunninham’s shoulders sagged with relief.  “Man, that woman scares me.” His body shuddered before he turned to finally face Gawtin. The cut on his face had stopped bleeding. “Well, aren’t you glad you get to stay awake, pretty?”

An uneasy feeling crawled up the length of her spine. The black-haired man stepped back up to the table she was strapped to. His hand reached out. She was already fighting the cuffs again, howling up a storm. Harsh words and promises of slaughter in her native language spew from your mandibles. It does nothing to stop him from resting a hand on her swollen belly.

“You’ll be exciting to observe. You’ll bring a revolution of our knowledge about this side of your species. You should take that as a compliment!”

The metal groaned. She was going to string him up by his veins like a pauk-de puppet.

[nartml]

To Pimp a Butterfly and 1989: a rant

Listen here, three things about me are that I'm a) white as snow, b) Greek, c) still a minor.

What does this mean? It means that I obviously wasn't raised with hip-hop, and I got into Kendrick Lamar's music pretty late.

As in, early this year.

I've known of him for some time, and the moment I found out he had a Pulitzer prize at some point in late-ish 2023, I decided I had to sit my ass down and pull out Spotify.

Now, as an avid reader of both fanfiction (ao3 raised me) and books [I feel the immense need to clarify that I don't associate myself with mainstream booktok. Capitalism's consumerism has overrun that shit and all I see are the same 20 books being recycled and recommended (a substantial amount of those are Colleen Hoover and her variants). Tropes and spice* are officially the defining factors of whether a book is worth it (*your porn addiction ain't cute) and quantity is heavily prioritized at the expense of quality. Also, diversity who?], I was, for a lack of a better word, hyped.

A Pulitzer prize is nothing to scoff at in general, more so in music, more so in hip-hop.

(Edit: Upon quick reflection, I realize that putting emphasis on hip-hop can come across as coded.

I am in no way, shape, or form trying to undermine hip-hop or say that it's somehow less 'sophisticated' than, for example, classical music. I'm very aware of the amount of skill and technique one needs to write a masterful hip-hop album, and I'm not doubting that there are hip-hop artists out there who are also incredibly deserving of such a prize. I meant it in the sense that I've unfortunately never heard of another hip-hop artist who won a Pulitzer before, which is quite telling.)

That's some huge shit, and I'd be a fool not to be intrigued.

Admittedly, I didn't get on that immediately. For a while I procrastinated, because I wasn't in the mood to hyper-fixate on anything new just yet.

Which of course meant I ended up forgetting about it for a few months, because of course I did.

But then I came across a TikTok that talked about how it was insane that '1989' won the Grammy when To Pimp a Butterfly was right there.

Now, a fourth thing about me is that I don't fuck with Taylor Swift.

And a fifth thing about me is that I'm not baseless in anything that I do, say or feel, and that includes annoyance.

Her immature understanding of activism and feminism leaves a bad taste in my mouth. The way she built up her fan base around this portrayal of her as a relatable girl's girl, her refusal to accept criticism, and always making a victim out of herself (even now when she's in her thirties and is a fucking billionaire) while never using her position of power and privilege for good are all reasons that serve to fuel my dispassionate dislike.

And before any Swifties get on my ass, no, I don't think that "But she's a singer! Why are you expecting so much out of her, she isn't even qualified to speak on XYZ—" is a good enough excuse.

She has always been rich, and now she's a billionaire. There are no ethical billionaires, and that includes her.

Fame is influence is power. Uncle Ben said it all: With great power comes great responsibility.

And let me tell you, I don't see her owning up to that responsibility, especially after all that talk about how she supports women, supports the LGBTQ community, and supports the BLM movement. Has she ever actually put her abundant money where her mouth is?

I've never seen her speak about anything that doesn't immediately concern her.

Don't get me wrong. She's not the only celebrity like this out there. I'm sure there are worse cases. I know it for a fact.

To wrap this segment up before I get even more sidetracked, I'll outright state that I don't hate her, because hating her would by definition mean that I, in some way, actually care about her, and that just sounds exhausting.

Best way to describe me is indifferent, leaning towards distasteful.

She's annoying.

And that's how I feel about both her as a person and her as an artist.

I'm not denying her talent, nor her impact on the industry, nor the fact that she does have good songs that even I like.

A select few, of course, but still.

Apart from those...what? Ten songs? I have never, ever been able to listen to any other song of her's all the way through.

I get bored. They do nothing for me. They sound empty. Hollow. Plastic. Repetitive.

Her lyrics, that are praised by fans for being deep and complex, sound pretty surface level to me.

Not all of them. But I'm a sucker for analysis. A literature nerd. Greek is my native language. I can tell when something's deep and when something wants to be deep.

(Not necessarily including Folklore and Evermore in that category. Her storytelling ability is actually great.)

Her music largely sounds like it wants to be deep.

Most recent example being her latest release, The Tortured Poets Department.

Anyway, back to Kendrick.

My initial plan was to listen to 'DAMN.' first, because that's what he won the Pulitzer for in the first place.

There was a change of plans after that TikTok.

I decided to compare the opening tacks.

I put on Welcome to New York, and predictably, I felt nothing.

The rhythm is dance-y, I suppose. But there's nothing substantial about it. There's nothing exciting about it.

The lyrics are juvenile, and I get it, it's a pop song and she was in her twenties.

Nobody is expecting Shakespeare (no matter how much you scream or kick your feet, the only reason Shakespeare couldn't write Taylor Swift is because he's in another league entirely) or Odysseus Elytis. Nobody is expecting mind-blowing lyricism.

But it's the opening track to an apparently Grammy-worthy album. The very least I'd expect from it would be some additional levels of artistry.

Am I being harsh? Probably. Do I care? No.

Disappointed but unsurprised, I put on Wesley's Theory.

I ascended within the first minute.

Don't get it twisted, I barely understood shit.

Not only am I white, I am also entirely removed from America and its culture as a whole. I don't know what's going on there in y'all's daily lives.

And this was baby's first proper introduction to hip-hop as a whole.

My untrained, white-ass ear barely caught two references. I got what the gist of the song was about, and that's about it.

I had to look up analyses of the track to fully grasp what Kendrick was on about, and even then, there was obviously still a disconnect.

And I expected all of that.

I didn't expect to get hooked on that song within the first listen.

I swear to fuck, the beat is addictive. I swear to fuck, even when I was fighting to understand what the lyrics were referencing, I was having the time of my life.

Even I, an amateur in every sense of the word, could tell that there was depth and there was quality and there was intentional meaning in every line of that song.

It didn't matter that I couldn't understand it. It mattered that I knew it was there. Not because someone told me that was the case. But because it was audible.

I listened to the next track. And the one after that. And the one after that. I had listened to all of the tracks, before I knew it.

And the evident permeance of quality, of substance, carried on throughout the whole album.

It had exactly the type of lyricism I'd expect a Grammy-worthy album to have. It had exactly the amount of artistry I expected a Grammy-worthy album to have.

Even better, it had all the ingredients I expected a timeless album to have.

The poetry Taylor Swift fans insist hides in her discography, I found in plain sight within Kendrick Lamar's.

After meticulously reading the lyrics, I watched video essay after video essay, searched for analysis after analysis on this album, each time understanding the meanings behind it a little better.

Needless to say that the Grammy's are rigged and I love Kendrick Lamar.

Hip-hop is gorgeous.

[etaleah]

Absolutely sucks that your blog is ravaged with proshipping apologia. Like yeah enjoying dark subject matter in fiction doesn't mean you condone it IRL (I myself am an avid gore and kink fan and use that to express my feelings in art) but uhhh there's a difference between depicting pedophilia in a story and actively jacking it to child porn which is what most if not all proshippers are trying to justify.

The Venn diagram between proshippers and anime lolicons is a circle. "Ohhh it's not real" yeah sure technically but that's still very much a child being raped on screen you're getting your rocks off to. Being in the second dimension doesn't negate that.

Most proshippers don't actually care about properly depicting complex subject matter in art. They just wanna write their incest rape South Park fics and call anyone who calls them out on it "puritans." (I doubt any of you really understand what that word means. If not liking child porn makes me a puritan then call me the Virgin fucking Mary.) It's all excuses, excuses.

Fiction affects reality more than you think. It's why propaganda is so effective. It's why Jim Crow and minstrelsy was (and still is tbh) so harmful to African Americans. Why do you think POC care about how they're depicted in media so much? It very much influences thinking, how people see the world.

(There is an argument to be made about the rampant racism in fandom, but that's a whole other conversation.)

Don't dismiss this ask. I want you to read it very carefully and get yourself out of the echo chamber you've put yourself in. Consider the points made at the very least. Use the "critical thinking" you claim to love so much.

I have considered the points you made and read them very carefully, and I have found them incorrect, relying on faulty logic, and full of unverified assumptions and false equivalences. I now bring you a full breakdown of exactly why, though I’m putting it under a cut in case anyone wants to avoid the Discourse™ because this breakdown is a long one.

*cracks knuckles* Here we go!

You clearly have a different definition of “proship” than I do. I and those that I have reblogged or liked (as far as I can tell) are “proship” in the sense that we’re arguing for the freedom to read what you want and write what you want because thoughtcrime isn’t real, no one gets hurt inside your head, and the ability to read and write what we wish is vital to a free society. That’s my definition of “proship,” and if you have a different definition and are determined to stick to it, there’s not much I can do about that. I can only tell you what my definition is so that you know what I’m referring to when I talk about it in this post or reblog posts mentioning it.

If you’re referring to what’s on AO3 (which is what I am mainly concerned with, as I don’t talk about other fanfic sites on my blog), that is not child porn. It’s not. The term child porn refers to sexual photos and videos of real children, not text-only stories about fictional ones. AO3 does not allow users to upload videos nor does it allow users to upload photos except for their profile pictures, and it is literally written into their Terms of Service that they do not allow child pornography on their site. You couldn’t put child porn on AO3 if you tried. Text by itself with no photos or videos accompanying it is not child porn, and that’s true no matter how disgusting and immoral you find it. I don’t support or justify child porn because I don’t support or justify real children being hurt, which is what actual child porn involves and requires.

What I do support is the freedom for everyone to read and write what they want, and I am not going to stop supporting that.

How do you know that the people reading or writing a fic are “getting their rocks off to” or “actively jacking it” to what's in it? Did they tell you? Have you developed telepathic powers and read their minds? How do you know that people “don’t actually care about properly depicting complex subject matter in art?” Don’t dismiss those questions, answer them. You don’t know why someone is reading something and you don’t know why someone is writing something. I have no idea whether the person checking Mein Kampf or Birth of a Nation out of a library is a racist who agrees with everything in both works or a scholar doing research for a paper on racism or just an average joe who wants to see what’s in there for themselves and form their own conclusions, which is a perfectly fine and intellectually healthy thing to want. I don’t know which of these is the case and I’m not going to automatically assume the worst-case scenario, nor am I going to demand that the person checking out those works provide me with an explanation because they don’t owe me one. You don’t know why someone is reading or writing a rape or incest story. Maybe they find it sexy or maybe they’re a victim themselves, working through their trauma by expressing it via the written word. You don’t know which one it is, and they don’t owe you an explanation. I’d advise you not to automatically assume the worst-case scenario either.

Because you know what happens when people assume the worst of an author’s intentions and assume they know what a work is doing? You get situations like Isabel Fall’s and Lindsay Ellis’ where people were sure they knew that the former was being transphobic with her short story and that the latter was trivializing rape with her “rape rap.” They were so sure, as sure as you are in your ask, not a doubt in their minds, didn’t think it was possible for there to be any other reason or interpretation, and so they felt totally justified in harassing those women. I’m sure each of them convinced themselves they were doing this because they were an ally who just cared so much and that those authors deserved the hate they were getting because (gasp!) they wrote something bad and if you write something bad, you should expect to be called out. And then they found out—oops! Turns out Isabel Fall was a trans person and not a cis person being transphobic after all, and was actually writing a story about a subject she had plenty of experience with, and—oops! Turns out Lindsay Ellis was an assault victim herself and she was coping with her trauma in the best way she could because making a lighthearted rap about the subject made it more accessible, easier to deal with, and not as scary and she wasn’t making fun of victims after all. Whoops!

How do you know the people writing these fics you find so horrible aren’t doing something similar to Ellis and Fall? How do you know they aren’t victims working through their grief and trauma in a way that helps them? How do you know you’re not misjudging and assuming the worst of them just like Fall’s and Ellis’ haters misjudged and assumed the worst of them? Don’t dismiss those questions, answer them. How do you know?

Why do you get to be the authority who decides what “properly depicting complex subject matter in art” even looks like? Maybe someone else read it and decided it was properly depicted; why does your opinion and interpretation matter more than theirs? Why is yours the correct one? Don’t dismiss those questions, answer them.

I don’t know what anime lolicon is, so I’m not gonna comment on that, though I will say it disproves your point about the Venn diagram being a circle since I am technically a proshipper and yet I don’t even know what that is. I’m sure if you look hard enough, you can probably find someone using the proship label who has done something bad or supports something bad, but the same can be said about antis. You get assholes in every group. Doesn’t mean everyone in the group is a bad person.

(Also I know this isn’t the most important point here but the fact that you’re more worried about the content of South Park fanfics rather than the South Park show itself says to me that you care more about finding an easy target than about minimizing harm because that show has plenty of racist and anti-Semitic “jokes” in it that are being fed to a much larger audience than any fanfic of it could ever have, yet I don’t see you being worried at all about that. Wonder why.)

(Another less important point but one I’m still going to indulge in: I find your line about “if that makes me a puritan then call me the Virgin Mary” funny in an ironic way because in trying to claim that people don’t know what the word puritan means, you proved that you yourself don’t know what it means by implying that puritan = virgin. Puritan and virgin are not the same thing. Virgin is a state of being that could be voluntary or, if you want sex but can’t find anyone to give it to you, it could be involuntary. One could be a virgin and still be sex-positive just like one could be a religious fundamentalist with ten kids who’s had all the sex required to make those ten kids but still be sex-negative and think that only the straight married baby-making kind is okay and all other kinds are impure and gross. Unlike virginity, puritanism is a mindset, not a state of being, and therefore it is always voluntary. You can be one without being the other. Again, not a super important point, but I thought the irony of that line was funny.)

You do know that Jim Crow was a set of laws and policies set down by the government and enforced by police and courts and not, like…a dirty fanfic or book, right? You do know that? It was and still is a legal framework that’s baked into the justice system and has been the driving force behind everything from mass incarceration to drug policy to redlining and housing to voter disenfranchisement. Bitch, I fucking wish that Jim Crow was nothing more than a bad fanfic or a bad story; that would make it a hell of a lot easier to fight! Acting like any one (fan)fiction writer or any one piece of (fan)fiction has the same amount of power as the fucking US government is some insane false equivalence.

As for the representation argument, you’re misunderstanding what that movement is about and why the founders of it cared about the state of media. We Need Diverse Books and organizations like it did not start their campaigns because they were disgusted by what White writers were doing and wanted to stop them and make sure they could never do it again. They started their campaigns to empower and encourage authors of color. It began when a few Black mothers were looking for books for their kids and realized they couldn’t find any with a Black child on the cover, not because they read something a White person wrote and were so horrified by it that they had to put a stop to it. Being so horrified by something in a story that you have to put a stop to it is what Moms for Liberty does. The goal of the representation matters movement is to diversify the publishing industry since it’s still majority White, to publish more authors of color because most of the authors being published are still White, and to update school curriculums so that students of color can read about and study characters like themselves. All of which are good and reasonable goals. It is not and never was about telling people what they were and were not allowed to write or read, or saying that they’re bad people because of what they write or read.

“Influences thinking” and “affecting reality” are not the same as controlling or determining thinking and reality. If fiction really does affect how people see the real world, then why, in a time when we have more positive books/movies/TV shows/plays of and by POC and positive queer books/movies/TV shows/plays than ever before, are we still dealing with vicious racism and homophobia? If fiction influences thinking and affects reality and how people see the world so much, then why, in a time when we have Drag Queen Story Hour and trans characters are being featured positively in popular TV shows and trans actors are winning awards, are we still dealing with some of the worst transphobia we’ve ever seen? Don’t dismiss those questions, answer them.

Fiction doesn’t make things happen. Playing violent video games doesn’t make a person violent. Reading or writing about an immoral act does not mean you agree with, get off to, or are going to do the immoral act. And that’s true regardless of what the immoral act in question is, whether it's gore or kink or rape or incest.

The problem with “you can read/write what you want except for X because X is gross/morally wrong” is that the bigots and mean-spirited folks of the world will find a way to make anything they don’t like into X. That’s the part antis don’t think about. But we’re already seeing it play out in school board meetings.

“We don’t want to ban Maus because it talks about the Holocaust, we want to ban it because uhhh it has pictures of naked prisoners in the camps and therefore it’s pornography.”

“We don’t want to ban Beloved because it talks about slavery, we want to ban it because uhhh it has a slave getting raped in it and therefore it’s pornography and sexually explicit and won’t someone think of the children!”

“We don’t want to ban all of these books because they have Black kids on the covers, we want to ban them because uhhh they’re critical race theory and indoctrination that teaches White kids to hate themselves!”

“We don’t want to keep drag queens out of libraries because we hate them and are transphobic, we want to keep them out of libraries because uhhh they’re sexualizing minors and teaching them to mutilate their genitals!”

Those are real examples. And they will happen to fanfiction too if we’re not careful. Someone doesn’t like Sonadow? Well they’re not against it because they’re homophobic or just don’t like the ship, they’re against it because uhhh it’s pedophilia since Shadow is 50-65 depending on how you count it and Sonic is 15. If it can happen with books, it can happen with fanfiction.

We’ve already seen cases of people running for board positions on AO3 who talked about “cleaning up the site,” and each time it turned out they were homophobic and were very much including queerness in what they considered “dirty.” That’s going to keep happening because antis keep falling for it and getting swept up in a manufactured moral panic without thinking through what the enforcement would be like. The whole reason AO3 has the policies that it does is because these kinds of purges happened regularly on other sites. Every time, people insisted it was “just the bad ones,” “just the immoral ones,” “just the underage ones,” etc. And it never was. And after every purge, there’d be a lot fewer queer love stories in the world.

How are you going to make sure that doesn’t happen again? How will you decide whose definitions of terms like “pedophilia,” “grooming,” “underage,” “sexualizing,” “fetishizing” get used? That’s the part antis never think about, is what enforcement of what they want would actually involve. Some people think “underage” is anyone under 25 or under 20 and some think it’s anyone under 18. Which one is right? Who gets to decide? Which country’s age of consent is the correct one that fanfic writers around the world all have to abide by regardless of where they’re from, and why is that country’s age of consent the correct one? Whose interpretation of a work is the correct one? And whoever ends up making these decisions, how will you stop this decision maker who gets to say what counts as “properly and improperly depicting complex subject matter” and what doesn’t from shifting the goalposts and abusing their power? How will you stop them from applying those negative labels to just any work they don’t like? What checks and balances will be put in place to keep whoever does the fanfiction gatekeeping from abusing that position? Don’t dismiss those questions, answer them. I’ve yet to see an anti have an answer to these questions.

I know propaganda is effective because you’ve fallen for it. The idea that peoples’ ability to read and write what they want must be restricted because Think of the Children™ and because “only bad people would ever want to read/write something bad” is the same talking points used by Moms for Liberty, Ron DeSantis, the people protesting Drag Queen Story Hour, and so many others. Every single time an attempt is made to restrict the freedom to read and write, it is always couched in the paternalistic language of protection, safety, just looking out for kids, and the fearmongering language of “that stuff is freaky, dirty, and gross and only a pervert would ever have a problem with it being banned.” Every time, it is discussed with the language of protection and safety, and every time, it is a lie.

I support the right of everyone to read and write what they want because I don’t know their situation, don’t have the right to demand an explanation of their situation or a detailed account of their very private and personal traumas, and have seen what happens when people try to excuse banning and censorship of written text or harassing authors with the excuses of “it’s just the bad ones,” “we’re just protecting kids,” “we just have a few concerns,” “we’re just being good allies,” and “if I wrote something gross I’d expect to get called out!”

So. Now that I have responded to your points, I hope that you will very carefully read and consider my points at the very least and get out of your echo chamber and use some critical thinking too. The fact that you put the phrase critical thinking in quotes like it’s a fake thing that doesn’t exist instead of a real and very important skill reveals a lot more than I think you meant it to, but still I hope you try.

I’ve disabled anonymous asks because I want to see if you’re brave enough to respond without hiding behind anonymity. I’ll be interested to see if you or anyone who agrees with you actually provides thoughtful, well-reasoned, and well-articulated answers to the questions I’ve asked instead of replying with a thought-terminating ad hominem like “That was a lot of words to say that you’re a [insert bad thing here]!” or “Just say you [insert bad thing here] and go!” And if you can actually provide evidence for your claims, if you can provide non-anecdotal, verifiable studies and data that are not from a religious or rightwing think tank that prove your points about proshipping and proshippers, then I’ll really be impressed.

I’m not holding my breath though.

[coaldustcanary]

No, it shouldn't. Because there are a variety of legitimate reasons to change the date of your work (not limited to: editing, updating after an unrevealed collection is revealed or an anonymous one is de-anonymized, a few now-fixed bugs that still affect dates on older works, and several others) re-dating work is permitted by the Terms of Service.

However, nothing prevents you from Muting users who abuse this privilege so that you never have to see their nonsense again.

pls do not repost your fanfic on ao3 to get it closer to the top I HAVE ALREADY READ IT AND YOU’RE THROWING OFF MY TALLY AND THAT’S NOT HOW AO3 WORKS ANYWAY

[terrifyingly-overthought]

Uzi thunk…pls…

"Uzi Doorman those things killed your frikin' mother"

Did you know that Uzi's on the villains wiki? Bc I sure didn't.

Anyway Uzi Doorman hcs under the cut

Main character time lets go, jumping straight into this one:

Uzi will eventually turn into a murder drone (see my post about N for details)

Uzi absolutely refuses to say that she's dating N on principle (this is a lie and she knows it)

Uzi is always really tired, doesn't matter how much sleep she got

Uzi got over killing people waaayy too fast for everyone else's liking

Uzi's slover runs hotter than the dds but she needs to be colder, so she has to drink a LOT of oil

Uzi's tail sometimes gets stuck to things with it's spines

She tries to have a decent relationship with her dad sometimes: but it's hard to get through to him

Uzi wants to be a parent just solely so she can prove to Khan that she would be a better parent than him

Uzi sometimes experiments with her admin rights for N and V while they sleep (she once set their eyes to flash with rainbow colours and had a midnight disco on her own)

Uzi uses the healing powers of the solver to make even more dangerous tools and weapons without the risk of getting hurt

If Uzi ever found Beetlejuice the musical, she would spend days just listening to the soundtrack

Same with a lot of musicals and bands actually

The last time Khan left Uzi alone in the house for more than 12 hours, a large section of the bunker was lit on fire and destroyed

Uzi is oddly supportive of all the weird things N gets up to in the worker colony

V however has been shouted at multiple times for dropping on top of drones from the ceiling

The books Uzi uses to reach her locker are textbooks on doors that her dad wrote

She is the only one in her class that finds it weird that they can't just download the knowledge into their storage like, you know, a robot would

If she could find the spare parts, she would modify herself in any way possible (starting with extendable legs)

Uzi loves any weapon she can get her hands on and is thoroughly disappointed by her lack of claws from the solver

Uzi has a personal vendetta against a pipe that runs through her classroom after it burst and nearly short-circuited her

Uzi would be top of her class if she ever bothered to do the actual work

And if Lizzy didn't always get her dad to lower Uzi's grades

Uzi still hasn't figured out how to bypass her automatic censors, so every time she tries to properly swear she just goes *beep*

Khan fully blames N and V for activating Uzi's solver

Uzi occasionally will sleep hanging upside-down with N if they are caught out by the sun while hunting together

That's about it for this post, there are more but they start going a bit off the wall after here

Currently writing this instead of preparing for my art exam on Monday, 10 hours of lovely silence to enjoy being understimulated as all balls in... yay :(

At least I might get in some more thinking then

[eunsuri]

Clandestine

Pairing: Namor x Reader

Summary: While whispers of unrest in the surface world spread through Talokan, Namor offers you another of his surprises.

Word Count: 3199

Warnings: Just a little physical fighting and a tiny bit of implied smut (just a second)! Lots of fluff and soft Namor with a little spice!

A/N: This one is a wee bit longer than Sanctuary, but is somewhat of a part 2 for it! I used a translator for the Yucatec Maya parts to stay true to Namor's character, and also researched a lot of Mayan traditions/rituals so pls do let me know if I've got it wrong at all! I hope y'all enjoy though hehe been up all night finishing this up 🤍

Also posted on AO3 for those who prefer to read there  🤍

“Ready?”

A deep breath released from your lips, fingers curled around to grip your spear tighter, while your eyelids lifted open.

Namor stood at the ready a small distance away, his own spear held in preparation and eyes that anticipated your response. The droplets on his tan skin glistened in the light of the cavern, his hair still slick from the water and dark strands folded back to reveal his attractive face.

It had been a while since you’d had to enter into battle, and whispers of the growing unrest in the surface world were making their way around Talokan. Although you had power of your own, it was time to learn how to fight like the Talokanil. You would not sit back in Talokan while the king and his warriors fought among the surface.

You steeled your heart, tucking away the love for the man before you, and shifting the sight of him into a target. With a quick nod, you rushed forward, leaping from the ground and slashing your spear down towards Namor, who swiftly blocked your attack from below. His weapon pressed against your own, effortlessly twisting it to the right to flick the sharp tip to the ground and forcing you backwards.

You couldn’t help but stumble for a moment as your spears disconnected, taken aback by the reminder of his strength. Recollecting yourself, you twirled your weapon to your desired grip and swung at his side, to which he blocked once again and ducked down, shifting fluidly behind you. The cold sensation of his pure vibranium spear pressed against your neck, the sharp edge inching close to your skin. Shit he’s fast.

“You need to move faster, you would be dead by now.” Namor instructed as the ice cold metal left your neck.

A breath you had unknowingly been holding slipped out while you turned to face him, but you were not given a moment to prepare. This time, he attacked first by swinging his spear down towards your shoulder, and so you gripped your spear with both hands, bringing it up to shield yourself. Using a similar technique to his first, you rotated your weapon to bring the sharp edge of your own down to swipe at his legs.

Namor caught the lower handle of your spear as it moved, and you mirrored this by releasing one hand to grab at his own as the two weapons disconnected. You tightened your grip on both spears, rotating quickly to your left in an attempt to take the weapons for yourself. However, you found yourself tugged back instantly, your back pressed against his chest with the two spears crossed firmly at your own.

“That’s it,” he chuckled with a smug grin, the heat of his breath tickling your ear as his lips brushed against your skin. You could feel the ridges of his jewelry and the warmth of his skin on your back, the strength of his arms closing you in.

Usually, this would send a fluttering through your stomach and cause a weakness in your knees, but you were determined to best him. You pushed forward at the two spears, then pulled your elbows back against his torso, using your grip to support you as you slipped out of his arms and onto the ground. Staying low, you swung your leg against his shins, but his winged feet carried him into the air, where he reacted quickly by sending your spear shooting down at you.

Your reflexes activated and you raised a hand to shield yourself, energy releasing to blow the spear away. You glared at Namor in disbelief, “Hey, I said no flying!”

“And I said no powers,” he retaliated, landing on the craggy ground beneath you. “You asked for this, my love. Would you rather have trained with Attuma?”

You huffed in disapproval at this while he picked up your spear and tossed it in your direction.

“Again.” You caught the spear and twirled it in your hands, analysing him as he stood ready once again, before you made your next move. Namor was much stronger than you physically and had centuries of experience in battle, but you would need to find a way to outsmart him. 

Without hesitation, you darted towards him, the sound of clashing vibranium reverberating through the large cavern as the two of you continued your attacks. Eventually, you found yourself tumbling against the ground as he brought his spear down in an attempt to trap you in place, but you quickly manoeuvred your legs around his ankles, securing his wings down so he would not be able to fly and bringing him to the floor of the cavern.

You moved speedily to grasp his forearm and pin it down so that he could not attack, while shoving the handle of your spear against his throat, your other elbow pressing down on his opposite shoulder. You’d finally pinned him down against the rocky floor of the cavern, your chest rising and falling rapidly as you caught your breath.

“Very good,” he complimented, capturing your attention with a dark blaze of hunger burning in his captivating eyes. 

Namor’s gaze travelled to your parted lips, memorising the detail of every curve, before flicking back up to study the colour of your irises and the depth of your pupils. His free hand gently tickled your back as his fingers trailed up your skin towards your neck, tugging you down until your chin pressed against the cool vibranium spear. You felt your stomach stir with anticipation, his mouth inching closer to yours and electric tension between your beings drawing you in. You could almost taste his breath, with the soft skin of his lips grazing tenderly, like feathers against your own.

Until, the coldness under your chin became pressure against your throat, the wings on his feet brushing against your ankles as he trapped your legs with his own, swiftly turning you over to swap places. The spear you’d used to pin him down now pressed you in place, the ground cold against your back and your movements restrained by his strong grip. 

You narrowed your eyes at the smirk he wore, unable to suppress the curving of your own lips. The hunger in his gaze remained, and the tension continued to pull at you both, engulfing you with its force. Namor rewarded you with a kiss, which you returned gladly, clutching at the jewels hanging from his neck to tug him closer to you. The warmth of his hand cupped the back of your head, lifting you nearer and shielding you from the hard ground, as he continued pouring his love through your lips and into your heart.

However, the sound of wet footsteps and an awkward cough pulled the two of you apart, snapping your attention across the cavern to a familiar face.

“In akaljantik.” I am sorry. The woman you’d come to know as Saya spoke timidly, lowering herself onto her knee and opening her palms with wrists pressed together towards you both in greeting. “K'uk'ulkan, táan k listos teechi'.” We are ready for you.

K'uk'ulkan gave a quick nod, removing the spear from your throat and rising to his feet. “Nib óolal paal áanteni'.” Thank you, my child.

He reached for your hand as you moved freely from the ground, lifting you to stand at his side. A light kiss was placed upon your brow while he handed over your spear, his thumb running over your knuckles at your grip.

“We will continue this tomorrow,” he declared, bringing his mouth close to your ear and whispering this time. “I have something to show you this evening.”

With that, Namor’s warmth left you to follow the woman into the water, leaving you with confusion riddled across your face.

What could he possibly have planned this time?

The thought plagued your mind through the rest of your day. Hours had passed and you had gotten yourself cleaned up after your training, but there was still no sign of Namor.

A quiet sigh escaped you while you placed the golden cuffs worn on your arms atop the small table in your room, preparing yourself for a rest. You shrugged the cloak Namor had made for you, over your body, bringing you warmth as you removed more of your adornments for the day. He loved to shower you with gifts, jewelry most times, and at other times, exquisitely designed clothing or decorative shells.

You preferred his cloak of course, coated in that clean, yet earthy, and slightly musky scent of your lover, but the one he’d had sewn together for you fit perfectly and was decorated in beautiful patterns which mirrored his art. 

The glittering of your favourite ring stopped you in the process of removing your jewelry, wrapped around your ring finger with ancient patterns engraved all around the band. Namor loved to surprise you, and the ring served as not only a symbol, but also a reminder of your union. 

“Come with me, in yakunaj.” My love. He took your hand in his own, leading you towards a cavern you’d never seen before, where a figure waited near the water.

The sound of a light drumming could be heard while you made your way through the cavern, along with the scent of flowers mixing into the smell of the earthy ground beneath your bare feet and the saltiness in the air from the water. Moonlight peered through the small gaps from above, illuminating the central area with the help of the glow worms hanging along the walls.

Namor paused as you arrived at the centre, where the figure stood by a small table carved from the rock of the cave. An array of yellow and white flowers decorated the tabletop, along with bowls carved from seashells, two golden headdresses, and two rings. The figure who awaited you was dressed with an intricately designed headpiece of his own, the jade around his neck contrasting with the blue of his skin. A shaman.

“What’s all this?” You questioned as your eyes roamed the cavern, brows coming together in confusion.

“In ki'ichkelem puksik'al. My heart.” Namor began, carefully taking your free hand into his own and drawing your attention to him. “I want you to marry me.”

It had all made sense then, the ivory coloured cloak he’d gifted you, the shaman, the matching rings; a wedding. 

Though you trusted him completely and wanted nothing more than to leap into his arms, accept his proposal, and marry him instantaneously with the joy filling your heart, you couldn’t repress the concern which flashed across your mind first. You knew the importance of his kingdom and its people held the highest priority, their king and revered god taking a surface dweller as his wife could spark too many questions.

So you questioned him. Were the Talokanil to know of this union? What would his people think? Would they question K'uk'ulkan? Would this mean he was betraying centuries long beliefs which had been instilled in his people? 

He’d then assured you of his decision with words you would always remember.

“I’ve dedicated my entire life, centuries of it, to my people and our home. This is the one thing I want for myself. You, my love.”

He truly had dedicated his entire life to Talokan. It was time, he was ready to take this chance, and so were you.

You would deal with the questions and consequences later, tossing all your concerns away for the time being to relish the moment of your sacred union. The ceremony had been intimate, almost clandestine, shared only between yourselves and with the shaman as he led you through ancient rituals. 

You’d shared a sacred beverage in a small bowl carved from a stunning, thick shell, Namor’s hands warm over your own as you’d poured the liquid through your lips, feeding your soul. You were given a golden headpiece of your own, akin to his with a more subtle design. The one he’d worn for your ceremony was also more modest than his traditional royal headdress, smaller in size and embellished with feathers, yet still regal as ever.

He was always beautiful, but the way his eyes had gleamed so radiantly in the moonlight was breathtaking. He’d worn a white cloak for your ceremony, which hung beneath the golden adornments across his shoulders, complimenting the glow of his tan skin and the jewelry around his neck. He was truly ready.

The two of you had then exchanged flowers, rings, promises, and finally, yourselves. The shaman declared your union, your hands tied together with a thin, detailed chain which reflected the rippling of the water in the cavern. Once the ceremony had been completed, you’d later celebrate your marriage privately, with your husband adorning kisses from your ear and down your neck.

This was followed by his hands and lips wandering your skin in a new way, truly claiming you as his with whispers across every inch of you, proclaiming his love over and over. “In k’áatech.” I love you.

Too enthralled in the pleasant memories, you missed the sound of footsteps behind you, the fluttering in your stomach amplifying when your husband’s arms wrapped around you. His lips pressed to your temple, the cuff which you wore on your ear, crafted of gold and jade capturing his attention. The accessory curved along the shape of your ear, but with a tip that pointed to clouds, in honour of him.

You felt his lips curl, brushing against the skin behind your ears affectionately while he tightened his embrace. However, you couldn’t repress the pained wince that resounded as the pressure of his arms nudged one of the bruises you’d earned from your training.

“Sorry, still healing.” You turned in his loosened grasp to see concern painting across his face. 

“I should’ve known it was too soon,” he spoke quietly, his brows pinched together with a shake of his head.

“I’m still a mutant, you know. It’ll heal.” You reassured him, cradling his cheek in your palm and mapping a thumb over his cheekbone. 

Though the room was dim, the tension was evident in the king’s aura, an invisible weight anchoring down on his shoulders, while the endless thoughts clouded the deep brown of his eyes. 

You traced your fingers gingerly to the point of his ear, trickling down as you asked softly, “What’s on your mind, yakunaj?” Love?

Your love studied your features silently, you could see his jaw clench for a moment, before he spoke. “I want you to come to Wakanda with me.”

You were at a loss for words. You hadn’t left Talokan in a long time, almost a year from what you could remember. Though you had made short visits to the surface over the years, you’d remained in the depths of the ocean for the time being, under the protection of your husband, safeguarding his people and his future. 

The news of unrest in the surface world had spread through the underwater empire, rumours swirling of more attacks on Wakandan outreach facilities. You knew Wakanda would soon call on Talokan to help eliminate the threat, but the sobering reality of a looming war caused your heart to plummet. 

You swallowed the tightness in your throat away, giving a small nod of understanding, though you knew he could read the apprehension in your eyes. You knew he would not have asked this of you unless he truly needed you there. After all, you had something far more precious than any resource or land to protect in those caverns now.

“The fight is not yet here, but we need to know what we are facing,” Namor explained, bringing his hands to the nape of your neck, thumbs caressing the edge of your jaw to soothe you.

Releasing a breath, you relaxed into his touch with another nod. He touched his lips to your forehead with gratitude, showing his appreciation for your understanding. His hands travelled their way down your back, one wrapping over your own and the other freeing you to gesture towards the other room. 

“Come.” He began to lead you into the sanctuary, where his breathtaking murals decorated the walls. 

He then stepped away, unravelling the cloth which covered a tall item laid against the table. Flat against his hands, he revealed a vibranium spear, embellished with gold and jade, incredible Mayan patterns engraved along its shaft. It was unlike the weapon you used for your training, this was a true Talokanil warrior’s spear.

“I had this made for you, my love.” He brought the spear forward, allowing you to run your fingers along the engravings, the metal cool against your touch.

“It’s beautiful.” Your voice came in a breathless whisper, gripping the handle to test the weight of your new spear. “Nib óolal.” Thank you.

“I have something else,” he continued, reaching for a second item from the table in the middle. “I want you to wear this when we make our visit to Wakanda.”

A gorgeous necklace, intricately designed with glittering gold and smooth jade, vibranium weaved in between the larger pieces of the thick chain. Presenting your second gift, your husband made his way behind you, placing the stunning jewelry across your chest, and hooking it together. The sensation of his fingertips over the skin of your neck sent a tickle down your spine.

“Thank you, my love.” You traced a finger against the necklace, turning on your heel to face him, spear in hand. “This is all so…Royal. I’m no queen.”

“You are my wife and my most trusted advisor. You are a part of me, so you are royalty,” he declared, while the back of his warm fingers brushed down your cheek and traced down to your chin.

“You spoil me too much.” You gave a light laugh, before the sound of a soft cry behind the king grasped your attention.

“Nothing could compare to what you’ve given me.” His lips tugged into a gentle smile, adoration laced into the tone of his voice as he retreated slowly to the previous room.

You rested your spear against the wall, near an empty space he would soon fill with another piece of his murals, then followed his steps. You watched as he carefully lifted a small bundle from the bed, the spitting image of your beautiful husband cradled into his chest.

“You’ve given me the greatest gift I could ever have,” he whispered, his eyes gazing lovingly at your child, the warmth of his father’s skin against his cheek soothing the tiny cries.

Your heart swelled in your own chest, the love for your little family overflowing and igniting a blaze in your skin. This is what you had to protect, not only Talokan and its people or resources, but your family and your tangible future. You would fight until your last breath with Namor, alongside the Talokanil and Wakanda, to protect him as he’d protected you. Nothing would take this away from you.

The overwhelming affection for your little family pulled you towards Namor, his free hand reaching for you, bringing you in as you held your future in your arms.

Tagging the lovely @catslovetoreadtoo and @loonymagizoologist hehe 🤍

[audreyscribes]

PJO ROMAN DEMIGOD HEADCANONS:🌾 CERES: GODDESS OF AGRICULTURE, FERTILITY, GRAINS, THE HARVEST, MOTHERHOOD, THE EARTH AND CULTIVATED CROPS 🍎

Author’s Note: Don't mess with Mother Nature- ROMAN DEMIGODS H/CS MASTERLIST LINKS: [TUMBLR] // [AO3]

So unlike the children of Demeter or Demeter in general, Ceres is regarded a bit more seriously in terms of Roman integrity. While Demeter is important and respected because she literally is connected with nature, crops, and agriculture y’know… important for living, Ceres is more important in terms because the Romans believed that the laws and rites of Ceres protected all activities of agriculture. And because agriculture is done by the common people, Ceres’ a patron and protector of plebian (common) laws and rights , the assembly of the common people of the ancient Roman republic, and Tribunes; amongst other serious rites. This also includes Funerals because with agriculture, she also taught them how fix boundaries to ascertain their possessions; thus Ceres also maintains the boundaries of the living and the dead, and was essential at funerals.

So you can imagine being a child and legacy of Ceres has a stronger perception in the Roman eyes; which brings more pressure into being put into certain roles. Aside from being and maintaining the agriculture that feeds the inhabitants of Camp Jupiter and New Rome, you might be also inclined to be bakers and being literal bread winners. There’s also a strong competition to participate and have a seat in the Senate, since Ceres is a patron of the law. With the lack of Pluto’s children, the duties of Funeral rites fell onto the offspring of Ceres, and has been managed by them as well. There’s also duties of marriages and weddings as Ceres was honoured in Roman marriages, so there’s a few in the wedding industry. Surprising, the network of Ceres’ scions is very useful whenever there’s a wedding, funeral, or a harvest feast considering there’s a good handful of Ceres’ Scions working in those areas as well as catering.

In terms of powers, in exchange of range, children of Ceres are more technical. While the powers of nature and plants are universal among the children of Ceres, it’s less powerful in general. Each child of Ceres have their own secondary speciality that falls underneath: marriage (unity, harmony, strength, support) or death (ghosts, summoning the dead).

While not as powerful as Hera, Ceres demigods who fall underneath marriage, are highly regarded in their role on the fields, providing necessary cohesion in battle formations and format. As for those who fall under death and the underworld, while not as powerful as children of Hades, they are at least able to talk and employ the help of a shade, or basically minor necromancy. If a child of Ceres’ power over plants and nature is more powerful, then they don’t have access to any of the secondary elements. 

Generally, if a child of Ceres has access to the secondary element, their legacies will inherit it but will rarely be able to use the others. Often carrying on their family business or craft.