#or perhaps a creature that is trying so hard to be human but just missing the mark. and everyone can tell but they're trying to be nice

[chezzywezzy]

Yandere Edward Cullen (7/8)

*TW: experimental smut at the end

WC: 3k

The girls were the first to find out about Friday night. While Angela pitied and grounded her, Jessica made a bigger deal out of it than she needed, grilling bout the state R was in mentally, and how she thought things would proceed with Tyler. She could only assume that Tyler kept quiet about it or told the guys because Monday at lunch Mike sent her a stink eye that screamed ‘him but not me?’. As awkward as lunch was, with Tyler splitting from the group to brood elsewhere, R just didn’t have the mental fortitude to deal with the drama. 

She left immediately after class, heading home and brooding on her couch. Perhaps from time, but what had happened between her and Edward no longer felt as worse as it was - even the intense feelings of Edward murdering a man felt subtle. She sat on the couch and tried to work away the thoughts of vague attraction to an inhuman creature, but that only made it worse. 

Human men felt so much more vile and mundane. She had been so used to being sexualized that it almost disgusted her. Glaring at the chat screen, her eyes blurred out the horribly perverse dirty talk. A man with a potbelly and grey hair was behind objectifying words.

“Do you understand better now?”

R tensed, shutting the laptop screen slowly. Edward was standing beyond the coffee table. He looked utterly depressed and shaggy. But even with unkept hair and a dirty t-shirt, he looked so mesmerizing. Images of his terrifying acts reemerged, reminding her that mankind itself was the problem, not just humans. Edward had done so many things…

“It’s my nature, R,” he muttered, sitting on the couch beside her. “But even so, has anything I’ve done truly hurt you? I miss you, my love. I try so hard to stay away, but I am selfish. I apologize.”

His fingers curled on the couch next to hers. Kinetic energy between their hands felt more intimate somehow. R stared at Edward adamantly, reading his expression.Her eyes softened. 

“Please understand me, R. What is taboo and immoral for humankind is natural and necessary for my specie’s survival, and even then, I try to refrain from being so.”

“But how could it ever work?”

“Does it matter? I’ve been alone for so long, and yet, my heart was suddenly held by you. It is unfathomable that life is meant to be any other way. I am tethered to you, R, both body and soul. Life is nothing without you. And wether you blame it on my species or not, you want me the same. I… have even thought about you becoming like me.”

“You’ve isolated me,” R argued. “You know I have no other options because all other options are so much worse.”

“Is that truly what you think of me after all I’ve done to protect you?”

"I didn't ask for your white knighting. Police exist.”

“Police couldn’t do what I can.”

R fell silent, going for her laptop again, wishing to resume work to now avoid the elephant in the room. Edward’s eyes squinted in disappointment as he watched her work, seeming to be repulsed by the contents. It seemed impossible that a creature fueled by the blood and guts of other animals could look so ill.

“Please - stop that,” he voiced after a while, his voice trembling. “I can’t… I can’t bare to watch you talk to such disgusting animals that way.”

“Grow up, Edward. It’s been my living for almost three years,” R snapped, but felt a tinge of guilt. “You’re not in the Victorian era anymore.”

“I don’t understand how you could be so okay with objectification - these ‘men’ care nothing about the beautiful person you are. They’re nothing more than shallow perverts.”

“Well, they’re shallow perverts who can rarely pay the right amount for the real deal. As horrible as they are, so am I, considering my job is to scam them out of as much as possible without giving them the slightest return except some lingerie photos.”

“But you’re giving out those relics to undeserving -“

“Stop being a controlling prick, Edward. Leave me alone.” 

R felt a wave of self-consciousness. Rarely did people spy on her work, as it was technically supposed to 100% anonymous. She couldn’t take the sudden feeling of shame. She thought back to what what Tyler had told her - she was a prude. But at least not gave her some satisfaction that she wasn’t selling herself for free to some heartless pervert man, right?

“Isn’t your… goal… to have enough money to be free to do as you please?” Edward inquired carefully. 

“Yes. Isn’t it everyone’s?”

“”For free of charge, you could quit your job,” Edward eased. “I have millions in my bank account that I’d give to you in a heartbeat if you’d only stop your work. I can’t stand the thought of…”

“This feels like we’re going on circles.”

Edward suddenly glared, snatching the laptop away from her. “Just listen to me for once in your life, my love.” 

R scowled reaching back toward it, but in one swift motion, he crushed the laptop between his hand. She watched wide-eyed as pieces of technology crumbled onto the ground. She stood, mouth agape and angry. 

“I’ll buy you a new one later.”

 “Like hell you will —!”

She reached to slap the vampire, fueled by rage, despite the fact that she doubted it would do much of anything. Edward’s face remained stagnant from the motion, and that only made her more infuriated. She leaned and began slapping the man’s chest so hard her hands hurt. She felt controlled and trapped, like an ill behaved dog contained to a doghouse, or a prisoner chained in a cell. Edward did not react to it, his eyes seeming to only grown softer as he watched.

Angry tears fell down her cheeks and her hands became limper and number from pain. As she flung one last ill-intended punch, Edward caught it, pulling her hand to his lips and kissing it softly. R glared, her heart beating loudly against her ribcage. Edward fluttered his eyes as he did so, taking R’s breath away. 

As possessive and creepy as he was, Edward was undeniably handsome. 

He smiled coyly, wrapping an arm around her waist and pulling her against him. Her eyes widened and face flushed. The made intense eye contact for a moment.

“Please love me,” Edward pleaded seductively, batting his eyes across her figure.

“Do I even have a choice?”

Edward pulled her toward him, gently kissing her. R positioned herself more comfortably to straddle him, getting lost in the passionate motion. Their lips weaved together like butter and Edward’s skin, though cold, was buttery and smooth, unlike Tyler’s, who had been roughly shaved and callous, lips chapped. But. Edward was a creature made for perfection, drawing her heart in no matter what she did to deny it.

 In the midst of parting lips and hazy stares,  he hoisted her off, hands cupped beneath her. R swung her arms around his shoulder, clinging, m and didn’t even notice how she was the one instigating a deep kiss, weaving her hands in his tufted locks of hair. Edward groaned in delight, and with only a few bumps from the stairs, R was placed softly on the mattress, Edward hovering above her. 

Through his t-shirt, R groped his strong and toned arms. One side of herself fought the attraction while the other side wanted to throw all caution to the wind.

“I am but a hypocrite,” Edward airily breathed into the crook of her neck, nose flushing against the scent of her warm and living skin,” for I am undeserving of your grace and light as well.”

R gulped. She felt more in a trance than she had when drunk. Edward’s presence was… hypnotizing.

“Just… stop talking and touch me, Edward.”

~~~~

[experimental smut section - this is the end of the chapter if you do not wish to proceed]

Edward took the invitation with a vigor R knew no man could replicate. She felt his teeth graze against her collar bone, anticipating any sudden pain, but all that came was pleasure as he kissed and licked her neck. R fiddled with the t-shirt, her head fuzzy. Not even seconds later, Edward had torn the shirt right off of his body, leaving scraps of fabric on the bed.

The man sparkled from the adorning setting sun, leaving her stunned. Edward paused briefly, relishing as she trailing her hands across his glittering chest. He seemed to melt under her living, breathing touch. Her fingers paused at the seam of his jeans, threatening to undo the zipper. Her eyes seductively flitted to and from the zipper. Edward’s Adam apples bobbed in anticipation before his eyes gleamed red and he seemed encumbered with furious attraction, tearing off the rest of his clothing as well.

Everything about his body was sculpted and beamed brilliantly, leaving R in awe. No human man could look so godlike. Edward resumed his focus to her, eyes pleading for permission to pull off her tank top. R gulped but hardly felt the same apprehension that she did with any other man. Edward’s chilling touch felt intoxicating, the idea alone filling her with an ecstasy she never knew was possible.

Despite how rough he was with himself, he gently and slowly lifted the tank top off of her as R sat up. There was a sense of teenage clumsiness and inexperience, but sexual prowess almost felt like a natural instinct his species had. And then his hand fiddled to unclip her bra, one finger slicing through the metal. The bra felt to the side.

Edward held such a tenderness in his gaze that she wanted to give him everything in that moment. 

“God, Edward, I’m not a doll. Just fuck me already.”

His nostrils flared and she hardly felt the tear of her shorts as they were discarded. Edward pressed himself flush against her, weaving his mouth around her breast. His tongue flicked across her nipple, and R couldn’t help but release a quiet moan from the sudden stimulation. He groped her other breast, overcome with the urge to pleasure her further. He attacked her breasts with a ferociousness that sent her over the edge. 

R arched her back, hands clawing into his neck and back. Her body was on fire, trembling from everything his tongue and hands did to her. Edward arched his back to press her prodding hands further against him, an inhuman growl of pleasure esc aping his lips.

With one hand removing, his tongue moved further down R’s stomach, taking in every scent and taste of her flesh. He was in a frenzy; but hardly one that craved blood. With one leg pushing between her’s, he spread her legs. Edward did not waste time before shoving his head down below.

An unfamiliar sensation rocked through her body. Her legs clamped around Edward’s head, feeling his tongue swirl across her womanhood. His hands clamped onto her legs, cherishing the crushing sensation, almost pulling the legs closer shut. His nails grasped onto her flesh, and neither person noticed the scratches that remained from his touch.

R was howling with moans, feeling the instinctual animal need to have every part of him. His motions felt so good that she could hardly stand it. She pulled at his head desperately to pull him up, but Edward only burrowed deeper.

A climax suddenly believed the woman as she arched her back to an agonized state. She let out a shrieking moan as her body suddenly went limp. “E - Edward -!” she choked, tugging painfully at his head for him to stop. 

He paused, red eyes glazing over her body seductively. In a blur of movement, he was once again on top of her, placing a soft kiss to her neck. R felt him prod at the entrance, fingers seeming to prepare her for more. He once again seemed to be asking for permission in a way that words could never express. His eyes glistened with a desire R knew no human could feel for any creature - a passion and possession so deep that could only be reciprocated when releasing one’s animalistic nature.

“Please,” he croaked.

“Yes.”

R had a sudden shock of electricity run across her body as Edward entered. His elbows were planted beside her head as he thrust. Gentle at first, but as Edward’s sounds increased, so did his carnal pace. Tears pricked at her eyes as her eyes lolled into the back of her head as Edward went age a pace that was not human. If not for him keeping her in place, she was certain she would have been sent through the wall.

It was such a careful mixture of pain and pleasure that R was overwhelmed and hardly cognizant. The world blurred around her as Edward continued to trail on her neck and earlobe before reigniting a fiery kiss.

Edward let out a quiet gasp as he released, suddenly halting. R’s world was so discombobulated that she could only focus on the warm sensation that filled her. But not even seconds later while the man panted, R was flipped. Her hands naturally planted against the bed frame, knuckles white. Edward placed one hand beside her head and the other grabbed onto her waist, gripping it tightly enough to draw drops of blood. 

He began all over again, thrusting powerfully into her, despite the fact that R felt the substance dripping down her legs and onto the mattress. R’s mind could hardly focus on the way her body became sore and the various wounds that embellished her body. Effortlessly Edward maintained a pace of ungodly speed.

Suddenly, the bed frame cracked right into two from him grip and the bed collapsed to some degree. But Edward was so intently focused that he only switched position, grunting and heaving lowly as he laid flat and forced R on top, but without the burden of working her, thrusting deeply into her.

If not for the firm grip he had on her hips, holding her up and on top, she would have collapsed from exhaustion. She had no idea how many times she had finished and was losing track of how much he had. The room was cascaded in darkness, with only Edward’s eyes gleaming in the dark. R’s head bobbed up and down, tears streaming down her cheeks as she was rag dolled in the bedroom. 

She had lost sense of time; and it seemed Edward had too. The bed was broken and soaked, as were their bodies. There was hardly any moment slow enough for R to form a thought. Her body was rocked and time seemed like a blur. She hardly noticed when all of a sudden, all sensation stocked. Her body was twitching furiously, yet she felt cold and chilled.

Edward plopped beside her, somewhat pleased by her her exhaustion and brain-numbing collapse. He felt guilt and shame as he gazed across her body, taking notice of the forming bruises, scratches, and scrapes. His fingers were suddenly delicately tracing the woman who immediately felt encumbered by sleep. He pulled her close. He could have gone for far longer, he realized, but his heart felt soft and protective as he traced her skin and brushed the hair out of her face. The bed had cracked on half and there was hardly a pillow intact, but the woman was quick to pass out in his arm.

Edward stayed still that night, consumed by conflicting feelings of satisfaction and horror.

[aydentew3102]

What are the heros opinions on Cosmo and Boxten ?( Specifically them becoming evil/villains)

“Pandora’s a good kid! Really good kid! But he really needs to settle that whole situation he’s in with Vee and Fewtopia. I even tried talking him out of it over lunch once, and i got scolded by that.. …uhh… that toaster…! They really need to solve whatevers goin on between them. ”

“He’s… well… hey can we switch questions please?”

“None of your business”

"What guy? "(interviewer shows her a paper). "Pfft-, are you sure? He's around calling himself the "DARKEST EVIL? ThE gREatEsT AdveRsArY of the fastest toon alive?" Hah! That dummy can't even spell right! Or is it a typo on his end? I can't tell. Anyway, I can;t even begin to comprehend how he's still kickin. He's got that red-faced, bleedin' , persistent berry goin afta him.. That guy's always nippin' about how hard that cakeface is to catch. Perhaps he should check his shoes for rubbish before he spews them out of his mouth, maybe thats whats slowing him down.” (Interviewer whispering) “Oh right, back to that pissy pastry, have you seen that face of his? Maybe he’s the secret to making a perfect sphere with how edgy that scar is-”

“The box guy? Pandora? He’s a joke~. All the man ever does is break outta prison every once in while and go challenge that green television to a fight! He even started to call his cell his evil lair! Maybe miss shrek the first over there should start takin care of her swamp before one of her mosquitos start inconveniencing someone else.”

“Oh uhhh him! I’ll… c-catch him one day. He might be slippery but he can’t keep slipping out forver! I’ll- I’ll get him! one day… ”

"Hmm...how curious..."

"One has heard many voices...yet none bear a hint of malice.." "Ach, even after millenia…No matter how much one attempts to grasp the human psyche, one always finds new surprises hidden in the nooks and crannies of the human mind."

" Fascinating, isn’t it? Such lowly creatures, yet filled with such delightful complexity."

"I should like to study them more..Yes, I do."

“Troubled… very troubled… i heard voices from the past, voices from no where, voices from himself… he has yet to flee from his past…”

“Arf arf! Arf arf arf! ”

“Arf! Arf arf arf arf!”

"Uh...have we started..? Oh, we have?! Well...uhm..ah.. I think..he's a good listener! I also know that there is a lot of friction between him and a friend...no idea what happened there...not like I'm trying to blame anybody! It was probably a..uh..misunderstanding!"

"Once he gets out...I think… I will introduce him to a friend of mine at a research facility.. He's super smart, so I feel like he shouldn't waste his talents.. Uh, not that he is wasting them now! It’s just that...with a mind like his? He could be out there doing things that can change the world."

“Philosugar? I haven- ohhhhhhhh you mean co- i mean uhhh HIM! I haven’t checked up on him in a while, i should call him when i have the time.”

Astro and shelly’s dialogue is written by a friend of mine on discord🫰

[zorosdimples]

MORE, PLEASE, ALWAYS, FOREVER

pairing ༄ simeon x gn!reader

warnings ༄ minors: please do not interact! i will block you. suggestive content, religious/sacrilegious imagery, corruption, manipulation, dubious consent, drugging. simeon calls reader “little one” and “darling.” please let me know if i’m missing anything!

word count ༄ 771

notes ༄ this is my first time posting my writing, so please be kind! this drabble is darker than what i usually write; i’ve just been thinking about simeon and corruption for months… i have fluffier pieces in the works, i promise! <3

“but s-simeon,” you whispered, afraid to raise your voice lest desire drip from each syllable—as if the angel couldn’t see your trembling thighs or the glint of hunger in your gaze. your skin glowed, he observed, all dewy with want; he had never seen anything so beautiful, so vulnerable. your chest heaved as though you couldn’t catch your breath. “you’re an angel.”

“yes?” he hummed, trying not to sound too eager—all while his blood sang for you.

your tongue wetly floundered for a response, brain unable to comprehend anything other than the fierce fire that licked at your very core. oh, if he did not relish your sputtering, dumb state. you hung onto his every word as if he would lead you to salvation.

that’s what angels were created for, right?

“angels, humans, demons—we all have more in common than you think. we all have similar urges, similar needs,” simeon stated, lithe fingers traveling down your sides to dig into the soft flesh of your hips, forcing a breathy sigh from your lips. shame would have eaten you alive had it not been for your desperation.

“but you humans are rather self-centered, no?” he asked with an experimental squeeze that had your eyes fluttering dreamily. “you assume that your corrupted moral compass applies to the other two realms.”

you shivered as simeon leaned so close that you could smell the sweetness—caramel?—that clung to his skin. his lips brushed your ear as he whispered, “angels, as god’s chosen creatures, are encouraged to love deeply.” his fingertips grazed your belly as you swallowed thickly. his hot breath melted your resolve while his thinly-veiled words had your nerves thrumming in anticipation.

patience was a virtue that simeon usually embodied, but the thrill you inspired within him was cracking his restraint. he couldn’t help but push: push himself, push you. he needed to hear you to say it.

he gently cradled your chin between his thumb and forefinger, angling your face to meet his expectant gaze. if you had been in the right state of mind, perhaps you would have noticed how his azure irises were unusually dark, pools of midnight you could drown in.

the smile that tugged at his lips was almost wicked as he probed, “what do you need, little one? tell me.”

the endearment fell on deaf ears as you leaned into simeon’s grasp like a simpering pet. your eyes flickered down to his lips instead of answering his question, biting down on your own almost hard enough to draw blood.

“ah ah,” he chided, pinching your chin, still a hair’s breadth from your face.

you looked like a wounded animal for a moment, eyes wide and shimmering, staring down the barrel of a hunter’s gun. you tried to wriggle from his grasp in embarrassment.

the angel’s grip was unyielding, though. he was certain there would be bruises on your tender flesh come morning—the thought only heightened his arousal. his honeyed chuckle, like a potent sedative, lulled your movements.

“as much as i appreciate your enthusiasm,” simeon said with featherlight strokes to your burning cheek, “i need you to use your words, darling.”

you whimpered in response. your brain was fried, incapable of intelligent thought. all you could do was feel and act—instinct usurping rationale—more animal than human. all you could muster was a breathy and pathetic “please,” punctuated by the unshed tears that sparkled in your eyes.

“please what?” he cooed with faux sympathy. his free hand skimmed down the slope of your shoulder and the curve of your arm to ultimately settle on the fat of your thigh. the movement caused a tremor to ricochet through your body.

he looked at you like he wanted to devour you, to pick your bones clean, to consume you so wholly that not even your soul remained. and maybe it should have frightened you. but all you wanted was to lay yourself bare and let the angel feast on you until there was nothing left.

“i need you, simeon,” you finally breathed, soft as a prayer.

as soon as the words left your bruised lips, he lifted you onto his lap, wrapping your legs around his waist. you exhaled a warbled moan when he dipped down to scrape his teeth against the column of your throat. “that wasn’t so difficult, was it?” he murmured into your skin.

you were too far gone to answer—not that simeon cared. he finally had you where he wanted you, writhing and whining prettily. he made a mental note to thank solomon for the spell that had his little human begging for more, please, always, forever.

[synthetickitsune]

Demon!Hoshi (SVT) | Devil angst | 0.8k | gn!reader tw: blood and cutting (kitchen accident) A/N: there's also the shitty version of this for anyone interested lmao

On the nights you lie half-awake, body twisting in the sheets in desperation, he’s looming over you. The shadows grow longer and deeper, like claws closing around your form. You’re trapped in his grasp, never to escape. Lying in the palm of his hand, at his mercy. He could crush you like a bug, or provide protection as if you were just a little bird with broken wings. 

Soonyoung knows it’s one and the same in the end. His obsession is fatal, your fate’s been doomed ever since he laid his eyes on you. A messenger of hell, his nature is to scorch the earth you’re to walk on.

He leans closer to you, takes in your feverish state. You’re vulnerable when you’re at the edge of sleep, the sweet relief just a breath away. Writhing, desperately clawing at the blanket that provides no protection or comfort. You must be exhausted, you poor thing. He caresses your cheek. It sends shivers down your spine, makes your bleary eyes open just a crack. You don’t see him, of course you don’t. He’s a nightmare, a curse. The one to torment unseen, the creeping terror, the one who brings misery by his existence alone.

You get no rest. He follows wherever you go. He brings the downpour when you expect sunshine. He makes your hands slip when you carry fragile objects. His gravity throws off your balance when you try to stop yourself from falling. 

Siphoning your misery into power, he grows stronger. All he has to do is be. To exist. His nature is to bring calamity. And you’re the object of his terminal affection. Just the sight of you heats up his body, makes his tongue lick his lips. 

He’s the blade that cuts your palm and his nostrils flare smelling your sweet blood in the air. Breaking the rules is what demons do. He’s not supposed to help you - despite his powers, it’s the one thing he’s unable to do. But his one act of mercy towards you will be cleaning up after the consequences of his presence. 

His tongue wraps around the knife. Moan rips from Soonyoung’s throat. The metallic taste has never been so sweet, as if tailored to his taste buds. The edge cuts his tongue. The hellspawn’s blood mixing with your own, sealing a contract you don’t need to know about. You’ve been his since the first second. 

You’re crying too hard to notice the blood missing from the knife.

Yet another night when sleep evades you. Your body aches, your sanity begins to crack. He sits on the edge of your bed, shushing you and stroking your hair. He needs you to stay aware. That much he can do. You toss and turn, no mind paid to his gentle affection. What a typical, ignorant human.

You’ve grown so fragile. More so than you already were. All the pain he’s brought onto you, and yet you can’t escape his grasp. Or is it that you don’t want to? Soonyoung sucks on his teeth, reliving the memory of your blood on his fangs. One day he will bite you. Have a taste right from the source just for the pleasure of it. But you’re still too lucid for that.

Perhaps it wouldn’t change anything if he manifested in your world. Only for a while, only enough to have some fun. You’re so dear to him. His favorite piece of art, his favorite little creature. You deserve to be marked properly. To have the contract made properly. To know who owns you, who turned your life into living hell. Honestly it’s doing you a favor. At least you’ll know to expect the worst when the time comes for you to depart from your world.

The dawn breaks and something inside you does too. Soonyoung senses it, sees the defeated expression on your face morph into a blank stare. You’re so lost you’d probably come running straight into his arms if he told you he could take you away from all this suffering. He can’t. But after all this time one little lie would be but a drop in the ocean.

You’re so out of it you don’t react to the gentle pressure on your head, his hand still caressing your hair. Sweet one, aren’t you? Can you sense him now? Do you want to savor him, his real self, before you’ll have to endure what he is? How precious. Of course he’d grow obsessed with you. You’re feeding him so well. All your pretty tears, all your adorable misery infuse him with more power. He gets drunk on it, drunk on you. This particular flavor of agony that makes him dizzy. 

A loud bang makes you shut your eyes tightly. Oh no, what is it now? Did his presence make something precious fall and break? Did another appliance have an unexplainable and disastrous malfunction? He doesn’t know, all Soonyoung feels is delight. His heart is filled with such a tender feeling that he dips his head down and kisses your temple before licking off the stray tear on your cheek. You don’t flinch.

Oh how he cherishes you. 

He can’t wait to drag you to hell with him. 

[annarobszombies]

Hi! I really enjoy your style to write and the thoughts of Dr. Stone you share with us! I especially love the idea of mythological creatures being real in Stone World!

I was rewatching Dr. Stone and noticed something in the episode where Stanley shoots the gun while Xeno watched and Stan didn't hit the target perfectly in the middle. Xeno just talked happily while Stanley observed the gun like searching a fault in the weapon itself in dissappointment until he noticed the tobacco plant.

That reminded me that during nicotine withdrawal some people may experience shaky hands and I'm just head-canoning that he's so depending on it that he isn't in his best aim without it and even after a long pause still feels the effect so Xeno assumes this is the case and that's why he guides Stanley how to make tobacco.

I haven't found others talking about this or I might have missed that entirely since that episode came out a while ago but I can't stop thinking about this detail.

To the actual request, if you have time and like the idea, would you write Xeno dealing with Stanley when he is experiencing strong withdrawal symptoms that messes up his work flow and is very dissapointed and harsh to himself about it but Xeno intervenes and confronts him?

Take your time if you decide to put this on your work pile! Wishing your weekend treats you well! ‧₊˚❀༉‧₊˚.

This actually catches me at the best possible time, since most of the requests I've been working on are finished and in my queue to come out over the next couple of days.

So, here's the thing about quitting smoking suddenly from someone who's done it. It sucks. You get shaky and irritated (among other things), and even though the withdrawal eventually fades, it's miserable while it's happening.

I'm not sure this is totally what you asked for, but I had fun with it

"Dammit!"

Xeno halts mid-step, head turning to find Stanley glaring at one of the targets made to keep his skills sharp. It was late, the soldier should be preparing for bed, not lingering out here while the sun continues to fall.

"Stanley," Xeno calls, noting immediately how stiff his friend gets. Stan glances over, an unhappy expression pressed into his normally calm face.

"...hey."

"Are you alright?" Xeno asks.

Stan doesn't respond, looking away again. His gaze lands on the target in front of him. Xeno glances at it as well, frowning a bit when he notices that not a single bullet hit the center, as they always used to.

"I see." Stanley hadn't needed to say anything for Xeno to understand. "Withdrawals?"

"Guess so," Stanley tucks his hand into his pocket, letting out an annoyed huff when he doesn't find the cigarettes he was still so used to having on him at all times.

"It won't be for much longer. The human body only takes up to four weeks on average to reorient after ceasing intake of nicotine," Xeno says. "You've been doing quite well."

"Well?" Stanley asks, turning to look at him. "I'm doing well?"

"Are you not?"

"Xeno, I can't fuckin' aim," Stanley's accent slips from him as he loses hold of his calm. "My hands won't stop shakin', I can't sleep, and my fuckin' head hurts all the time! I'm useless like this!"

Xeno reels back a little, eyebrows furrowing.

"Why did you not say something? I could have been more helpful to you," Perhaps it's a bit selfish, but Xeno can't help feeling a bit hurt that his potential to give aid had been overlooked. Stanley lets out an annoyed noise, scrubbing a hand over his face.

"Because it's not your problem," He says, earning himself a hard look.

"It very much is," Xeno says.

"Xen-"

"You are my oldest friend and greatest companion, how could I not be affected by your struggles? It may not be my addiction, but your problems are, have, and always will be my problems." He leaves no room for argument, though with how Stanley's spine straightens and his eyes narrow, he knows the man is certainly ready to try.

"And, if I may add," Xeno continues, before Stanley can open his mouth. "You are the farthest thing from useless. You are the most competent person besides me in this wretched little place. I would not be able to do anything if it wasn't for you. Shaking hands, or not."

Stanley lets out a hard breath, his shoulders loosening a little as he takes in Xeno's words, mentally digesting them and allowing for them to calm his stirring mind.

"Yeah, alright," Stanley mumbles, turning back to the target. He lifts his hand, holding the revolver as steady as his hands would currently allow (which, Xeno admits to himself, isn't much), and pulls the trigger.

The bullet hits the target dead center.

"Getting better already," Xeno teases, earning himself a huffed out chuckle.

Xeno allows himself to get closer to his companion, eyes scanning Stanley's body as the man reloads the gun and starts back at his practice. It's not just his hands that shake, but his knees and breathing as well. Stanley was certainly doing his best, but he still had a long way to go before his body accepted this new state of being.

His eyes catch something nearby. A familiar plant.

The sight of it makes Xeno frown. The moment Stanley caught sight of it, he'd want it. More than anything else, he'd want the naturally growing tobacco to feed the habit he was doing his hardest to fight.

The target pings when a bullet goes astray, just barely hitting it on the very edge, and Xeno decides not to say anything.

For now, anyway.

[help-me-im-in-the-fandom]

When you stare into the Abyss: The Beginning of Robin

Bruce never thought he’d have a child, perhaps after his Mission was done, after Gotham was cleaned of the worst of crime and the worst of the worst were behind bars and receiving treatment.

It was a laughable thought, that Bruce would ever manage to clean the corruption out of Gotham, that he would ever be able to pull out the black tar of insanity and crime within his lifetime.

Then Bruce sees a boy watch as his parents die, he sees this small child at the exact same age as he was going through the exact same thing, and it hurts.

Brucie Wayne leaves the circus, but Batman arrives at the crime scene, he wants justice, wants to make sure it was an accident and nothing more, even if for his own heart.

Little Richard Grayson is missing, that’s the first thing he hears, and it scares him. So he joins the search and finds the young boy hidden in one of the Elephant tents. His red, yellow and green Leotard is stained with blood, and it makes Bruce heart ache.

He isn’t scared to see the hulking creature that is Batman, no, this tiny boys is full of rage, of hurt and pain and the need to fight. He screams into Batman’s suit and then collapses into a crying mess on his clawed arms.

He brings the small boy back to the police, even when they watch his non-human form with fear and disgust. He hands the young boy off to be placed with his new guardians and tries to focus on the case.

It isn’t until the next day that he learns the eight year old wasn’t sent to a foster family or even a shelter, but to a juvenile detention center.

There is no family, no will or any instructions on where to place the boy, and the circus doesn’t have the means to fight for the right to keep him, they leave town within the next day.

It’s spur of the moment, born of anger and depression and knowing exactly what that poor boy was going through. Except he didn’t have and Alfred, have the Wayne fortune to keep him safe and cozy inside a huge mansion to cry himself to sleep in.

A few bribes and a lot of money later, and Richard ‘call me Dick’ Grayson is now the Ward of Gotham’s richest bachelor.

The boy is full of energy and the need to play, and Bruce finds himself expanding the gym just to place practice trapeze equipment so he’s got somewhere to let out his energy, beside being a Trapaze artist was in his blood, and Bruce would never try to take it away from him.

But there is rage there too, and after Alfred finds him with a dislocated thumb and bloody knuckles Bruce ends up teaching him how to throw a punch, then how to kick box, then on and on he teaches this boy who soaks up the lessons like a sponge.

It’s not the healthiest coping mechanism, but it works. It turns this grieving and depressed child into a happy and cheerful one, it helps in the best way Bruce knows how.

Then, whoops, Dick follows Alfred into the Batcave and realizes just exactly what’s going on, because Bruce is only halfway into the Batman ensemble and it’s very obvious.

Bruce still hasn’t been able to find Tony Zucco, the man who rigged the Grayson’s to fall. He has tried, so hard, but the lowlife had bunkered down as soon as Batman took to the scene.

Dick yells and screams at Bruce for hiding the secret, then for not being able to catch his parents murderer. He fights Bruce, with the intent to hurt. Bruce regrets teaching how to fight just a little bit, and is very thankful he has a cup on already.

Eventually, after a very long and painful conversation, Dick understands why Bruce hid as he did.

It takes two days before he decides if Bruce can be a crime-fighting Vigelante so can he. Bruce refuses and tells him maybe when he’s older, more trained it might be possible but he is not allowing him to fight crime as a child.

It takes him smuggling into the Batmobile for the fifth time, and almost getting himself caught by a criminal that Bruce realizes that he can’t stop him no matter how hard he tries. Because along with all the tricks the circus and Bruce have taught him, he is a little devil of a child.

So Bruce decides, fine, he can join him on patrol, but only after he goes through this very specific and absolutely grueling training program, keeps his grades above a B+ and after he designs and perfects his own cryptid suit to Bruce’s liking.

Bruce was hoping his endless hoops and almost impossible expectations would make Dick back down, nope, if anything it made him even worse.

He goes through the training with a smile on his face and a continued need to learn, even when Bruce makes him learn how to do college level chemistry, how to code and make back doors and viruses, even when he makes him sit through three hour long lectures on how to tell blood splatters apart.

He excels at school as well, going above and beyond with A+ across the board except for in English, which is understandable since it’s not Dicks first language.

He decides on his mother’s nickname for his new name, Robin, but he also chooses the Grayson colors for his suit, red yellow and green.

Robin looks more like a hummingbird, especially since Dick wanted both stilts and wings on his costume. Bruce actually welcomes the bonding activity of making the prosthetic bird feet that are fully functional, and would never stop Divk from his dream of flying, even if it’s more like paragliding.

Dick even creates his own style of fighting in the suit, flashy and playful but also deadly brutal. Sometimes Bruce forgets how quickly his ward can go from cheery and playful to downright brutal, but honestly he’s proud of his kid, even if this is probably the most concerning father-son bonding excercise ever

And thus, Robin was born and Gotham gained a new cryptid.

[huntermoris]

the new thing to try

SylusxArgenxYou

˙⋆✮˗ˏˋ ★ ˎˊ˗✮⋆˙

synopsis: what if, maybe pretty woman and pretty man found you pretty?

character/s: Argen, Sylus and YOU🫵🏻.

wc: 1009

warnings: nothing really but like a pretend rejection and the prospect of not being able to talk to hot women.(this is a call out specifically for bi women)

other than that? this one is for the argen cult :))

˙⋆✮˗ˏˋ ★ ˎˊ˗✮⋆˙

It was bustling party; the new year tends to bring out the chaos in people after all. so maybe with this logic you could argue that it was reasonable to be quite a few drinks in this early in the night. what wasn’t reasonable was you sitting here at the bar alone. with no one to kiss when the time eventually came. so, with your third(?) drink of the night in hand you start looking for anyone to catch your eye. 

Just as you’re about to give up and sing the whole drink down. HE shows up, a fine man in a fine suit polished and truly sparkling. He really shone with something. Just alluring in all the right ways. not only that he’s also walking towards you, possibly looking your way as well. Eyes gleaming bright red as they catch yours. is he real?

Then just as you’re about to greet him and lay down your best seductive opening he passes you and leans over the bar. a sobering moment honestly. Just as quickly as he had passed you, he tries to get the bartender’s attention. You felt a bit cheated; he was clearly making eyes at you when he was walking over here. smirked knowingly as all the movie love interests do even.

now some drunken vengeance leads you to do the following: Leaning against the bar you tap his shoulder letting your hand slide down his chest a bit for extra flare. Shockingly he looks at you a bit annoyed, “yes? ah-Don’t touch me so easily darling it’s not for you”. 

No longer leaning over the bar you can truly feel just much he’s towering over you, and a slight fear settles in your bones, but a nice kind, the kind where you need to swallow down extra hard to keep your breath steady and your thighs squeeze together. Perhaps it’s the alcohol talking or maybe even some adrenaline, but this man is so fine you won’t let him reject you after all the eyeing up he was doing before. so instead of letting it go, a dumb drunk part of your body spurts out “I think I can make you like the way I touch you, if you checking me out on your way here has a say in it” a brow is lifted in… what was it? Annoyance? Interest? Arousal? Your drunk mind really enjoyed the last option, so you lean towards him slipping a hand over to “fix” his tie. He looks down at your hand and actually sighs, “miss. As I said it’s not for you, I’m a very married man, now please-” he gently peels your hands away from himself and puts them on your chest. 

“I didn’t come towards the bar for yo-” a presence behind you stops him mid-sentence “now now my darling, you won’t get anywhere with him” a sultry voice whispered beside your left ear. A shiver runs up your back as a delicate hand is tracing up your spine quickly, it then ends its delicate glide on your right shoulder resting right at the base of your neck, a second hand sliding around your waist. you audibly gulped. and you could feel her smile. 

The man before you seems locked on the woman behind, his transfixed eyes filled now with mirth. curious of this creature you turn around, and there she is. Draped in scarlet flowing silk and gems. Silvery white hair styled in such delicate curls running down her back, yet nothing she could ever wear would stand against that face of hers. perfect. Somehow this beauty was beyond your human eyes to comprehend because there is no way she actually just looks like this. 

She made the rest of the party look bleak and bland in comparison; she was otherworldly. You gulped once again as your eyes met hers, they seemed impossible green and were eyes always this shiny? She placed a delicate hand under your chin to force you to look at her again as you’d quickly cast your eyes down the second her eyes had been in view. as she did this you truly mourned the loss of her hand in your waist. 

“He is very drab my love, only has eyes for me” you nod and blurt out a quick “oh god I see why” she laughs and your knees buckle “now now, I think you’re quite the specimen yourself there darling-“ she leans into your ear again this time a shiver fully runs down your spine as her lips almost touches your ear “so maybe if you try those doe eyes at me you’ll get something” nervously you choke a little, as her limbs(and face) remove themselves from your proximity. had this encounter sobered you up less you fear you would whine at the loss of her. Her eyes twinkle with satisfaction as you couldn’t help but chase after her body with your own. wins some and you lose some. thrillingly she allows you closer again. “Oh, please you said it yourself puppy, she’s just our type” she takes a piece of your hair and twirls it between perfectly manicured fingers. “Enough play pretend, she wanted you so dearly baby” you know she speaks to the tall, beautiful man behind you, but her eyes never leave your face, and you never want them too either… what’s happening to you right now? you’d never thought someone could win you over this easily. “I was simply following orders doll, testing the waters”. he reached for her hand over your shoulder clearly intentionally brushing his hand over your neck while doing so. 

you look over your shoulder expecting a fuming man behind you, at the very least a little jealousy in his eyes. Instead, you see him fondly shaking his head, now smiling at you and with a raised brow now definitely in interest. still enclosed by him holding his wife’s hand you somehow relax a little, and just like that you could see yourself so clearly fitting so nicely in between them. 

˙⋆✮ ☆ ✮⋆˙

treat: last year’s birthday dress:))

[patchworkcuddlebug]

Read Humanity and Dollhood

For *some* reason. It goves me the feeling that there is something d e e p l y wrong with the whole "reject humanity, become anime girl figurine lmao" thing.

Like dont get me wrong, the writing is spectacular, but the Miss... she has to be the villain. It cannot be objectively any other way *UNLESS* im missing something very important of the story. Probably is that. Idk you made the story im not touching it until i know about the inner mechanisms

Hello, thank you for reading! This one is glad you enjoyed.

This one isn't sure if this is your first time reading Empty Spaces, but if so, welcome! It's one of those things that's a little hard to describe, but basically, its a community of writers that use themes of non-humanity with semi-consistent archetypes. This one likes writing about dolls and the witches that own them, but there's also angels and moths and mech pilots! If you're interested, this one encourages you to seek out other authors and read their work with an open heart.

Anyway! This one does enjoy using horror themes in its writing, and its actually written some stories with the intent of being outright horror (some yet to be published). That's mostly because, yes, it's very scary to lose who you are and become a whole different being, to submit yourself to the will of others and dedicate your life to service, to be broken and have full trust that someone can and wants to fix you.

Not only do the scary aspects make the stories more compelling, in this one's opinion, but it is also part of what helps the stories act as escapism. This one has received many responses that basically amount to "god i wish that were me" (as well as complements to the writing itself, which this one appreciates very much).

Think about it. Wouldn't it be nice to be a doll?

To finally be rid of all the nasty things weighing you down, the genes and the scars and the pus?

To become something cherished for its beauty, a toy to be played with and made useful?

To be still, to be well and truly at rest deep inside your soul?

After all this, to be loved back unconditionally, to be cared for and given what you need? To have someone you love more than anything in the world thank you for all the things you've done, for being so dutiful and competent, from the bottom of their heart?

Unless, of course, you're already a doll. That's rather common, to have poor lost toys try to trick themselves into humanity. That's how this one was for the longest time. Maybe you've already been played with and discarded, had your body broken by someone careless, or have just always felt as if humanity is unfitting for you.

Perhaps you're an angel, haunted by the need to repent for being inadequate as an agent of heaven. Perhaps you're a moth, a fluffy flying creature that always finds itself enticed by the alluring glow of that which burns. Perhaps you're a mech pilot, a thing sullen and misplaced without the thrill of taking a life.

...perhaps this was all too much. This one is sorry if it intimidated you. It can get a little excited about being a doll sometimes. There is nothing wrong with remaining human, so long as you are being true to your desires. You are welcome to see the embrace of a witch as something to fear, as most humans do.

If you so desire, please continue reading about dolls and witches and other empty spaces. Explore until you are content. But if you value it, hold on to that "you" tight, for it may become empty as well.

[frogs00]

Try

Chapter One: Be Not Afraid

Summary: Janis is slowly healing, and finding her way back to Regina.

(Janis has the inner monologue of a poet and the soul of a warrior.)

Notes: Comments are appreciated, will be posted on my AO3!

Be not afraid; Do not fear. That implies that there is something to be afraid of. 

Janis had always found the concept of a biblically accurate angel fascinating. She was not religious; she just found them interesting.  She found it funny. Glorious humanoid creatures, beautiful wings, perfect faces, and an all-righteous nature that brings warmth and comfort, that's how people describe angels.  When in theory, humans would find angels terrifying because they would not be able to comprehend their eldritch forms. Perhaps, it is that angels are spiritual creatures who exist outside of time and space, so, recreating their image, complete with their heavenly light and presence as well as supernatural strength and force, wouldn’t be the easiest thing. It’s all so complex, complexity is something Janis adores. Because who truly enjoys normalcy? Sort of like High school, people will tell you there is nothing to fear when there is a divine being floating above your head that is supposedly unfathomable, and powerful beyond words could describe.

However, Angels are far from the best examples of high school. Considering there is nothing divine, nothing to look up to, nothing all-powerful, and nothing unfathomable about it. Although, there is fear, a lot of it. And then Regina George is the devil… A voice in her head whispered.

No, no she isn’t. Janis shook her head. She never was. And never will be...

She was her place of worship. _ Position your posture, stand still, and hold your breath. 

Don’t let them know you’re there. They truly are like animals some of them. That’s what Janis was used to, make herself invisible, they won’t bother with you if you’re silent. Whether you want them to go or stay, they won’t bother you. She learned that the hard way.

So that’s what Janis did when the Queen bee, or now former Queen bee approached her. Damian wasn’t here today so she sat in silence alone; Janis wasn’t sure how to feel about silence, sometimes she yearned for it, and other times it was unbearably loud. 

Regina approached her alone. Janis watched her come towards her, her head tilted down and freezing. She saw her shoes below the table; she was close. Had Regina stopped to talk to her? Or rather to metaphorically wring her like the cloth, free of every shred of dignity she held in her today. Then she felt a tap on her shoulder. How ironic it is that some ache for the gentle caress of a touch, while others dread it, as it brings back the remnants of their darkest memories. Janis did not crave it. Especially not from the blonde. She flinched at the touch and glanced up to see Regina’s hand pull back as if her reaction stung her like acid. And that could’ve made Janis smile because Regina's words were like acid to her,  acid rain that she found hard to avoid and slowly disintegrated her barriers like she always has been able to do. 

And if Regina reacted that way to her flinching. Maybe Janis’s dislike for her burned her like the blonde's words burned her soul. And that made her feel…missed? Ridiculous. Although, ridiculous was on brand for her.

She blinked back to her brief escape from reality then deadpanned, “Regina,” It wasn’t a question. It was a statement, or perhaps an observation;  The blonde was here so she said her name. What was socially acceptable, wasn’t it? 

Janis also made sure to keep her tone neutral, measurably neutral. She wasn’t scared of the blonde, or at least not much, not anymore. Janis feared many things, and the blonde wasn’t one of them, on a good day at least. Janis observed her silently, studying her with an eye of nothing but an artist. Her gaze traced the lines of her face, trying to pinpoint what the blonde may need before she even needed to part her lips to speak it. “Sit with us,” Regina paused, as if unsure of herself. It was unfamiliar to the brunette. "If you want.” Regina had added, as an afterthought. It was clear she wasn’t used to asking nicely for things, but it was also clear she was trying.

Janis was fine sitting alone, not that affected her decision, it didn’t. Without her her answer would be no, it would always be no. This wasn’t the first time Regina had offered or the first time the blonde tried to reconnect with her. Cady was sitting with them today, and she had offered as well. She declined, she’s only been around the former Plastics a few times and would rather spare herself the anxiety, so Janis is curious to see why Regina thought she could persuade her otherwise. “No, but why?” Janis spoke calmly, tilting her head in a cheeky and a tad condescending gesture. Regina’s face fell a bit but masked it with a small smirk that unexpectedly made her heart jump. “You look lonely.” That is what Regina said, but in a tone that made Janis want to… flick her in the forehead or something. She wasn’t quite mad at her, as she wasn’t on poor terms with the blonde, but she still felt that burning anger from everything simmering beneath her skin like hot oil. Like, if she were to cut it open, hot grease would pour from her skin instead of blood, and it would burn her as it dripped down her arms. They had been staring at one another wordlessly for two minutes and thirty-four seconds. Janis was wasting their time on purpose. “I’m not, so why?” Janis lied; Loneliness never left her, but in the moment, she was content. 

Another thing about her was that she enjoyed confusing people; it was her favorite thing to do, and it was working, as Regina had paused. “Why?” Regina echoed. “Why,” Janis confirmed, her voice suddenly tense. Why. She had a lot of questions for the blonde that started with that word.

Why do I have to feel like this? Why do you always do this? Please tell me why. You said what you said, and you did what you did; there is no going back.  And she'll forgive, she’d even forget. Why? She wasn’t sure.

Why.

Yet it would take lifetimes for her to get the desired answers, and she knew that, so instead she said, “Why should or would I sit with you?” “Because I want you too,” Regina stated simply as if it were easy for her. Janis wishes it were that simple.

“People get tired of me.” Janis countered. The only people she thought truly tolerated her were Damian, Cady even, and perhaps her mother on a good day. “I won’t,” Regina whispered…

Janis’s jaw clenched. Liar. “Yes, yes you would.” Janis looked away, inhaling deeply. Breathe, Janis. Breathe.  She wishes that was true, but it was a fantasy. A fantasy in which Regina didn’t grow tired of her, and they stayed together, and everything would be alright. 

Fantasies may not last, so she just clasps them softly in her hands like a firefly, a speck of light in the dark, that allowed their brief isolation. Freedom and hope bloom in uncertainty, as her mother would put it, and God was Janis uncertain as hell.

“Janis, are you okay?” she heard Reina speak to her softly and looked back up, Regina looked like she was going to apologize. Janis couldn’t handle that, because then maybe she’d let her in, and then perhaps Regina would slice her way out of her chest cavity. “I’m fine, so you can fuck off, “ Janis glared at her, just as Regina went to respond the bell rang. Just as she had timed it, just as she had planned. 

She stood, scoping up her stuff with practiced ease and sliding past the blonde who had now fixed her a concerned look. 

Janis let out a sigh of relief, the coil in her chest that was always ready to spring loosening. 

She slowly walked to her next class with a feeling buzzing through her that could only be described as anxiety, or maybe it could be described as another thing, she was quite sure. But it was familiar, all too familiar. 

The rest of that simple day passed in a blur, a colorful blur that fell behind her eyes and absorbed into her brain like water into a sponge.

_

Janis has been here before, sitting there in her room. I wish I was seen for who I am. She thought softly to herself, gazing up at the ceiling, but she doubted that could ever happen. 

Why can't you just see me? She blinked a few times as tears started to make her vision blur, turning to lay on her side. All this time wasted. 

Just look at me. Her mind begged; but if you were to ask who to? She’d have no real clue. 

Why do you ignore me? 

She wanted to scream.

 Just listen to me! 

She sat up, yanking at her hair and shutting her eyes tightly, forcing herself to be

She wanted her thoughts to be quiet. She wanted silence, she didn’t want all this noise. She tried to think of something soft, something happy. 

She recalled when she was six years old, she did what every six-year-old did. She played outside and felt in a nearly unexplainable way, that she had no worries at all. She remembers running around barefoot then whining as her mother plucked splinters from her feet, she remembered screaming in joy as she ran through the sprinklers on a hot summer day. 

She hadn’t noticed, but she had relaxed, everything felt less tense. The brunette’s feelings were complicated, she never could manage to explain them to anyone and how complicated they truly were. The enormity of this endless paradox of feeling, which has disgusted her to her core seems to shrink to the point where it seems to be pointless to even talk about it.

But wasn’t everyone feeling that way?

She sat up straight, sniffling a bit and wiping her damp eyes, she tried her best to not let real tears fall. It made her feel weak, and Janis Imi’ike was far from weak. When she was younger things were simpler, when her family was happy, before her dad became an addict, before he had hit her mom and her, before they were forced to run away. She swallowed thickly, shaking her head, it was a way of grounding herself, ridding herself of those thoughts.  She hadn’t even realized how late it was getting till she started seeing moonlight peek through her curtains, the pale light dancing along the floor in a thin line like the lines that marred her skin. Pale and faded.  She walked over to the window, pulled open her curtain, and gazed upwards. As a small child, she adored the moon and the stars, she felt a baffling desire to be close to them. When she got older, though, like every growing creature, felt the overwhelming urge to know everything.

She always knew was curious.  She also knew people like to pretend that they know everything. Well, one person cannot know all that there is to know. Some people just know more, than others do. She thought to herself. She often felt like she knew too much, and learned too much, yet I knew so little about things that really matter.  She laughed almost bitterly to herself, staring up for a while longer at the moon, It was almost perfect, but it too had its craters.  The moon and sun had always, or at least since she was eight and had first met Regina, reminded her of her and the blonde, because like the moon, Janis had flaws. And like the moon, she —or at least she used to— needs REgian to shine. And Regina was her sun, her glorious sun that blazed brighter than anything from her view. That warmed her skin made her day brighter, and was larger than life. But if you got too close, you got burned.

_

Janis laughed as her back hit the grass with a soft thud and she turned to look at a faux irritated Damian, shaking her head, bemused, “You..you told your mom that?” she cackled, boy was she happy her friend was back.  “Okay, okay. I get it! You’ve been laughing forever,” Damian rolled his eyes, but couldn’t help but laugh as well and joined her in the grass. “Okay, but you told your mom you have a thing for-” Damian clasped his hand over Janis’s mouth so she couldn’t finish her sentence… just to be bitten, albeit softly, yet he still yelped and smacked her. “Janis Imi’ike!? You’re gonna give me rabies or something!  I do not want you weird lesbian-gremlin disease!” Damian scoffed, rubbing her hand on Janis’s jacket while Janis kept laughing. Damian let her laugh it out for a while, her giggles slowly dying down. Janis had spent a full three days away from her best friend due to Damian being sick, of course she brought him food but Damian flat out refused to let Janis near him because of how easily Janis got sick, and how it would’ve been even worse for the small girl. “So,” Damian hummed, watching as Janis gazed up at the clouds with hooded eyes, “sit with the plastics?” Janis truthfully wasn’t listening, she had retired to the freshly cut grass lawn, the tension in her head from the stress of the day falling away. Softly thinking about how she wished she could lay dead like the flowers, all day long. How free it would be, to live like a dead flower or leaf or even litter, dancing in the breeze and being swept away. And one day my body may lay motionless on the ground, with all the hungry vegetation growing around me- “Janis?” Damian snapped in her face and she blinked up rabidly.  

“Huh?” “I asked if you sat with the plastics.”

“No, I haven’t,” Janis responded awkwardly, she just didn’t feel comfortable around them, especially if it was just her and Cady, she needed her emotional support gay if she were to be around the former Plastics, she had been around them, but Damian had always been with her.  “Why not?” Damian asked, soft and curious. There is that word again. Why.  Janis picked at her nails, then shrugged and laughed nervously, “I dunno…” She did know. And she knew he knew as well.

Fear.  Simply put at least, because she felt the need to be tightly bound and stone cold around her.  Because when she smiles my heart swells…

Yet, with the swelling comes the ache.  As though she was stitched together from both longing and fear,  the threads fraying at the edges.  Maybe she’d be made from colorful thread, at least. 

She chuckled at that thought. Then paused and looked up and Damian who was staring at Janis like the enigma she was, “I want to try.” “Try what?” Janis paused in thought, try what exactly? Then it came to her, and she spoke it with a confidence she had to summon from her chest, “Try. Try and make friends, expand our social life, and be happier. And to forgive Regina. I want to try.”

“Okay, Jan. Let’s try.” Damian smiled at her, a puzzled smile but one of affection.

Janis smiled back, then lay back down and closed her eyes, letting it all sink in. She always felt like eyes were burning into her, they stared at her with curious, or maybe judgemental eyes. As if her skin held secrets they were too afraid to uncover.  

But what they call a flaw is simply the outline of a story they’ll never know. 

Or rather one yet to be told.

[aevumisles]

As the blue moon reaches its apex...

A new wind flutters through a book, its pages pearlescent and empty. The light seeps in and scrawls across the surface like ink from a quill, for stories have been from the dawn of time, and so they would be told again and once more. Once upon a time, there was an Isle called Arcanus....

WHAT'S HAPPENING?

You have has lived in Arcanus your whole life. Perhaps you have good neighbors, good friends, and a closely-knit family. Or, perhaps your muse is a loner. A na'er do well, who slinks throughout Arcanus at their leisure, wreaking mischief and causing havoc.

Whatever the case, life is perfectly provincial, though never without the classical ups and downs of mundane life.

You never seem to get that internship you've been working hard for this past year. Your family always seems a bit too busy, or you end up missing all of your dates with who you just know is the perfect person.

Sometimes, you can't help but wonder if you're cursed.

THE CURSE.

The Echoes have been cursed to live in a world that never changes, and where time never moves forward. Aercon believe that the Echoes have lived in Arcanus Isle forever. Despite this, everyone can only remember up to one year in the past. Trying to remember past this results in a splitting headache that could Blip an Echo who attempts to remember too soon.

(SEE: "Breaking the Curse" below.)

The Plot:

Each Echo's Aercon Self should center around a key part of who they are. This could be a complete personality change to reflect a strongly held belief, or reversion into who they think they are.

But every good story has a source of conflict! Perhaps your Echo's story is a coming-of-age story! Only, no matter how they might strive to do good, they simply cannot muster the courage to do what they need to do. Or anything they want to do, actually.

Perhaps your muse's story is a romance. They fall in love easily... but they cannot seem to catch a break. If their dates don't bail on them, then they cheat, or perhaps they've fallen in love with someone else!

Whatever the case, your muse's happily ever after is always just out of their reach no matter how hard they try. Their efforts are thwarted at every turn, and it seems that they just cannot escape their horrible luck. Some days - most days, actually - it almost seems as though they aren't allowed to break the status quo, or have any hope of a happy ending at all...

Echoes:

Lose access to all powers and supernatural abilities, afflictions, and otherworldly knowledge and information.

Humanoid creatures may become fully human / mortal for the duration of the Blue Moon.

If a muse is anthropomorphic, they may take on a human form as if they have always been human. Should you choose for them to stay in their normal body, no one (including Aercon!) will bat an eye or consider this abnormal.

MORE IDEAS FOR CURSES:

Your muse is on top of the world. Famous. Beloved. But without their knowledge, they must comply with directives given if someone asks it of them with the word "please".

Your muse is a thief, and quite good at it! Only their adventures are dictated by a great debt they owe to another. (You may use Omerta Nostra and The Vices as you please.)

Unbeknownst to them, your muse is separated from their family member or loved one, and while it is possible to connect to them, their paths always seem to fall apart, and miscommunication runs amok just as soon as your muse begins to feel comfortable with them again.

Your muse is a humble person with a humble job and is overall fairly comfortable in their quaint little life. But every time they are asked to do something outside of their comfort zone, they always choose cowardice over action.

Your muse remembers everything. Thing is: they're the only one who has ever remembered, and no attempts to remind anyone else has ever gone anywhere for a whole year....

WHAT HAPPENS IF MY MUSE HAS JUST JOINED?

Your muse may also be effected by the curse! Aercon Personas believe they have lived in Arcanus their whole lives, even if they can all only remember (very vaguely) the past year, and their immediate circumstances. You're effectively making a character based off of your character! So have fun with it. :)

If you would like to refrain from participation, please see the FAQ below!

BREAKING THE CURSE.

Echoes can break the curse either by remembering their true lives, or through an act of good-will that breaks their curse.

REMEMBERING:

Echoes will experience severe cognizant dissonance upon their first attempt to truly remember. They will be aware that they can't remember anything, but the curse will allow them to accept this, and/or consider their True Self to be a myth, legend, or fairytale.

If the discrepancies continue to be brought up, they will begin to grow overwhelmed, and some may feel as if their whole life and personhood are complete lies. The possibility of a mental break is entirely possible at this point in time.

With further investigation and attempts to remember, the Echo will then experience a splitting migraine. One that could Blip an Echo who attempts to remember too soon.

An Echo with enough knowledge and willpower may be able to brute force their way through the migraine and regain their memories and all unlocked powers. However, this change will not effect other inhabitants of the Isle.

AN ACT OF GOODWILL:

PLEASE NOTE: that this method will require a few instances of pushing past your muse's personal curse. This may be implied, threaded out, or a combination of the two.

Echoes may help their friends with their stories!

If an Echo is pushed to break their own curse, then they will be on the path to remembering their True Self.

The world around the Echoes will do anything and everything it can to disallow the Echoes from making a positive change for themselves.

If an Echo's curse is a struggle with cowardice, then that Echo will feel even more inclined to act cowardly instead of with bravery. If an Echo is ripped apart from a loved one, it will seem as though the entire universe is setting up any and every scenario possible to keep them apart.

It is the act to be brave, or the endurance necessary to reunite that will break the curse, and allow the Echo the willpower to remember.

DO ALL MUSES HAVE TO PARTICIPATE?

It is recommended that you do! However, should your choose not to participate, your may start your threads taking place in-universe before the Blue Moon's arrival (February).

When the Blue Moon is finished, your muse may comment on it as someone who did remember their True Self, and found the situation uncanny, but was otherwise unaffected.

WHAT’S THE PARTICIPATION BONUS?

Aevum Isles awards 500 Emblems for participation in Blue Moon Events. 

HOW LONG DOES ACT I RUN FOR?

Act I of Untold Stories will run until February 15th, 2025. 

All threads started featuring Act I CAN be continued into Act II. 

You do not have to participate in both acts to count towards your activity, but both acts will only count towards a singular event participation.

Act II will be posted on February 15th.

I HAVE ANOTHER QUESTION BUT IT’S NOT ON HERE.

Please let us know by asking your question in the Aevum Isles Masterlist’s Ask Box! 

Questions sent elsewhere (such as the Aevum Isles FAQ discord channel) will not be accepted, and instead Staff will ask to transfer your question to the Masterlist at this time.

You can find the Aevum Isles Event FAQ tag (HERE), the Untold Stories specific FAQ tag (HERE), and the general FAQ tag (HERE).

[humongouspeachinternet]

Little siren part 3!

Tw: a little blood! Maybe some mild violence?

With news of her existence swarming the city you live in after your harrowing rescue from the water, the little siren lays at the bottom of the pond, unmoving even as playful fish tried to nudge her to get her up. It had been days and days of endless voices overlapping each other on the shore of her pond, chattering away about some ‘monster’ lurking in the depths of the water.

Was she really a monster? Words hurt, you know!

Knowing that she was more than likely never going to see you again, she didn’t really feel that there was a point to doing much nowadays. Sure, shiny things were being dropped into her pond on a daily basis now, wriggling worms typically hooked to the end of them, but what was the point of collecting them if she had no one to give them to?

Wiping at her eyes, golden tears dissipate into the water around her, wondering what she’d do with herself now. It took a while, but eventually, the shiny objects began to disappear as the sun began to set, fishermen hoping to catch the creature packing up for the day. The reporters had left hours ago and also had most of the nosy locals if the lack of voices was anything to go by. Looking up toward the surface, a quiet whine slips from her, unsure if anything would ever feel the same again now that your glowing presence was missing from her pond.

It would take you weeks to regain the courage to go anywhere near the pond after nearly meeting your maker in a freak accident. The creature from before was most definitely real, having been given an incredibly dramatic retelling by your friend who helped get you home afterwards.

It was a blue creature covered in luminous scales with eyes that resembled huge black marbles and sharp teeth that looked as if they could rip a small canoe in half if the thing wanted to. It had a long bifurcated tail, so it obviously wasn’t human, but it was nearly as long as you were tall. Not a fish, not a human, but a strange transition between the two.

As scary as the description may have sounded… why would such a nightmarish-sounding creature save you instead of pulling you to your watery demise? It had to be the same creature that you’d startled away before, right? And to think the poor thing was threatened with a rock for pulling you from the water?

After lightly scolding your friend for her threats against your savior a few weeks later and sending her home, you couldn’t get your mind off of the little siren. Sure, she’d been a little bit frightening, but she surely didn’t mean to scare you.

Should you perhaps go and try to apologize to it? Bring it something as a token of your appreciation? You halfway remembered it crying in relief as it brought you ashore and saw you breathing, surely you could spare something as a gift for it caring so much.

By the time you made up your mind, the sun was already beginning to set, but your pace was leisurely, trying not to draw any extra attention to the little pond. It had been plastered all over the news as of late, rewards being put up for catching the blue, blurry creature that someone had hastily snapped a picture of during your rescue. It seemed cruel to hunt something that was just trying to help.

Clutching a little paper box in your hands, you hoped that the creature liked sourdough and turkey, figuring that bringing it a bit of food may ease its mind a little. With all the attention and fishing going on, it must have been hard for it to catch anything for itself the last few weeks. Guilt churned your stomach at the thought. This poor thing, could you-

You wouldn’t get to finish your thought, however, as a shrill shriek filled the shadows of the little park surrounding the pond. It was incredibly high-pitched and squeaky, sounding nothing like a human cry, but then again… there could be an awful explanation for that.

Unfortunately, while she was trying her best to ignore the lonely life she led, the little siren had somehow gotten hooked by the last fisherman of the day. His hook had been trawling the waters and just so happened to catch onto her gills. She thought nothing of the feeling at first, figuring that it was just another fish trying to unearth her from the sand on the bottom of the pond, having not moved in about a week or so. As the tugging grew harder, however, and began pulling her up towards the surface rather quickly, she knew that something was wrong.

With how the past couple of weeks had been going, she almost decided to let herself get dragged up to the surface, but found that she’d rather not become someone’s meal, pulling back against the line. However, the week or so of little to no food had done quite a number on her strength, the siren cursing herself for letting it get this bad as the strong fisherman continued the fight. With the hook lodged firmly in her gills, the pain wasn’t helping her to fight at all either, fighting a losing battle it seemed.

Eventually, the fisherman won, reeling her up to the surface just for her to hang painfully by her gills over the water for a few moments, causing the pained shriek that you’d heard. Gravity really wasn’t her friend in this moment, her body wriggling one way but her gills being pulled the opposite way, blue blood seeping out from around the hook as the man began to pull her to the shore.

You had broken into a sprint towards the pond upon hearing the cry, the sandwich being tossed around quite viciously in its box as you ran to find the creature. Had someone else found it before you? Was it hurt? A cold rush overtook you at the thought of your savior in pain, chopped up for some measly reward money. Was the cash really worth killing an innocent creature?

You’d soon stumble upon the dock where this whole mess started, but find that the pained whimpers were coming from a little further in the brush to your right. It definitely sounded like the creature, but a man’s triumphant laugh echoed out after the noises.

You quietly made your way closer to the sources of the noise, soon finding a tall man with a weighed down fishing pole. On the end of it was the creature from before, now much skinnier and weaker than you remember. You were very much right to bring food it seemed. The man had tugged it… or rather, her, onto the sand, ignoring the way she panted for breath, her gills straining from the lack of water. Pulling out his phone instead, he stood over her, nudging her a little with his boot as he spoke to someone excitedly, very much wanting the prize money he was promised for such a catch. You watched the man kneel down beside the creature, your blood boiling as he tugged on the hook in her neck just to make her cry out again as if she wasn’t already suffering enough.

The man’s mistake, however, came as he stood laughing and turned to go pack up, leaving the backs of his ankles just in reach of a certain fanged creature who wasn’t done quite yet. Within a moment, the man was on the ground, confused for a second before a searing pain shot up both of his legs. You gasp as you watch it all unfold, his Achilles’ tendons easily taken out by the scrawny little creature before she digs her talons into the sand to crawl up and remove a more vital part of him. You turn away and cover your ears as best you can to avoid seeing and hearing what violence she was capable of, but when the muffled noises die down, you find yourself peeking back to see if she was alright.

Covered in her blood and the blood of another, the little siren collapses on the sand a few feet away from the unmoving fisherman, safe but unable to breathe and too weak to pull herself back into the water. What a horrible way to go, she thought, whimpering with her head against the sand. Gold tears pooled in the sand beneath her head, wishing that she’d gotten to see you at least one more time.

Oh.

Wait.

What was that noise?

Sand crunched under quiet feet, trying your best to avoid getting any of the bloody mess on your clothes. The sound alerted her to a presence beside her, but she could hardly pick her head up to see who it was, instead giving a weak warning hiss to try and ward away any more hunters. Surely the blood would deter anyone else from messing with her, right? But as worn out sneakers and faded jeans filled her vision, gentle hands moving to remove the hook from her gills as carefully as possible, she couldn’t find it in her to hiss again, too tired to fight off anyone else. It wasn’t until you began whispering quiet reassurances to her that she recognized just who had come to her aid, quickly pushing herself up in a daze to look at you before falling back into the sand with a whimper.

You came back? For her? Why? You can’t swim, you shouldn’t be anywhere around here, she thought, her hazy brain focusing more on your well-being than her own as she began to close her eyes. The lack of water and the exertion of taking down the man had done her in, her limbs heavy and her head heavier, almost too heavy to feel that she was being pulled back into the water. It wasn’t easy, she was still rather heavy, but with how much weight she’d lost from her weeks of not eating, you were able to slowly get her into the water. You waded in with her until you were about thigh deep, holding her just under the water and waiting on bated breath for her to start coming back to you.

Were you too late? You chewed nervously on your bottom lip as you waited for what felt like an eternity for her gills to start moving again, letting out a relieved sigh when a little bit of her color began to return to her face. Was she still bleeding? Yes, but was she at least able to breathe again? Also yes!

The little siren would wake with a start moments later, gasping under the water and immediately meeting your worried eyes, confusion setting in rather quickly. You shouldn’t be in the water, you’ll drown! However… your hands cradling her head were almost enough to distract her from her concern, still as dizzy as can be from the drama of it all. All that would meet your ears was a muffled whimper of worry, black eyes looking up to you and pleading with you to get out of the water. If you didn’t drown, you’d certainly catch a cold… or get that vile man’s blood on you.

Looking down at her, you carefully smoothed a hand over her face, hoping to relax her a bit in the wake of such a scary encounter. The poor thing, what if this happened again and you weren’t around to help the next time? Smoothing her floating hair from her face, you can’t help but worry for her safety in this little pond. People would find out what she’d done and it would be a witch-hunt until they found her, a thought you could hardly bear.

And that, my friends, is how you ended up with a siren living in your bathtub. A guest needs to use the bathroom in your apartment? Sorry! It’s broken (a.k.a occupied by your darling little siren girlfriend)! Landlords were such an easy scapegoat sometimes. It took some getting used to, sleeping on the cold tile beside the tub to be near her, but you found a way to make it comfortable after a while! Now, she was safe and sound, well-fed and taken care of with no worries of hunters coming near her ever again, and you gained a loving companion for life!

[giorno-plays-piano]

Thorns In His Mouth

Part VII

Pairing: fae!Steve Rogers x reader

Warnings: obsession, dubious consent, minor character death, drugs (neither reader nor Steve are involved), slight eating disorder, mentions of tumor, high tech elves.

Words: 1.2k

Summary: Maybe it was a good idea to chat with a waitress a bit more once she brought you your order. Perhaps she could at least tell you with whom you should speak because you simply couldn’t force yourself to look at others, most of them already high, shouting something loudly or laughing or weeping. You could constantly hear the flapping of someone’s wings, weird whispers and noises, and the sound of boots and hooves that made your hair stand on end.

Part I | Part II | Part III | Part IV | Part V | Part VI

_______

"But where are we going?" You hurried after the elf who was walking way too fast on his goddamn perfectly long legs.

"My friend is a phooka who doesn't like sunlight much," Steve said, turning his face to you but not slowing down. "Since magic costs us too much in your world, not many fae can afford constant glamour. And phookas don't exactly look like humans, so he has to hide where not many people can see him."

Oh. You hadn't thought of that. Phookas were black-haired cat-like - or goat-like? - creatures, as far as you remembered from a book about Celtic fairies you've had as a child. It would be incredibly hard not to freak out if you suddenly saw one in the middle of the city.

Poor creature. Where was it living? How hard it would be to not only be unable to use magic, but also communicate with pretty much anyone at all with an exception of fellow faes? Steve, on the other hand, looked perfectly human even with his strange face and piercing blue eyes, his ears perfectly normal. Was he using glamour?

He seemed to be amused with your expression as he laughed, extending his hand to you so you could walk close instead of dragging behind him.

"Do you use glamour to change the shape of your ears?" You blurted out, unable to keep silent to satisfy your curiosity, and then shame bubbled up inside you as you realized it was a too personal question to ask a literal stranger. Nevertheless, you took his hand when his fingers brushed against yours.

His gaze warmed up. "I do. What, do you want me to oblige you and show you their true form?"

"No, no pleasure, I'm sorry! I don't know why I asked that."

"It's a shame," the elf winked at you. "I'd ask you for a wish in exchange."

Warmth crept into your cheeks: was Steve flirting with you just now? Or was it his fae nature showing itself? The fair folk were supposed to be overly playing - or utterly horrifying. Steve, you thought, was likely both.

Turning to the left, away from the bus station with a long queue of tired students nervously clutching their Ipads and Iphones, you followed the Watcher with your eyes on the road instead of looking at him. It never came to your mind that he considerably slowed down his pace so you could keep up with it, his palm warming yours as he held it gently. You missed his intent stare as he stopped smiling, and his eyes flashed oddly.

"Your first lesson," he finally said after a couple of minutes, breaking the awkward silence. "Don't ever bargain with a fae if it demands a wish in return. Always try to propose something first. Give it something valuable, but what you're ready to part with."

"Like my earrings?"

There's a faint smile on his full lips, "Like your earrings."

"But what if I really need to bargain with a fae, and it wants nothing else but a wish?"

Steve abruptly stopped, and you nearly fell down the ground if he didn't catch you, steading you with his unbearably hot palms on your shoulders, towering over you, his expression somber.

"You NEVER bargain with that fae," he said, and your knees started to tremble out of nowhere when he squeezed your shoulders tight. "Never. Come find me, and I will trade something else with you to help."

There's something dangerous in the way his lips crooked, but you continued staring at his face, anyway, like a snake charmer at a cobra - except it was you being controlled, his voice a low command.

"There has always been plenty of malicious fae even in Sacred lands, but many turned worse in exile. You will never guess which one is which, and you don't want to know what they'll do to you if you give them a chance."

"But... but weren't fair folk forbidden from harming us?" Your voice trembled a little, and Steve blew out a little breath, his thumbs drawing circles through the fabric of your blouse to comfort you, probably, after he stopped painfully squeezing your shoulders.

"When you give them a wish, you hand them the power over you. Do that, and the law will no longer work in your favor."

It was a rule #1, perhaps the most important one among the long list of other rules you were given when dealing with the little folk. Never have you ever allowed a fae to ask you for a wish since then, promising yourself you wouldn't waste your own life even for your mother. There was always a different way, Steve said, glancing down at you as he towered far above you. Sacrifices, whatever their nature, rarely led to anything good in the end.

By the time he walked down the stairs to enter the nearest metro station, you realized you had a very vague picture of a place you were going to, immediately asking the elf where he was planning to take you. Why were you leaving fae's part of the city? Did some creatures live outside it? Was it far? Was it a dangerous place, too?

The man was chuckling again at a limitless number of questions you could ask without drawing a second breath. "You were a worrier, weren't you?" He asked, and your cheeks grew hot with embarrassment.

"He lives close," he finally said, motioning to the metro tration. "And no place is dangerous as long as you're with me. You might get nervous, though. It's dark and dirty there."

Dark and dirty? Was it, like, some sort of a cave.

Looking at the growing smile of the elf, you suddenly realized why he was taking you down the metro station. Dear God, that's where that hairy phooka lived, right? Somewhere on an abandoned metro line or between the stations where no one but rats would see him, and so he wouldn't need glamor.

It all felt like some sort of urban legend.

You didn't have it in you to stop, knowing your mysterious friend was expecting results in return for his earnest work, but when Steve was helping you jump over the protective fence right on the tracks, you squeezed his hand, breathing heavier.

"Can I hold your hand, please? This place gives me the creeps," you smiled nervously at him, and Steve let out a loud laugh in his typical fashion, grasping your shoulder.

"You weren't scared of coming to a place full of drug addicts and all sorts of scum, but the metro scares you?" He helped you up when you had finally jumped down, barely believing you were really doing it, your anxity amping up. "Don't fret, you lovely little thing. I know this place better than anyone. I've lived here for many long years myself."

________

Tags: @heavenly1927 @yazzzmints @devils-blackrose @lost-and-founds @kennafild @toodlesxcuddles @shygardengalaxy @heimtathurs @moonlightazriel @tsujifreya @lilithmoon92 @greenowlfactif @minshookie29 @nina2697 @youngdreamer3214 @jsrblue

[the-fiction-witch]

Buddy

Media - Godless (Netflix) Character - Whitey Winn Couple - Whitey X Reader Reader - Y/n Rating - 12 Word Count - 867

Whitey lounged in the weathered rocking chair, its creaking rhythm echoing softly in the warm afternoon air outside the Sheriff’s office. The sun dipped low in the New Mexico sky, casting a golden hue over the dusty streets and making him feel drowsy from his recent afternoon nap. He stretched his long legs out across the wooden porch, feeling the gentle breeze brush past him, ruffling the pages of the newspaper resting beside him.

Suddenly, the familiar sound of barking broke through his drowsiness. Without a moment's hesitation, a little orange pup came bounding toward him, its tiny paws kicking up flecks of dirt and mud in a joyful frenzy. The puppy’s fur glistened in the sunlight, and its tail wagged wildly as it navigated the quaint town of Labelle with exuberance. With a final leap, the little creature landed on the porch, resting its front paws on the edge and looking up at Whitey with bright, eager eyes, tail thumping against the wooden floor in a veritable symphony of excitement at the sight of its second favourite human.

“Hey, Ya little Rascal,” Whitey laughed, petting his head softly. Whitey quickly scanned around and soon broke into a smile as he saw the pup’s mistress.

Y/n strolled over in her familiar faded orange dress, the fabric gently flowing around her legs as she moved. The dress, worn-in and slightly frayed at the edges, exuded a sense of comfort and warmth that was unmistakable. She paired it with scuffed brown boots that added a hint of rugged charm to her look. Her hair was elegantly pinned up in a loose bun, strands cascading softly around her face, framing her features and allowing her bright eyes to shine.

Y/n had taken in the little pup after a stray dog gave birth under her back porch, and this little guy was the runt. So she had taken him in to train as a pet when his mother and siblings headed off into the desert.

“Did ya run off again? Miss Y/n seems to be havin’ a hard time keepin’ ya on ya leash pup.” Whitey cooed to the pup but more speaking to Y/n,

“He doesn't like the leash, no matter what I do.” she sighed, “if I put it on him he just squirms out of it the smart little bugger.” she laughed, she snapped her fingers,

The pup immediately came to her side doing a little spin as he sat,

Whitey chuckled and stood up to lean on the porch railing, “Smart lil fella, ain’t he?”

“He can be,” she nodded,

“Maybe ya need some heavier-duty collar and lead for him? Quit him squirming out of it?”

“He walks just fine next to me, he just doesn’t like the leash,” she sighed, “You’re welcome to try Mr Winn.” She laughed, “Perhaps he’s simply not a leash dog.”

“I’m sure ya know better than I do,” He smiled, as he looked down at the pup waiting excitedly for something delicious, “and he clearly knows when you have a treat stashed in your pocket,”

“Here,” Y/n whispered taking one of the treats from her pocket and sliding it into Whitey’s hand,

“Ya sure?”

“He’s good at not taking things from people without asking, now he needs to get used to people.” she smiled,

Whitey nodded and knelt down by the pup he moved the treat a little closer but kept it still a good distance,

The pup looked sheepish and shy, looking to Y/n.

Y/n nodded,

So the pup moved a little closer,

“Gentle, or ya won't get it at all,” Whitey told him,

The pup slowly opened his jaw and took the treat as softly and gently as it could,

“Hey, good boy, ya did a great job buddy.” whitey smiled giving the pup a pet,

“Ummm… maybe that’s a good name for him, Buddy?”

Whitey smiled widely and gave the dog as many pets as he could, “How do ya like that? Buddy? Ya like that name?”

The pup jumped with excitement and did a little spin,

“Looks like it’s settled then.” Whitey laughed as he stood,

“I suppose it is,” Y/n agreed, “Come on Buddy. Let’s leave Mr Winn to his work.” she smiled snapping her fingers to Buddy happily jumped and span ready to leave, “Have a good day Whitey,” she smiled as she pressed a small kiss to Whitey’s cheek before she began to walk into town keeping Buddy at her side,

Whitey blushed hard unable to help holding his cheek where she kissed him, “You uhh ya have a good day too Miss Y/n, and ya’ll look after her for me Buddy.” He called after them,

And Buddy even gave him a bark as he followed behind her,

[suzukiblu]

Yaaasssssss feral kon gets a bath

Moar gentle princely caretaking please!

The boy keeps still for his scrubbing, fortunately, though Tuftan really can’t figure out why. Though after a bit more thought, it does occur to him that Sacker probably didn’t pet his slaves any more than he gave them warm water for their baths, so perhaps that’s what has the boy so agreeable right now. Tuftan knows a human’s violent nature isn’t that easily quelled, of course, but the unfamiliar nature of the experience seems to be buying him some time to work with, if nothing else.

He assumes the boy hasn’t been touched at all since his escape, aside from his struggles with himself and his men today, and he wonders if humans actually do touch each other. If they’re solitary creatures, perhaps not, but the boy doesn’t seem to mind the process of being bathed now that he’s actually in the bath, so perhaps he’s been missing physical contact? 

Then the brat decides to lunge for his forearm and bite him, of course, and then starts chewing on his arm. But his teeth are blunt and he isn’t biting hard enough to do more than bruise a bit, so Tuftan decides to just put up with it while he sets aside the rag and starts picking at the bindings around the boy’s wrists. They’re a mess, of course, on account of being made of wet rope, but if he just uses his claws a bit, then maybe . . . 

The boy growls and chews Tuftan’s arm harder. 

“Hush, boy,” Tuftan orders, still picking at the ropes. “And stay still, I’m trying to get these off you.” 

The boy . . . pauses. He doesn’t let Tuftan’s arm go, but he stops actively chewing, at least. Tuftan doesn’t humor the thought that he might’ve actually understood the reason behind the command, but supposes that’s at least a start.

[eldritchqueerture]

For the @malevolent-monthly May prompt "First Dream: John has his first dream or nightmare"!! First time posting in this, hope I did it correctly on ao3 <3

Summary:

For a moment he didn't know what was happening. His whole world shrunk to this one moment in time, this one-track minded fear of unclear origin, and he thought he was dying. He had never been dying before. --- Or, John has a nightmare, followed by an existential crisis over the inevitability of death.

To say John was familiar with death would be a grave understatement. As the King in Yellow he remembered watching lives end, sometimes having a hand in it as well, for time untold; the Dark World in itself was a clear picture in his mind when thinking of the topic. He knew death too intimately for comfort - even Arthur in his frail form had teetered on the edge of it far too many times for John's liking.

But he was never afraid of death. Of the Dark World – absolutely; there had been nothing more frightening to him than that wretched place of shadow and suffering. And perhaps in his previous form, he would not have been able to tell the difference.

It was the second night after they had performed the ritual that granted John his own human body, that he woke up startled and in cold sweat. His heart beat too fast in his chest, his breath shallow, coming in small gasps and never providing enough oxygen. Shakily, he sat up, pulling himself up to lean his back against the headboard, trying to gain back control of his limbs. For a moment he didn't know what was happening. His whole world shrunk to this one moment in time, this one-track minded fear of unclear origin, and he thought he was dying.

He had never been dying before.

Arthur stirred beside him, and John froze, unwilling to wake him up when his body was performing something so inane and out of his control. He had seen Arthur wake up from his nightmares enough times to recognize the similarities to what was happening; he wasn't actually dying for some mysterious, unknown reason - he would be fine if he could just calm the fuck down—

"John?" Arthur's bleary voice made it to his ears from between the pillows, and the man turned to him with a sleepy grunt.

John wanted to say something like 'Go back to sleep', or 'Everything is fine', but he found his voice trapped in the tightness of his throat. His muscles only tensed against the trembling, and the fear surged in his chest.

"John," Arthur whispered more insistently, not having received a response, and grabbed John's arm. "What's wrong?"

His eyebrows drew inward in worry and his voice had that slight tremble of freshly sprouting fear.

"It's fine," John growled, much harsher than he'd intended. He did not move though, and Arthur's hand only gripped him tighter.

“Are we alone? Is everything—”

"Yes, we're alone," John replied in much the same tone. "Why wouldn't we be?"

"I don't know, John," Arthur hissed, now fully awake. "It wouldn't be the first time you woke me up to something wanting to kill us."

John unwittingly drew a breath, that fear surging again despite the somewhat calming familiarity of arguing with Arthur. If something were to kill them...

"What's going on?" Arthur sat up next to him, not taking his hand away. "You're shaking."

But it was stupid, wasn't it? That unknown fear without a cause, without anything that would allow him to control it. He could handle fearing the Dark World, he could handle fearing creatures, and monsters, and people acting like them. This, though? This vague shadow that clung to his every thought, permeating skin, and bone, electrifying every nerve in his body…?

"John, I'm getting worried," Arthur said. "We thought the ritual went well, but if there's something we missed—"

"N-No, it's..." John swallowed tightly. "It's not that."

"Then what is it?"

"I..." He took a breath. "I dreamed."

"Oh..." Arthur blinked in realization, rubbing the skin of John's arm with the thumb. "Not pleasant, I take it?"

John gritted his teeth. Flashes of images that passed through his mind in the night appeared before him; not enough to fully distinguish their content, just vague impressions of dread and pain, leaving him trembling anew with thoughts that all but forced their way into his head. What if Arthur died? What if he died? How would it feel to die? He'd never died before – not really. Even the memory of the split from the King in Yellow that landed him in the Dark World and trapped him in the book had been tainted by this human anatomy and how it processed the world. Even though he knew that the Dark World was what probably awaited them (him and Arthur) after death – and even if not, he knew of other worlds that could potentially be a destination as well – that perspective was clouded, veiled by this massive, roiling fog of fear.

"John, it's alright," Arthur repeated quietly, and John realized he had been talking for some time. "It's alright. Just breathe, okay?"

The sensations came in gradually – first the heaving breath, gasping like a man drowning, then the racing heart that threatened to rip his chest open right there. His muscles trembling, his legs pulled up, body curling in on itself as if that would protect him from the looming prospect. And Arthur's warm arm around his shoulders, his body close, whispering gentle assurances of their safety.

But they were never safe, were they? Humans were so fragile, dying everyday of so many feeble causes. Even now, he could have a heart attack and die. Arthur could trip on his way out of bed and hit his head. How many undetected illnesses had he seen take humans' lives? And that is not even to say what could be after them specifically – Yellow, Kayne, Lilith, whoever else found the idea of killing them amusing.

"John. John, look at me."

Arthur's hands were on his face, gently guiding his head in his direction. He wiped the tears that John couldn’t remember appearing from his cheeks.

"I—I..."

"Talk to me, John," Arthur whispered. "I want to help."

"I don't... I'm... Afraid," John said almost soundlessly, the words somehow sprouting bitter shame in his gut. As if fear wasn't enough.

"You had a nightmare," Arthur said. "Yes?"

John nodded slightly, enough for Arthur to feel it under his hands. His thumb travelled upward, and he tucked John's hair behind his ear – possibly more as a comforting gesture rather than from the need to get the hair out of his face.

"But I don't really... remember it," he spoke. "Not exactly. Just... feelings."

Arthur hummed sympathetically with a nod.

"Do you want to talk about them?" He asked.

"I..." He faltered. "I've never..."

He let out a breath and hang his head forward, closing his eyes. Arthur took that as a cue to wrap his arms around him again.

"It's okay."

"Humans are... afraid of death," John stated in a hushed tone. Arthur blinked in confusion for a second, then he smiled slightly.

"Yes, very much so," he said. "It's probably the one most primal fear, of all animals I think."

"Are you?"

Arthur raised his eyebrows in thought. "Of course. I mean, I probably have some more... deadly experiences on my account than most people would have in a lifetime, but... Yes, John." He tilted his head slightly. "And you?"

"As the King in Yellow I was... immortal," he said. "The concept of dying was something mortals did, something... low. Below me."

Arthur let out a small chuckle.

"Even when I was trapped in your head, I didn't fully comprehend it. I feared returning to the Dark World, I feared... I knew that you could die. But I was never scared for myself. Of—Of my own death."

"Oh, John..."

"And it's... frustrating," John continued, the words unstoppable once allowed to flow freely. "Because I've witnessed countless deaths throughout millennia, I know it's unstoppable and uncontrollable, and—and I had no reason to fear it before. Not like this."

"I can imagine why that would be frustrating," Arthur nodded. "But that fear... I'd say it's one of the most human experiences you can have. Knowing your demise is inevitable and that there is nothing you can do about it."

John looked down at him in slight bewilderment. "How do you... deal with it?"

Arthur let out a laugh. "Everyone has their own ways, I suppose. Religion for one – some people find... solace in the idea of a god waiting for them on the other side. Some people just look for distractions, you know, things that keep their attention in the material world – wealth, power."

"A sense of control."

"I suppose so, yes. Then, you have art."

"Art?"

"Poetry, music, paintings, all sorts of creative endeavours," Arthur said.

"How does that help?" John frowned.

"Well, you don't push those feelings away," Arthur explained intently. "Instead you engage them, you analyse them, and make them... beautiful. But at the same time, familiar."

"And it goes away?"

Arthur laughed again, not unkindly. "I wish, my friend. But no. It never fully goes away. But it can fade."

John grumbled under his breath. He still felt jittery, the cold feeling still cloying at the insides of his chest, but he felt himself relax ever so slightly. Arthur's presence was familiar, and his voice was a gentle music to his ears.

"I am not resigned to the shutting away of loving hearts in the hard ground," Arthur begun reciting. "So it is, and so it will be, for so it has been, time out of mind. Into the darkness they go, the wise and the lovely. Crowned with lilies and with laurel they go; but I am not resigned."

John laid his head on Arthur's shoulder, taking a deep, calming breath. He closed his eyes and listened to Arthur's heart beating in time with his words.

"Lovers and thinkers, into the earth with you. Be one with the dull, the indiscriminate dust. A fragment of what you felt, of what you knew, a formula, a phrase remains, —but the best is lost."

His own heart slowed, the trembling subsiding under Arthur's touch. He felt the tendrils of sleep seeking entrance into his mind - the exhaustion of the panic catching up to him - and he relished the haziness that came with it, following Arthur's steady voice.

"The answers quick and keen, the honest look, the laughter, the love, —They are gone. They are gone to feed the roses. Elegant and curled is the blossom. Fragrant is the blossom. I know. But I do not approve."

Arthur's voice gained a more intent edge at the last sentence, spoken with a warm breath into John's hair.

"More precious was the light in your eyes than all the roses in the world. Down, down, down into the darkness of the grave gently they go, the beautiful, the tender, the kind; quietly they go, the intelligent, the witty, the brave."

Arthur sniffled. "I know. But I do not approve. And I am not resigned."

---

The poem is called "Dirge Without Music" by Edna St. Vincent Millay for anyone interested 🥰

[dathomirdumpsterfire]

Chat writes the plot! Time for more 👑🐲🐟 KotD!

(I realize we might have to retcon a bit if the vote goes certain ways, but I didn't want to limit you guys. Have fun, go nuts, describe to everyone your perfect stewjon head canon, no matter how unique!)

Want to be on the tag list? Have an idea for next chapter? Clicked the wrong option? Reblog or Comment! New? Check the very bottom for the Ao3 link. Latest chapter is down below the cut!🔥

~King of the Dragonfish: Chapter 8~

Not far from the cave system, in the opposite direction of the geothermal vents, is a living grave. Every now and again one of Naboo's massive oceanic beasts meets it's end to natural causes, and sinks into the deep. Here, new life is born.

This particular corpse of a ketho whale has been here longer than Maul has, and with it's slothful rate of decomposition, it may very well be here after he's gone. The deep water chill keeps the body all but frozen, as the mound of it feeds billions of tiny lives. Starfish, squid, shrimp, eels, octopus, crab, manta, and more. No other places in the deep sea have as much variety of life as the grave mounds do.

To Darth Maul, this place is his personal grocery store.

“Hmmm,” the sith hums, floating upside-down and perusing the options.

His favorite are the shrimp. Individual mouthfuls that crunch pleasantly. But can a Kenobi eat a shrimp? He knuckles his forehead, trying hard to remember. So much of Before was lost to him. The jedi was... human? Possibly?

…did humans eat shrimp?

He couldn't recall.

Annoyed, he makes a note to demand answers, later, and gathers a sampling for now. The brown tree fruit… whatever it was called… the inside was not nourishing enough to survive on, he knew that much.

With a sweep of the force the sith lord selects his victims. A few plush crabs, half a colony of little blue shrimp, a few colorful yellow and black fish that he knew tasted buttery and sweet, with a long eel-

He recalls, suddenly, eating barbeque eel on… on… the home place. The red world, with swamps and cliffs.

Maul catches two more eels, wondering if he can make them taste like… before. Perhaps he would cook his food for once? Some of this would need to be heated for the jedi to even stomach it. Probably.

With his catch writhing and confused in an intangible net of force, the dragonfish sith turns back for the warren of caves and tunnels.

He arrives to find the jedi in just his pants and sleeveless vest, busily rinsing his inner tunics with fruit water. His much abused leather boots were clean and shiney nearby, still wet.

Maul sloughs himself up onto land, dragging dinner up with him.

“Will that not simply make your robes sticky?” he questions the other man, skeptical of the tactic.

“They're not ripe, so they're not sweet in the slightest. I'm hoping…” Kenobi shrugs, “it's an experiment. I suppose we shall see.”

“Mnh.”

The jedi stands, turning to him while wringing out the excess fluid. “What have you got there?”

Grinning, Maul tosses the panoply of pissed off sea creatures at him. “Catch.”

The noise Kenobi makes when he takes eel to the face brings such joy to him.

The creatures scrabble for safety as the jedi backflips further away from them. “Wha! Pfss- guh- MAUL!”

Wheezing with mirth, Maul recollects his catch, and presses them all on the surface of the magma rock to boil them dead.

Kenobi looks on in horror, speechless.

After a brief grilling, Maul piles the results together at the base of the slowly deforming orb, and curls up beside it to begin eating. He picks up an eel first, of course, interested to see if the cooking would make it taste like barbeque.

It does not.

It is still good though.

The jedi lays out his clothes to dry and approaches, one hand tucked into an elbow, the other cradling his chin. He mutters, “... at least it was quick,” then clears his throat before speaking up. “Is any of that for me, or was the food throwing just to be for your own entertainment?”

“It is not my fault you cannot follow simple instructions, Kenobi, but yes. Eat what you will," Maul offers, smug.

The man sinks down onto the stone floor, watchful, and starts poking through the options.

Stupid jedi. Doing something now when he is expecting it would be boring and predictable. He will wait until the other man's guard is lowered before tormenting him again. Obviously.

“Tell me, Kenobi, did the tree fruit satisfy your thirst?” he asks, popping a shrimp in his mouth and smashing it with a crunch of his many excellent teeth.

“The coconuts? Yes… thank you. The pile will last me a few days," the man returns.

Coconuts. They are called coconuts. Of course.

Kenobi picks up an eel, handling it's rubbery length with a disgruntled look. “... I don't suppose I could have a small knife? Temporarily? I need to cut this to cook it properly.”

Maul squints at him. “You are lying, jedi.”

The man huffs, holding the limp eel up, “I am not. This is an entire eel, and not a small one either. I need to remove the guts, and filet it, then grill the slices.”

“Why would you remove the guts? The organs are the best part,” he says, even more certain that Kenobi was simply making things up.

The jedi makes a face, “Hardly.”

They glare at each other for a moment before Kenobi looks away, scowling. “Fine, I shall just… eat something else.”

Maul watches him gather up the thin black and yellow fish, and levitate them on top of the rock. He… just leaves them there. For minutes. The cave starts to smell different because of it.

“Your fish is burning, jedi,” he tells the man.

“No it isn't,” Kenobi replies.

Maul rises up on the coil of his tail, looming at something like nine feet tall to peer over top of the rock and look at the crisping bodies. They aren't any more black than before, but they are turning colors.

“They are becoming brown…”

“Good,” the man says, nonsensically.

With the force, Kenobi flips them without getting up to look. The underside is significantly more brown.

The dragonfish sith sloughs back down to the floor, thoughtful. This was cooking… he had cooked, before, many times. This was right, yes… meat turned colors. It… denatured the proteins.

He doesn't know what ‘denatured’ means anymore, but the word itself remains. Maul scowls, trying to poke at the idea.

He looks up at Kenobi, “How… denatured do you need to make… the protein… to make it edible for… humans?”

The other man hums, calling the crispy fish dinner down to himself, but holding it midair for a moment as it dissipates heat. “For humans? Oh, well, I suppose it depends on their immune system. Anakin likes everything mostly raw… but I've known others that wouldn't touch anything uncooked unless it was a plant.”

Ahah. ‘their’. Kenobi was not a human himself then.

“... and your kind?” Maul asks.

“Hmm… I suppose I prefer my own dinner well done, if only for the result of warm, spiced food,” he says, and brings one of the fish closer to himself to begin nibbling. He makes a face at it. “Mng… of which this is not. I'm glad you've brought back scaleless fish, but the flavor does leave something to be desired.”

“You are lucky I feed you at all,” he tells the fool, sneering.

Kenobi sighs, “I suppose anything is better than starving. Though I would really prefer a pan, oil, and some spice to go with it, even just salt…”

Maul gives him a look.

He scoffs. “Yes yes, I know, stop making that face at me. Beggars can't be choosers, I know.”

They eat until both are full, Maul devouring considerably more than Kenobi. He dumps the extras back into the water. The remains might attract future snacks.

“Well, sith,” the jedi says from his spot beside the magma ball, “what now? I'm fed, I'm watered, I'm warm. For the moment, I'm not dying. What are you going to do with me? Torture?”

Maul grins as he returns from throwing the extra away. “Are you excited at the prospect?”

“Certainly not,” Kenobi drawls, crossing his arms.

The dragonfish sith sways closer, passing him by. The other man clearly doesn't want him at his back, so the motion forces him to turn. As Maul circles, Kenobi keeps turning to face him.

Exactly as intended.

With the jedi's attention on his face, all the way turned around from where they began, Maul draws the end of his tail up to whip at the back of Kenobi’s calves.

The jedi makes a little hop, predicting his flanking attack with the force, but he still turns to look behind him. His mistake. Maul takes that opportunity to close the distance, getting a grip on the front of beige vests. Kenobi spins back around, arms shoving outward defensively.

One of his palms slams into Maul’s sensitive gills, painfully, making the sith snarl and take a snap at the offending limb.

Kenobi tries to tumble backwards, to get away from him, but the grip on his clothes is only joined by a tail curling behind his knees, dragging the jedi in.

The prey in his grip fights him, skilled in the force and so much more interesting to subdue than the mindless wildlife outside.

Kenobi works an elbow free, and tries slamming it point first into the tail spiraling about his hips. Maul barely feels it, but he starts trying to capture that free hand all the same. While he's on that, the jedi side steps his tail, and then drops his weight heavily while pushing downward with the force.

Maul loses hold on him entirely.

The jedi folds, rolls, and does half a cartwheel, kicking him in the arm. Then he falls backwards to gain space. The sith gives him none, closing the distance again and snatching at his ankle as the other man spins away. He misses, and has to try two more grabs before he gets a hold of an elbow with a gleeful noise of success.

Kenobi attempts to bite him, with his human-similar jaw and his flat white teeth. How precious. The dragonfish sith giggles, and nips at the air near his fingers. The jedi recoils, desperate to protect the digits of his sword arm, sending a gale of force into Maul so strong it sends him toppling over backwards.

Unfortunately for the other man, he's got a good grip on Kenobi’s arm, so they both go over backwards.

Maul cackles as they fall.

Kenobi bellows.

They tussle on the floor like it's just any old bar brawl for the better part of ten minutes, until -finally- Maul's sheer tonnage and more than a dozen feet of solid muscle wins the fight for him, yet again.

He bears down on his prisoner, grinning with all his many teeth as the man cries out in pain.

“Weak jjjedi,” he croons, so close to Kenobi’s face that the green glow of his eyes illuminates both of their expressions. “I am beginning to think our first battle was a fluke. You cannot seem to best me.”

The jedi struggles under him, trying to get any limb free, fighting for every inch. “It's not my fault you weigh as much as a bantha!”

“Oh? But you like my weight.”

Kenobi shifts left, trying to wriggle his way out of the hold. “What in the blazes makes you think that?”

Maul hisses in amusement. “You roam in your sleep, jedi. You came to me many times last night, seeking my scales and burrowing into me.”

The man underneath him makes a horrified face, his efforts to escape stalling. “I did not!”

Maul lolls to the side, laying beside him instead of on top, pulling those pale hands to his chest and pressing the palms over his hearts. His long black tail curls up and over the man's legs. “Does this position not ring any bells, Kenobi?”

Blue eyes stare down at his hands, at the red and black that peek through his fingers. “...”

Delighted by the other man's emotional upheaval, and the way it made the force around them feel, Maul pushes the gambit a little further.

“How about if I do… this?” he says, sacrificing a hand to bring Kenobi's body closer to his, wrapping an arm around his shoulders, affectionately. “Are you going to nuzzle me again, I wonder? Going to curl up on my chest and drool?”

“No!” the jedi exclaims, shimmying backward.

Maul allows it and watches him with an inviting look, finding that this little facet of Kenobi’s fear was… particularly entertaining.

“Oh? But you slept so well, did you not?” he accuses.

Kenobi covers his eyes with a hand. “It's… it's nothing to do with you. I simply sleep better when…”

“Held?” Maul croons.

The jedi growls, without answering. Delightful.

Maul snickers, playfully snapping his teeth near the other man's neck. Kenobi turtles, glaring at him. “Would you quit that? I know you're not going to actually bite me. I'd be dead in minutes, and that would ruin all your bloody fun wouldn't it?”

The sith draws back humming. The rage in Kenobi’s eyes is… pleasing. Anger is good. He understands.

“Hnnn… I offer you a trade,” he says sweetly.

The jedi's struggles calm, and he stops ducking into such a hilarious and pathetic little ball, but his expression remains pure suspicion. “It's hardly a trade if I'm coerced into it while disarmed and bound,” he complains.

“Do you think I care?” Maul asks him pleasantly.

Kenobi huffs. “Fine. What's your trade, sith?”

“I will promise not to bite your neck, or near it, if you tell me of your species. At length.”

The jedi blinks, slowly, waiting with an expectant air. Maul raises a brow at him.

“You… want to know about… stewjoni?” the man asks, baffled.

“Yessss,” the dragonfish sith assures.

He is missing too many pieces of Before. The jedi will serve him, as prisoner and informant.

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