#and untamed and less rational

[bookwyrminspiration]

I’ve had lucille for 154 pages and GOD lucy if I could give you a new author I WOULD you deserve it and I’m so sorry

[sunshinescribes]

Sandcastle

Pairing: Sir Crocodile x Fem!Reader

Rating: EXPLICIT (18+)

Summary: Crocodile has only ever known how to devour. Everything he wants, he consumes until there’s nothing left to take—but he can’t seem to get enough of you.

Warnings: SMUT! Obsessive behavior, hookplay, slight voice kink, overstimulation, creampie

Crocodile has only ever known how to devour.

He’s been gluttonous for as long as he can remember, his hunger an untamable beast incapable of being satiated. Everything he wants, he consumes until there’s nothing left to take.

And when he’s done feasting—when the euphoria finally fades and the empty feelings he’s always felt return—he searches for another sacrifice. He’s never satisfied.

Maybe that’s why you unnerve him.

Intrigue would be the better word, but there’s too much truth in it—a kind of vulnerability he refuses to acknowledge. Because then he would have to admit that you aren’t part of his plan to steal Alabasta. You aren’t a fly caught in the intricate web he’s masterfully weaved for years.

You’re an outlier—the one deviation he allows himself to indulge in, all while fearing that the deeper he sinks his teeth, the sweeter you’ll become.

“You’re quiet.”

Crocodile blinks as he’s ripped from his musings. His hooded eyes find you lounging comfortably on the settee across from him. The robe you’re wearing hangs low on your shoulders, causing the fabric to dip low enough to reveal the soft flesh of your breasts. His eyes must linger, because you lift your sleeves with an impish smirk.

Crocodile would laugh if his throat didn’t feel so dry—if he didn’t enjoy your soft teasing, this ability to act chaste as if he hasn’t had you writhing beneath him, debased in every conceivable way.

“Well, more quiet than usual,” you clarify.

Crocodile remains silent as you continue to stare. You’re subtle with your examinations, trying to decipher anything in his micro-expressions to gauge what you believe must be wrong, but he gives you nothing.

You see too much of him as is.

“There were pirates in Nanohana again,” he sighs. A cloud of smoke wafts from the cigar that dangles between his lips. “It’s becoming tiresome.”

The lie falls easily from his lips, just like the many others he has told over the years. False grandiose stories and faux acts of heroism that make him appear every part the savior, and never the villain that he truly is.

He can’t help himself, especially not when your eyes linger on his face with adoration, and something sweeter—something that drives him mad with how he can’t quite place it.

All he knows for certain is that nobody has ever looked at him the way you do, and like every precious thing in his life, he hoards. Your smile. Your laughter. The feel of your fingers tenderly tracing the scar on his face as you lay beside him. This is his—you are his, and he refuses to let go.

The rational voice in his head berates him, hisses about his ever-growing mistake. It demands that he be done with you for good, but the darkness inside of him rages at the thought.

He hasn’t finished consuming. He still wants more.

And you are always so eager to give.

“Is there anything I can do?” you ask sweetly—so sweet that Crocodile almost misses how suggestive your inquiry is.

You hold his gaze, not backing down or shying away.

“To help relieve the stress?”

 You’re so thoughtful, even when you’re wrong. In anyone else Crocodile would find the characteristic annoying. He has condemned people for far less, yet he desires it from you—to know he is on your mind, that he occupies a space that nobody else does.

“C’mere," he commands, exhaling a final puff of smoke and tossing the used cigar into an ashtray as you lift from the settee.

He leans back in his chair. His legs instinctively spread as you draw near, making room for you to stand between them.

The back of his hook trails up your thigh, and Crocodile grins as you let out a soft sigh that is all too encouraging. You’re lovely like this, always so receptive to anything he chooses to give.

Goosebumps form across your exposed skin as Crocodile brings his hook higher, slipping beneath your robe and continuously rising until it rests between your breasts.

“First things first…” his voice trails off as his eyes lift to your face again.

Your breathing is shaky, but he sees no fear in your eyes. Only desire. The same, insatiable hunger that aches within him.

“Gotta get rid of this.”

Crocodile yanks his hook down, ripping your robe in one clean swipe. The fabric pools at your feet, all while Crocodile takes a moment to admire the sight before him. No matter how many times he sees you naked before him, it always feels like the first time—another unusual effect you have on him, but he’s too drunk on the need to have you to analyze it further.

His dick strains against his pants, begging to be buried in your warmth.

He pulls you onto his lap, and you know exactly what to do. It makes his lips curl into a sharp smile as you reach down, hands shaking while you unzip his pants and free him.

Crocodile grunts as your hands wraps around the hard flesh of his dick. You pump it slowly—so devastatingly slow that his hips jerk forward of their own volition, chasing the delicious friction that he craves.

Your finger swipes over the tip of his dick, precum staining your hand as you continue to jerk him off with slow, methodical movements that drive him mad.

“Enough,” he hisses, sounding almost pained.

He positions you above his throbbing dick, lining it straight with your dripping pussy—already slick with your own arousal.

He’s rarely gentle, and even less so now as he slams you down on his lap, burying himself to the hilt inside of your tight, aching cunt.

You let out a sharp gasp, blissed out by the feeling of being filled to the brim. Your velvety walls embrace him, keep Crocodile where you both need him, but he refuses to dwell.  

His hips snap forward as he pumps inside of you with fervor, creating a vicious rhythm that has you bouncing on his dick.

“C’mon, fuck me back,” Crocodile encourages with a deep groan.

Fuck, you love his voice and he knows it. Love the deep, fucked-out rumble against your ear while he’s deep inside of you.

“S-shit,” you whimper as you slam down on him.

You try to meet his thrusts, try to fuck yourself on his dick the way you know he likes, but he’s impossible to match right now.

You lean forward, slinging your arms around his broad shoulders as he continues to use you. You trail open-mouth kisses across his jaw, soft moans and gasps escaping your lips with each powerful push.

Crocodile tilts his head slightly, his eyes are heavier than usual as he glances down at you, watching the way his dick disappears inside of you. The squelch of your needy cunt is like music to his ears, only rivaled by the sweet sounds you always make for him.

And he wants more. He always wants more.

Crocodile is careful not to hurt you with his hook as his arms come around you, pulling you tight against his chest as his thrusts grow frantic.

You cry into his shoulder, your voice cracking while Crocodile pumps his dick deeper into your sopping pussy—pushing you to your limit. He relishes how badly you want it.

Not just your own release, but his too.

“That’s it gorgeous,” your pussy clenches around him, ripping a desperate groan from his throat.  “Tell me…how good it feels.”

“Croco—ah, fuck—” your breath catches as he hits a particularly sweet spot inside you. You can feel yourself getting close, nearly there, all you need is a little push.

You reach down, rubbing desperate circles around your throbbing bud.

“’S so good—you’re s-so go—"

Your voice cuts out with a squeak. Your eyes nearly cross as you fall over the edge, ecstasy ripping through you so violently you almost cry. You come hard, gasping and gushing all over his dick. You are certain his pants are stained with the evidence of your orgasm, but you don’t have the mind to be apologetic or ashamed.

Crocodile watches with wicked fascination at how your legs tremble, how your come drips down his body, darkens his pants. It takes everything in him not to lean down to your lips and silence your cries with his tongue.

His hold on your waist tightens as he fucks you harder, chasing his own release now that you’ve given him yours. You whine—no, fucking sob as his dick continues to pound into you.

“Say my name,” he rasps.

“C-crocodile.” You match his name with each powerful thrust, “Crocodile. Crocodile. Croco—”

He slams up into you one last time, losing himself. His head rolls back, fingers digging painfully into your flesh and his hook nearly scrapes your thigh. He curses—chokes out your name as he comes hard inside of you, damn near sees stars as he fills you up.

You clench around him with a pathetic whine and he almost fucking loses it all over again.

“Do…do you feel better now?” you ask softly, resting your head against his clothed chest.  

No, and he doubts he ever will. Not as long as you have this hold over him. The rational voice has gone silent—abandoned him completely— and only a single word is whispered in the dark crevice of his mind, chanted like a prayer.

Mine. Mine. Mine.

PART 2

[thekatebridgerton]

Today on another episode of stories I'm too sleep deprived to write: Jekyll and Hyde Bridgerton boys au

Since the Bridgerton boys tend to get so bipolar around their love interest, what if it was actually a day/night curse that only true love can... blend in.

Take Anthony, Benedict and Colin, respectable gentlemen by day, rakes by night.

During daylight, Anthony is respectfully courting Edwina and trading barbs with Kate, but during any night time ball he's cornering Kate in dark libraries and whispering sensually in her ear about all the things he wants to do to her. Kate finds him distasteful at first, easily cluing in that during daylight hours, Anthony is too rational to attempt to seduce her, and running away from him during night time balls, but his changes in mood are getting out of hand, she's taken to staying at home for the past number of balls and Edwina swears that Viscount Bridgerton is beginning to scare her. The less of Kate he sees at night, the more his ungentleman side wants to have her. And Kate is running out of options to avoid him, she's falling for him and if she doesn't do something drastic she's going to end up ruined, or worse, married to the insufferable man, so in a last ditch attempt to save herself she's just announced she's going to India... Now Anthony's unrestrained side has started blending in with his good one in an attempt to stop Kate from leaving him and it's not good, not good at all

Benedict thought he was spared the most unsavory sides of the curse, some night time debauchery here and there was a small price to pay for keeping his reputation as the ton's darling. That until he met the lady in silver, and for the first time the wild side of the curse got out of control. The one that got away drove his nocturnal self mad with want. For 2 years he fought against it only for Sophie Beckett to bring it out of him more strongly than before. Sophie Beckett isn't scared of anything, she should be scared of Benedict, who gets her a job in the morning, then demands she be his mistress at night. But she's figured that even at his worst she can push him back and he won't hurt her. Sure he's determined to help her establish herself independently during daylight and demands she depend only on him during his nighttime adventures, but Sophie is strong, she's dealt with worse. At least until gentlemen daylight Benedict starts seducing her in a very rakish way. And wild untamed nighttime Benedict starts romancing her like a gentleman in love

Colin... Well Colin has always known he's cursed. He learned to work around it, keeping his darker nature under control with decadent food and debauched travels and the occasional gambling. Until Penelope Featherington asked his nighttime self for a kiss and got in the way of his neatly laid plans. Penelope is clever, too clever, his daylight self might hate her, but oh his nighttime self can't live without her and she thrives on it. Truly it irks Colin to know that she prefers him at his worst during the night and rejects his at his best during daylight. She with her lady Whistledown secrets, smiling as she indulges his every hungry whim during secret nighttime meetings and then pretends the man she's taken for lover is not Colin Bridgerton. If she didn't frustrate him so, he might think himself inlove with her. Penelope Featherington knows Colin's secret, truthfully she doesn't mind if he knows hers, as lady Whistledown its only fair that he knows she can ruin his life if he dares to ruin hers. His nighttime self is fun, savage, and completely enamored with her body, nothing like daylight Colin. Penelope adores that side of him. Part of her doesn't even want to admit they're the same person because Daylight Colin is the popular charmer of the ton who can't even look her in the eye and calls her his dear friend. But nighttime Colin is hers and he doesn't demand anything out of her as her lover, truly its the best arrangement in the world... That is until an overprotective Colin Bridgerton ravishes her in a carriage and proposes marriage in front of all her family, all in the same morning. Could it be his two personalities are blending??

And Gregory Bridgerton, he's seventeen and afraid, very afraid about when he'll reach a point where his curse will be triggered and what that will mean for his best friend Lucy Abernathy. Because Greg knows he's going to respect Lucy till the day he dies, but he also knows he can't live without her and he can almost feel the want in his bones, how little it would take for his Lucy to be his undoing and the reason he needs to lock himself up at night... It's going to happen eventually but Gregory hopes it takes longer than a few years, for Lucy's sake and for his own.

[nnightskiess]

the dance of death, part three

₊° - 𝐰𝐞𝐝𝐧𝐞𝐬𝐝𝐚𝐲 𝐚𝐝𝐝𝐚𝐦𝐬 𝐱 𝐟𝐞𝐦𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫

𝐬𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲: 𝘢𝘴 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘮𝘦𝘮𝘣𝘦𝘳𝘴 𝘰𝘧 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘯𝘪𝘨𝘩𝘵𝘴𝘩𝘢𝘥𝘦 𝘴𝘰𝘤𝘪𝘦𝘵𝘺 𝘵𝘳𝘺 𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘪𝘳 𝘣𝘦𝘴𝘵 𝘵𝘰 𝘴𝘵𝘦𝘦𝘳 𝘸𝘦𝘥𝘯𝘦𝘴𝘥𝘢𝘺 𝘢𝘸𝘢𝘺 𝘧𝘳𝘰𝘮 𝘥𝘪𝘨𝘨𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘶𝘱 𝘱𝘳𝘰𝘣𝘭𝘦𝘮𝘴, 𝘸𝘦𝘥𝘯𝘦𝘴𝘥𝘢𝘺𝘴 𝘯𝘦𝘦𝘥 𝘧𝘰𝘳 𝘢𝘯𝘴𝘸𝘦𝘳𝘴 𝘰𝘯𝘭𝘺 𝘨𝘳𝘰𝘸𝘴. 𝘢 𝘯𝘦𝘸 𝘮𝘺𝘴𝘵𝘦𝘳𝘺 𝘯𝘦𝘦𝘥𝘴 𝘵𝘰 𝘣𝘦 𝘴𝘰𝘭𝘷𝘦𝘥, 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘴𝘩𝘦 𝘸𝘪𝘭𝘭 𝘯𝘰𝘵 𝘣𝘢𝘤𝘬 𝘥𝘰𝘸𝘯 𝘶𝘯𝘵𝘪𝘭 𝘴𝘩𝘦 𝘩𝘰𝘭𝘥𝘴 𝘢𝘭𝘭 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘢𝘯𝘴𝘸𝘦𝘳𝘴.

the dance of death, masterlist

☾ ⋆*·:⋆*·:⠀ *⋆.*:·ﾟ .: ⋆*·ﾟ: .⋆

𝗽𝗹𝗲𝗮𝘀𝗲 𝗱𝗼 𝗻𝗼𝘁 𝗰𝗼𝗽𝘆, 𝗿𝗲𝗽𝘂𝗯𝗹𝗶𝘀𝗵, 𝘁𝗿𝗮𝗻𝘀𝗹𝗮𝘁𝗲, 𝗿𝗲𝗽𝗿𝗼𝗱𝘂𝗰𝗲 𝗼𝗿 𝘂𝘀𝗲 𝘁𝗵𝗶𝘀 𝗶𝗺𝗮𝗴𝗶𝗻𝗲 𝗼𝗻 𝘄𝗮𝘁𝘁𝗽𝗮𝗱 𝗼𝗿 𝗼𝗻 𝗼𝘁𝗵𝗲𝗿 𝗽𝗹𝗮𝘁𝗳𝗼𝗿𝗺𝘀. 𝗿𝗲𝘀𝗽𝗲𝗰𝘁 𝘁𝗵𝗲 𝗮𝘂𝘁𝗵𝗼𝗿’𝘀 𝘄𝗼𝗿𝗸

𝐄𝐧𝐢𝐝 𝐫𝐮𝐬𝐡𝐞𝐝 𝐭𝐡𝐫𝐨𝐮𝐠𝐡 𝐍𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐫𝐦𝐨𝐫𝐞'𝐬... maze of hallways, trying to find the vampire where she knew she could usually be found. Perhaps the more rational part of her brain had tried to convince her to let it go, but the part that was currently jumping in enthusiasm from the prospects of solving a mysterious tale and by doing so, helping out her stoic dormie, was too loud to be overthrown.

"Yoko!"

The vampire turned around upon hearing her name being called out, saw Enid skidding up to her with an untamed enthusiasm, and stopped,

"Yoko, tell me everything there is to know about a violin player at school."

The ageless girl shrunk visibly at Enid's cotton-candy mood that made her head hurt and she rolled her eyes, glancing backwards to try and see if there was a way out of this one, "Not you too, Enid." She sighed once she realised there wasn't, and she did not have it in her to harshly turn Enid away from it as she had done with Wednesday. It was like stepping on a puppy dog's tail, "It's best to forget about it. Trust me."

Enid's smile disappeared, "Why?"

"It'll save you trouble."

"What kind of trouble?" Enid was beyond confused at her friend's behaviour. Sure, Yoko was a little more closed off than others- though never as much as Wednesday- that had always been the case, but she was being weird about this. Too weird.

"Are you asking for yourself or your dormie?" Yoko pursed her lips and squinted at her, knowing Enid had a habit of wanting to help out others, and if that was the case, she needed to steer Enid another way. She'd tried to do the same with the new Addams girl, and though she could care less if something happened to her, she cared about Enid's well-being. Still, not only Enid's well-being was put on the line with this one. Nevermore could be in trouble if the contrasting duo unearthed this secret.

Still as confused as ever, Enid tilted her head to the side like a young lost pup, "Would it matter?"

"It would. Have you heard the violin or was it Wednesday who heard it?" Yoko shifted her weight as her eyes travelled around the hall to observe their surroundings. If any other person were to hear of this, she would unleash a certain kind of trouble that she was sure Nevermore didn't need on top of all the disappearances and the murders. With a derogative glare, she stared at the perky girl in front of her, trying to get an answer out of her this way. She didn't want to hurt Enid's feelings, but a little intimidation was good if it could save the girl in the end.

"I um, I have, I think..., I mean, it was late, so I was inside and well-" Enid bluffed, "-but what's this-"

Yoko cut her off and caught on to her lie straight away, seeing as Enid refused to make eye contact that lasted longer than a second. Enid was too pure to be able to lie without shame or get away with it. "So, you haven't. Keep it that way, Enid. Trust me. Whatever Wednesday is digging up, you have to bury it."

"But what could be so horrible about a violin player?" Enid's lip curled into a pout, realising she had reached a dead end. The cogs in her brain were already working to come up with a new solution to get her answers. Because even if this had started as a task to help out her new roommate, Enid couldn't deny and say she hadn't grown curious over time as well. If no one knew a violin player and Yoko, who had been at Nevermore the longest and always seemed to know everything about its mysteries, was reluctant to give her answers, then there was more to the story.

"Look, I know you're too keen on finding it out to let this go, so just ask Xavier. But keep me out of it. And after you've got your answers, you need to forget about her, okay? Not everything at Nevermore needs to see the light."

"Her? Who, Wednesday? Wait, you mean- It's a girl?!" Enid perked up, sensing this was a victory of some sort. A small one, but a victory nonetheless.

Yoko had already turned on her heel and quickly rushed out of the hallway, back into the shadows, debating if this encounter was something she should tell Weems or keep to herself. Either way, it wouldn't hurt to keep an extra eye out for whatever the two roomies were cooking up.

Enid sucked in a sharp breath of surprise as something clawed at her legs, but as she looked down and saw Thing, she relaxed and picked him up.

"Did you hear all that, Thing?" She let him crawl onto her shoulder and watched him sign, "Off to Xavier we go then, but you have to stay hidden, I'm not sure he'll be as open if he knows Wednesday is up to something."

☾ ⋆*·:⋆*·:⠀ *⋆.*:·ﾟ .: ⋆*·ﾟ: .⋆

Seeing as it was the early afternoon, it wasn't hard to know where to find the boy; he stood collecting his arrows from the target with a pensive look on his face, as if he was solving the greatest riddle inside his mind. He seemed deep in thought, troubled even. Enid couldn't quite tell if the change of his expression when he saw her stemmed from relief or annoyance. Nonetheless, she hurried as Thing quickly hid in her backpack. He zipped it shut as best as he could right as Enid halted in front of the boy,

"Xavier! Tell me everything you know about a girl at school who plays the violin- go!"

He pulled out the last arrow with a huff before turning to her with furrowed brows. He wasn't sure what he had expected once he saw the bubbly girl approach him, but this surely hadn't been it. His confusion quickly turned to unease as he realised what this meant; someone had heard her again at Nevermore. There was no other explanation to it, seeing as each principal Nevermore Academy had ever had since it had happened, had forfeited any string instrument from the school grounds. He still didn't understand why Weems had let Wednesday allow the girl to bring and play her cello at the Academy, but it seemed that the consequences of that had now been brought to stand in front of him.

"It's fine, Yoko told me to ask you, and I promise to keep my nose out of it afterwards."

He gave her a calculated look, doubting the truth behind that statement, "How do you know about this in the first place?" He walked back after collecting all the arrows, hoping it would make Enid drop the subject, but deep down knowing the girl would follow him around until he had given her something useful.

"Nothing goes passed me at this school." She beamed with pride, but Xavier wasn't impressed with the answer, and she could tell. "Fine, a secret for a secret then?"

Xavier locked his jaw, thinking long and hard about this. He wasn't sure if he should trust one of the school's biggest gossips; no matter how pure-hearted Enid was, she was known to blab if she was enthusiastic. Still, he realised, the girl wasn't part of the Nightshades, so how the hell did she know?

"Hm, right. But you have to let it go afterwards." He pulled her to the side, away from the prying ears of studying kids. "During some nights, after the clock strikes a certain hour, a violin can be heard. But not everywhere, only at certain points in the school. As if it travels... it never lingers or sounds from just one place. It's been said that as soon as you hear it, you're done for. You then begin to hear it everywhere, see and hear her even in your dreams until she'll make you grow insane and then kill you out of mercy. It dates back to the 1800s or something, I don't even know. It's a ghost story to make us kids stick to the curfew," He bluffed and stared at her with a look of finality, hoping the girl would accept his story.

Enid made a face, "That's underwhelming. Who'd be scared of a girl playing the violin? And if it's just a ghost story, then why is everyone telling me to-"

"Let it go now," He finished her sentence, "-like you promised, yes?" He glared at her and gave her a curt nod as she mumbled out an agreement, but both Yoko's and Xavier's behaviour had only heightened her intrigue.

Xavier wasn't done with her yet, "A secret for a secret you said, so where did you hear this all?"

Enid blew her cheeks like a puffer fish before opening it to stammer out a few words. She hadn't really thought of what fake secret she would try and present to him.

The boy took her silence as a sign that whatever would leave her mouth next, wouldn't be the truth, "Let me guess, Wednesday?" Xavier sighed and rolled his eyes. Of course that damned Addams girl would dig her nose into Nevermore's secrets and bring terror upon them all. Maybe it hadn't been such a coincidence that all the disappearances and murders had happened the moment Wednesday Addams had enrolled.

"No!" Enid gasped, "Who told you that?"

"You, just now, with the guilty look on your face." He shook his head, "Listen, just drop it. And it would do you good to tell Wednesday to do the same, this school already has enough on its plate as it is." He walked off with his arrows in his hand and Enid heard her backpack zip back open.

"Oh, I know, Thing...but if we don't tell her and she goes to investigate herself, we might get her into even more trouble. Right... I forgot about that-" She looked around, not caring if people thought she was mad for talking to a severed hand, "But I'm sure she'd appreciate us having snooped either way, even if she told us not to. Right?" She chuckled uneasily, trying to convince herself of her words, but rushed back to Ophelia Hall nonetheless.

☾ ⋆*·:⋆*·:⠀ *⋆.*:·ﾟ .: ⋆*·ﾟ: .⋆

The annoying clattering of a typewriter filled their dorm in Ophelia Hall's attic as Enid rushed through the door. Wednesday stopped momentarily at the harsh interruption, barely shifted her head to the right and glanced at her through her peripheral before deeming Enid's enthusiasm as casual and going back to her writing. But though Enid was indeed a cheerful girl most of the time, her enthusiasm wasn't casual.

"Wednesday!" She shrieked, making the girl stop her writing once more, "You've got to listen to what we found out."

Wednesday turned in her chair and slightly lifted up her chin, signalling Enid to continue.

"Before you get mad- I just couldn't help myself and I stumbled upon-"

"You went and talked to Yoko." Wednesday deadpanned.

Enid's expression flashed with surprise "How do you-"

Wednesday pushed herself out of her seat, "If you're to help me, you really ought to be more discreet. And you-" She turned to Thing who rested against Enid's shoulder, "-should be on my side. Or have you forgotten the promise I made you if you were to betray me again?"

Thing cowered behind Enid's blonde locks, who immediately came to both their defences, "But we did it to help you." She shrugged innocently, finding comfort in fiddling with her fingers as Wednesday's hard glare grew a little uncomfortable.

Wednesday crossed her arms and tilted her head, giving the two a long and silent once-over, "Well?"

Enid let out a breath, having thought this moment would have gone way worse than for Wednesday to just brush it off. But Wednesday was too curious to find out what they had to say to think of creating vendettas.

"Your violin player; she's a girl."

Wednesday tilted her head to the other side but waited patiently for more to come. She let the answer sink in though, and she hated with all her might how she felt herself growing even more intrigued purely based on that small detail.

"But...everyone seems to be a little weird about her?" Enid frowned, just as Wednesday did once she noticed the slip-up of Enid's words.

"Everyone? Who else have you talked to?"

Enid widened her eyes and straightened her posture. She took in a sharp breath and focused on the floorboards, "Um-"

"Enid." Wednesday's tone of voice as she spoke her name was enough of a warning to make Enid confess.

"Well, Yoko you know..." She swallowed, "-but maybe also with Ajax earlier..." She carefully watched Wednesday's expression, then deemed it safe enough to add the person she had last spoken to, "-and maybe there's a small chance I might've talked to Xavier, too."

Wednesday's nostrils flared in annoyance and frustration, for now, half of the members of the Nightshades were aware of her sticking her nose in Nevermore's business. Still, asking around about a violin player should be deemed as an innocent thing, as her just wanting to know who also harboured a great talent for playing a string instrument. There should be nothing dangerous about that. So why had the look in Yoko's eyes given her the idea that the answer to her blameless question would bring death and destruction upon them all?

"Do they know why you asked?"

"Um, no... not specifically..." Enid mumbled out quietly, but upon seeing Wednesday's brows furrowing even more, she broke, "They figured it out... look- I'm sorry, okay! But it didn't sound to me like you should continue your search, so maybe it's best if you stop now." Enid walked over to her with a bright and supportive grin and brought up her hands to gently hold onto the girl's arms. She refrained from doing so when she saw Wednesday look at them with a death stare and slowly pulled them back to her sides.

Wednesday took a step back, not liking how Enid's overly sweet perfume mixed with her body lotion wafted into her nose. It was already torture enough to have to smell it from afar from her side of the room, "What are you implying?" She continued, Enid's last words not having left her yet.

"I just... they seemed scared and worried when I asked. I don't know... gut feeling... or maybe that's just my suppressed wolf making me feel weird. It was a full moon last night, after all." Enid quickly rubbed at her temple, not wanting to seem silly for thinking the way she had.

"Interesting."

If the members of the Nightshades, who held most information about the school's history and secrets, had grown uneasy upon being asked about her mysterious violinist, then she definitely wasn't going to back down now. Wednesday thrived off fear and would go look for it where it could be found in overflow. And so, instead of Enid's warning having the proper effect to scare her off, it drew her closer to wanting to find out all about the violin player, to find out all about her. She'd thought Yoko's initial comment about a horror story had just been a way to tantalise her, but maybe there was more truth to it than she had thought at first. It seemed as if Wednesday was going to have to pay a little visit to the underground Nightshades Library soon.

𝗽𝗹𝗲𝗮𝘀𝗲 𝗱𝗼 𝗻𝗼𝘁 𝗰𝗼𝗽𝘆, 𝗿𝗲𝗽𝘂𝗯𝗹𝗶𝘀𝗵, 𝘁𝗿𝗮𝗻𝘀𝗹𝗮𝘁𝗲, 𝗿𝗲𝗽𝗿𝗼𝗱𝘂𝗰𝗲 𝗼𝗿 𝘂𝘀𝗲 𝘁𝗵𝗶𝘀 𝗶𝗺𝗮𝗴𝗶𝗻𝗲 𝗼𝗻 𝘄𝗮𝘁𝘁𝗽𝗮𝗱 𝗼𝗿 𝗼𝗻 𝗼𝘁𝗵𝗲𝗿 𝗽𝗹𝗮𝘁𝗳𝗼𝗿𝗺𝘀. 𝗿𝗲𝘀𝗽𝗲𝗰𝘁 𝘁𝗵𝗲 𝗮𝘂𝘁𝗵𝗼𝗿’𝘀 𝘄𝗼𝗿𝗸

☾ ⋆*·:⋆*·:⠀ *⋆.*:·ﾟ .: ⋆*·ﾟ: .⋆

© 𝗻𝗻𝗶𝗴𝗵𝘁𝘀𝗸𝗶𝗲𝘀𝘀

@ghostheartbeat @the-night-owl-blr @engenelxver @screechcat @mary-jinx @mxal24 @novastargalaxydesigns @randomawesomeperson102 @reginassweetheart @mjoiner1136 @rockwyn @lostgirl1415 @rainbow-love4ever @the-lazy-turtle @elduster @queen-bunny @ghostheartbeat

[gabessquishytum]

Hello Again Friend,

I wanted to thank you for your kind response to my last submission - it has given me the encouragement to actually start this outrageously large fic that I have going on in my head. We shall see if at least part of it will be ready for AO3 by the end of the year😅

I have been considering sending you a snippet I was working on but it’s not nearly as flushed out as the first scenario (emotional Dream kneeling fic idea, just to confirm) I submitted to you. (read: I haven’t had a 2am anxiety-induced writing frenzy over it lol). But seeing your reblog of deviantly-inspired’s post made me feel like I could share it with you no matter how unfinished. The concept in my mind is similar and is also inspired by multiple fandom headcanons/fic readings so here goes nothing~

*****

Before Dream begs Hob not to love him, before he kneels at the power Hob’s love has over him, and even before he allowed their relationship to slip unacknowledged past “just friends” into “what are we?,” territory, Dream had ignored his growing feelings for Hob. They had been friends seeing each other quite regularly for the better part of a year when Hob invited him upstairs to get away from the rambunctious new college graduates swarming the inn. Dream blamed their drunkenly hopeful and untamed dreams for the excitement he felt at following Hob to his private quarters. Of course, it was just a friendly invite considering Dream’s dislike for crowds and it was just a regular apartment for all intents and purposes. Except that it wasn’t. It was Hob’s apartment filled with Hob’s things and it was cozy and welcoming just like The New Inn. So how could Dream resist when Hob suggested they move future meetings there. “For the convenience, ya know? Less bothering the staff and saving money eating out ya know?” Hob is only rational so why disagree. “Not that you ever were an expensive date, ha! Seeing as I don’t think you ever ate at one of our meetings when I think about it. Hmm, do you even eat?”

Dream meets his eyes from where he sits across the couch: “If you mean do I need to consume sustenance for energy than no I don’t need to eat. But I usually abstain because like all things I consume I can sense the dreams of their creators which is unsatisfying in most cases.”

Hob’s eyes widen, “Unsatisfying because the dreams are bad or…?”

“Some. Often, the wishes are for riches or fame in cooking and sometimes they are dreams of being delicious or fulfilling which I find gratifying. But usually they are simply wishes to go home and rest which I believe you could see my hesitance for eating them in your company.” Dream smiles that tiny one-sided smile of his and Hob brightens up because he has a new goal based on what Dream said. He’s going to cook him a meal to enjoy just for him.

*Spongebob meme voice: Three Weeks Later”

Dream smells everything before he even knocks on the door of Hob’s flat. Hob has a bright smile despite the sweat on his face and he bows mockingly to say: “Your highness, dinner is served.”

Dream arches an eyebrow ready to decline the invite but even he knows it would be rude to deny as a guest. Especially when he can see Hob put a substantial amount of effort into the steaming pot he is currently scooping from. The drone of the oven fan fills the silent camaraderie of the moment as Dream sits at the small table set with two spoons and two glasses of wine. ‘How intimate,’ he thinks and is glad his embarrassed flush is covered up by Hob placing a gently steaming bowl in front of him and sitting across the table. “It’s just some beef stew but I hope you’ll like it. And it’s a totally odd companion dessert but I made some chocolate chip cookies to go with it. I’m just preheating the oven now.” Hob gives Dream a blindingly kind smile before he starts to eat and launches into a story about his Tuesday class.

The lack of pressure to eat or even talk is one of the things Dream appreciates about his friend. But to return this kindness he chooses to at least politely take a few bites before outright denying the cookies. On sight the stew is nothing more than dark gravy with hefty chunks of tender beef, soft carrots, fluffy potatoes, and translucent onions. A good hearty stew to be sure but nothing crazy for the palette and definitely not anything worth writing home about.

Dream scoops a single spoonful into his mouth and freezes. His natural stillness allows the moment to go unnoticed by Hob but the entire collective unconsciousness comes to a halt. The simple stew resonates with a multitude of wishes that coalesce into one overarching dream. The single most important dream of its creator imbued into every molecule and Dream can more than taste it. Run his human tongue over it, crush it between his teeth, and swallow it into the empty cavern of hunger too large for this human form to possess. The oven beeps so Hob excuses himself to quickly shape some cookies and get them into the oven. In the meantime, Dream is allowed to continue being overwhelmed in private.

He stares at where his spoon disappears into the comforting brown stew until his vision starts to blur. Tears are starting to well up in his eyes and though he has not been breathing this entire time his hands begin to shake. Shake with want, he wants to eat the entire bowl stew and all. The dream buried within that bowl begins to call to him and the intense fervor with which he wants to consume it all almost scares him. He wants to grab the still simmering cast iron pot and absorb it’s entirety into his being. Is it rude to eat Hob’s remainder? Could he lick the remaining flavor from within Hob’s lips so that he may always know it’s flavors? Is it too much to feel this way for a friend’s kindness? Is it too much for him to beg Hob for more sustenance? Is it too much to admit to Hob he is starving and only this will nourish him? What taste will his longing tears add to the broth? What more would Hob give him when he had nothing to offer in return?

The oven door shuts and suddenly the thought of an even sweeter food causes Dream to take in a lungful of air in fear. It would be too much to bear. It would be too much because he is too much.

“Are you okay, Dream? You look a little shaken.” Shaken? Yes, he is shaken to his core. The stinging tears threaten to fall but Dream blinks them back with immeasureable control because he cannot lose control. Not here.

“It is of no matter. My apologies for your efforts but I do not believe I could partake in your dessert. Thank you however, for the stew.” Dream carefully says only the truth. He does not say that it was ambrosia and the only reason he does not gorge himself on it is fear that there will be no more left. That’s not true, he fears acknowledging it would mean no more would come. Better to take this single bite now and have many singular bites in meetings to follow than to choke it all down now and never be able to feast again. He returns the spoon carefully to where it was initially set and puts his hands into his lap to hide their trembling.

“Of course, it’s totally fine, Dream! I would never force you to do anything you didn’t want. Besides, I’ll eat all of this myself eventually,” Hob smiles and tries not to let it be strained. He had hoped pouring all of his emotions into this meal would show Dream that he wanted to have more than just friendship with him but he must have misunderstood. It’s just plain soup after all and the cookies are the Tollhouse recipe so what was he expecting? A dramatic and mutual love confession? Was he thinking Dream would fall to his knees and rejoice in Hob’s regard? No! Of course, he would only stare at the soup with his starry eyes and take a singular bite before denying more. Maybe eating was painful and that’s why he had a pained expression on his face. Maybe Dream did know what feelings Hob put into the stew and was kindly ignoring them to allow Hob to save face and for that he was grateful. For that, he could continue their friendship without shame and choke down his soup and two cookies while still trying to play that he wasn’t bothered. He knew once Dream left the food would be thrown away.

Dream waited patiently for Hob to finish his stew and eat his warm cookies a little too soon after pulling them from the oven. Hob barely avoided choking on the burning dough through a series of undignified swearing about the temperature and blowing puffs of hot air from his open mouth. If Dream weren’t so caught up in his mind he would have done more than laugh his braying laugh. When Hob finishes they retire back to the perfectly worn out couch and Dream takes a last glimpse at the pot on the stove.

In that pot was a stew filled with unfathomable care and gentle regard for Dream. Every morsel flavored with warm feelings of positivity and each piece a wish for nourishment. The time taken imbued every spoonful with a wish for happiness. The mixture of textures and wishes gave the stew a singular flavor, a singular dream that Dream could not ignore. The stew, because its creator created it so, dreamed of comfort for Dream. A dream so beautiful and heartfelt it filled him with tears to be so cared for. It would be torture then to taste the cookies and know he could never have Hob. To know that he should not have Hob.

They said their goodnights and Hob packed away the stew because he couldn’t really bear to waste a perfectly good few meals. He did however, throw away the remaining cookie dough because it felt wrong to eat them or give them away when he made it for Dream. When he imagined Dream’s laugh with every scoop of flour, when he imagined the stars in Dream’s dark eyes for every grain of salt, the baking soda his smirk, the egg yolks his sunny small smiles, the white sugar his pale human skin, the brown sugar his dark unruly hair, the vanilla extract his unique scent, when every stir was a loving caress he longed to give and with every chocolate chip a sweet kiss. He would throw this declaration of love away if only to keep their friendship.

Dream returned to the Dreaming in a sweep of sand and he was glad to be away from Hob. From his flat’s intoxicating warmth and his easy smiles if only so he could think. He had to stop this from going further. He could not love Hob. It would ruin him. He would not let himself do that to his dearest friend…his only friend. He would not love Hob and it would be okay. Because they could be friends! Because it would be enough.

It will be okay because Hob does not love him.

****

You know, I am so sorry for coming to you a second time and just dropping my long ass scenarios on you lol. I just can’t get the imagine of Hob making Dream something yummy and it being so full of care that it makes Dream well up with tears. He has never been loved so quietly before, so patiently, so unobtrusively and I just want that for him. Hopefully, this will get worked into the same fic and hopefully one day we’ll all be able to read it lol. Once again, my apologies for dropping this on you but I hope you have a good day!!!!!!!!!!!!! ❤️

Sincerely,

🧶Anon

Oh beloved 🧶 anon!!! I'm so glad to hear that you felt encouraged by my last response, I'm absolutely thrilled and so excited by the prospect of reading what you create! Even if it takes some time, I promise that the effort will be worth it.

I'm absolutely obsessed with what you've done with Dream and food and love here. It's so beautiful and it's one of my favourite things to think about. How does Dream interpret love, as an Endless being with access to the entire collective unconsciousness of humanity? He seems very much to feel emotions in the same way that we do - perhaps even in a more heightened way. I'm so interested in the way a home cooked meal imbued with all of Hob’s thoughts and good intentions and love would make him feel. How overwhelming would it be to have those things directed at him specifically for once? Hob’s love is not overwhelming, in itself. It's an ember that's burned softly for many years, and nothing can put it out. But even though it is so gentle, Dream just can't... hold it. Not without coming apart.

And Hob, oh bless him. I'm totally in the "food is Hob’s love language" camp. I'm so emotional about the idea of him sadly throwing out the cookie dough, respectful of Dream’s wishes but still feeling a little bruised that his love doesn't seem to be enough. I think that he won't stop trying, though. That little ember isn't going anywhere.

So, once again: thank you for sharing this. You are wonderful and you're going to make a wonderful fic. I hope you have a great day, my friend!

[acupofqueercoffee]

“Your lips were soft like winter”

whumptober 2022 // Alcina Dimitrescu x Reader

ao3 — https://archiveofourown.org/works/42193464

When you were immortal, time became ephemeral.

A year, 365 days, was approximately 8760 hours long.

Oh but my darling, it felt like only just last night that we were standing side by side under the glittering onyx sky.

“Stars and their delightful twinkles, I’ve always had a soft spot for them.”

“Hmm…such beautiful creations, aren’t they?”

You had said to me, and I was aware.

“Quite.”

I was aware that your gaze, your warm, unwavering gaze that was unmatched by the kings and queens of twinkles themselves, was bestowed not upon the sky but upon me as you had uttered your sweet compliments.

“And yet, it’s a shame my lady that thousands of them combined cannot hold a candle to one and only you.”

After all, I could feel them.

You could not have known but it had pleasantly tingled from where your glittering gaze had burned into my skin.

“And here I thought you accompanying me out here was with no ulterior motive.”

“Can you blame me, my lady? You are more of a spectacle than the supposed spectacle itself.”

And could you blame me, my little vixen that your words had held the staggeringly omnipotent effect on a heart that even I had long since believed to be dead.

From the beginning, my darling, you were a strange girl.

Even that night, you had rendered me speechless with a surprising kiss: your pretty, pink lips enveloping mine, and just when I thought my heart could not run any more rampant than it already had, you had once again rendered it untamed.

“I love you, Alcina.”

Oh but I doubt you truly understood how brutal of a tempest those three little words had managed to bring about in me.

Such was the butterfly effect, my darling.

“I’m in love with you.”

For a fleeting moment, I dared rejoice, I dared hope, but as far as rationality was concerned, everything jolly had been too good to be true.

Reality was a bitter pill to swallow, but you had to swallow it regardless.

I had heard no waver in your voice. Nor had I detected a trickle of uncertainty in your eyes.

Oh, but your eyes. The look in your eyes had been a rather haunting fright. It was not your look, but my very own reflected in your dazzling, doe eyes that had scared me.

You would think me foolish, my darling, but on my face reflected in your eyes, I had seen the very pictures of blushing maidens whom I had considered no less than toys. I had made use of their silly infatuations with me to appease my demanding desires.

This was my carefully crafted game, and the idea that I could very well get played at my own game was daunting to say the least.

It had hit me like a ton of bricks that unlike anyone else who had come before you, you were capable of hurting me. You were dangerous. Dainty but dangerous all the same.

So, I had done the only thing that I was best at doing. One thing that I knew very well would make even the most tenacious of flowers wilt.

My cowardice got the better of me and I turned into cruelty. I tried to break you before I could one day be broken by you.

“This wasn’t supposed to happen.”

Could you believe me, my darling girl, when I tell you that it had been well nigh torture for me to shake myself free from your warm, gentle embrace.

“Is that how you see me? A mistake?”

When you had asked me, it had been no louder than a broken whisper. Your eyes were wet, and they twinkled as if, unbeknownst to me, stardust had been sprinkled into your doe-eyed gaze.

If only for a moment, the heart-wrenching beauty of your big, wounded eyes distracted me.

However, I was scared to the point of outrage, stubborn to the point of stupidity, and so, just as abruptly as it had halted, venom was once again flowing freely from my wicked lips.

“It is what you are! This hideous stain on the otherwise pristine white page.”

I had not known then what this tightening deep inside my chest was as a pained little gasp escaped out of your tantalising lips.

Had I had known what would have transpired that night, could I have been so cruel?

Had I had possessed only a drizzle of bravery to face my feelings as you had so bravely done, then, would our love be thriving now?

Surely, I would still have you in my arms, safe and sound.

It had been winter after all.

The rooftops were slippery, and my words had hurt you as if you had been physically impaired.

I reached for you, my dearest girl, once I realised that you were about to fall.

And even as you fell, I fell after you with the flimsiest of hopes that I could, that I would catch you in my arms.

I had never felt such hopelessness in my life than during those few seconds suspended in mid-air, with you only at arm’s length.

No sooner had the very tips of our fingers touched than you had whispered to me once more that you loved me.

Tears were cascading down your cheeks. And yet, my darling, you had worn the sweetest of smiles on your lips.

I suppose you had known.

I caught you. I did catch you in my arms. Of course I did, and I had embraced you so tight, so impossibly tight with a stubborn determination of never letting you go again.

Even when the whole ordeal had taken no more than three minutes, it had been more than enough for you to slip through my fingers.

I savoured the lovely taste of your name on my tongue, albeit fully understanding that you would no longer indulge my ears with your ambrosial voice.

Red had seeped into the blank canvas of paper-white snow. It was very eerily reminiscent of what I had said to you.

Only then did it seem to properly register within my muffled mind that you were gone.

Truly gone.

Just like that.

As simple as a sunset.

As easy as a flower trampled underfoot.

And my very last utterance to you had been those bitter, hateful words that I had spat so carelessly, so foolishly.

“This wasn’t supposed to happen.”

Alas, tears did not find me.

Instead, I could acutely feel an insufferable agony right where my heart was supposed to be.

Tentatively, I had caressed your exquisitely soft cheeks with my fingertips, and watched silently as the prettiest hues of pink slowly faded into the palest blue.

“I, too, am in love with you.”

The first time you kissed me, your lips were sweet, warm like honey.

The last time I kissed you, your lips were soft like winter, but they were just as sweet as I had remembered.

[yanderes-galore]

Yandere!Primis Tank Dempsey (from Call of Duty: Zombies) with Ruthless!Female! Reader? I’m getting ✨ “yeah, yeah, they’re a mean killer and all, but I can fix them” ✨ vibes. Maybe making him a romantic yandere would suit this request? You can make this gender neutral if you want to as well to be more comfortable writing this.

Alright, I'll see what I can do for Dempsey :) Sorry this is short, I struggled on the direction to bring this.

Yandere! Primis! "Tank" Dempsey with Ruthless! Darling

Pairing: Romantic/Platonic

Possible Trigger Warnings: Gender-Neutral Darling, Obsession, Swearing, Manipulation, Dubious relationship, Controlling behaviors on both ends, Violence.

I feel a lot of the Primis Crew would have the "I can fix them" mentality towards a darling like this.

Ngl I can see Dempsey getting attracted/attached to a ruthless darling.

After all, the idea of a badass such as you seems neat.

He doesn't even mind your cruel nature at first.

It's when he or his crew get distracted or hurt by your behavior that he decides a change must happen.

Having a ruthless darling on his side isn't an issue.

Although he wishes you'd like the idea of murder less sometimes.

It may even be nice for him to watch you slaughter zombies mercilessly.

Again, it's when your behavior is problematic that he feels he can "fix" you.

He will try to tame your ruthless behavior when he falls into his obsession.

If he feels romantic feelings towards you then he'll find your nature rather hot even when untamed.

If he feels platonic then he finds your skills on the battlefield impressive, yet reckless and deranged.

Him trying to "tame" you is a bit funny.

He's more rational than his Ultimis counterpart and tries to talk you into being more careful and considerate.

Your responses to him are never too great.

You have a rather villainous persona, often forgetting mercy altogether.

This may even cause fights among the team.

You are destructive, you are unhealthy for him.

Yet he's unhealthy for you too with how much he wants to control and keep you as his by the end of it.

Dempsey wishes you'd spare others more.

However, he isn't opposed to it.

In fact this seems like the very person he'd enjoy despite the issues it causes.

He still cares for you even if you're crueler than than the typical darling.

I can imagine he'd try to control you and your ruthless behavior at first but soon give that up and accept you for what you are.

If anything now you're both monsters.

You're a ruthless murderer and he's the enabler who would also kill for you.

I feel this dynamic just makes you both beasts of different designs.

Perhaps monsters attract monsters at times?

His ultimate goal is to be close to you.

That way he is not on the other end of your gun and can admire you for who you are.

Overall, Dempsey may try to correct a ruthless darling at first...

But deep down he knows he likes you like this... so he'll keep you this way, hopefully all to himself.

[levi-venn]

The First Toothpick

Chapter 3: A Fistful of Carrots

Gen Fic - Mentor/Protege

Characters: Cad Bane, Crosshair (the kid), Jango (flashbacks).

Summary: Cad Bane teaches Crosshair how to be a sniper. The kid picks up some other habits as a result.

Chapter Summary: The kid experiences dry land for the first time. His reaction surprises Cad...but it also gives him an idea.

Chapters: Ch 1 | Ch 2 | Ch 3 | Ch 4 | Ch 5 | Ch 6 | Ch7 | Ch8 | Ch9 |

Available on AO3 here

“It’s just grass.” 

“The hell it is,” Cad said, retreating back up the ramp of the Firespray.

“C’mon, Cad, have a little faith in me. Watch.” Jango hopped out of the ship, landing waist deep in the field of golden brown wheat…

…like a damn fool.

So much wheat…stretching for as far as his scarlet globular eyes could see.

And that much wheat meant that many more places to hide.

“There’s things in there,” Cad warned, pointing to something rustling near Jango’s leg. 

“Just critters. Predators don’t come out until nightfall and they prefer Fabools to humanoids. You’re safe, I promise.”

“Uh huh…” Cad took another step backwards. “...I’ll just stay here.”

It wasn’t that he missed his homeworld - fuck Duro - but at least he knew and accepted it for what it was: A world that had traded its soul for industry long before Cad was born.  Clouds weren’t supposed to be white and fluffy like this. They should be oily and black belched from rusty smokestacks.  Even the sky here was wrong, too blue, too bright, missing the stains of putrid orange and green.  He’d been on this planet for less than a minute and already had his fill of the buzzing insects and…where the hell was that croaking coming from anyway?

“We got work to do, Cad. Don’t make me throw you over my shoulder like a bag of meilooruns.”

Cad sighed and stood on the edge of the ramp, staring down the untamed wilderness of what was supposedly a very tame ranch. The wheat stalks swooned in the breeze, like long fingers coaxing Cad into unseen jaws.

He sank one boot into the grass.

Something shrieked and shot up into the air.

Cad stumbled backwards, drawing one blaster only to have it slip from his fingers, sliding noisily down the ramp and out of sight into the wheat field. He pulled the second blaster and fired at the monster.

The convor flew away, unscathed.

“Aaaand this is why we’re here,” Jango frowned, picking up fumbled blaster and handing it back to Cad. “You’re jumpy as hell and can’t shoot for shit. If you want to keep calling me boss, get your shit together, Cad.”

“Yeah, boss,” Cad mumbled, holstering both blasters, embarrassment warming his face.

“Alright, enough lollygagging. Let’s go check on the Fabools.”

“What the hell is a Fabool?”

Cad found the kid curled up asleep in Bossk’s chair, cheek pressed against the scope of his rifle and a half-eaten protein bar in his hand. 

Beneath the chair was the kid’s duffle bag, half-open. Cad nudged it with his boot. Jumpsuits, protein bars, packs of water purifying tablets. No toys, no music discs, no personality. Not a single candy bar.

Jango loved caramel Starsbars; always kept one on him, in a pouch next to his thermal dets. He also loved fried eggs and bacon, nerf stew with extra carrots, peach-flavored tihaar cocktails (though he always claimed he drank tihaar straight), and he bobbed his head to Figrin D'an And The Modal Nodes when he thought no one was looking. 

Did all his clones experience the same joys he did? Were they even given a chance?

He kicked Bossk’s chair. “Get up, kid. We’re here.”

The kid sat upright, eyes still closed, a long, textured red line from the scope denting his cheek. “Where are we?”

“That’s classified,” Cad smirked.

“Haha, funny,” the kid yawned and slithered out of the chair. He took another bite of the protein bar, then tucked it back into his jumpsuit’s pocket.

I told him to find somethin’ to eat, Cad thought. Does he prefer his own rations?

“This hideout was Jango’s before it was mine. He taught me all I knew here n’ I’m gonna impart some of that know-how onto you.”

“I know how to shoot."

“Yeah, slower than molasses on Vandor,” Cad sneered. “We’re gonna fix that, but for now…” Cad activated the ramp. “...let’s just start with gettin’ out of the ship.”

The kid’s expression didn’t change.

Not when the door slid open.

Not when seeing, probably for the first time, an ocean of golden brown wheat, a clear sky, and a world alive with natural wonders.

Except that wasn’t exactly true. The kid's expression did change, if you knew where to look. Cad watched the kid's glassy brown eyes dart around the narrow view of the scenery, not like a frightened kid like Cad was all those years ago, but with a curious feline studying his new territory.

The kid ventured forward, standing on the edge of the ramp scanning the wheat field.  He didn’t move for a long moment.

Cad stood beside him, studying his face. The kid didn’t look scared, but something was holding him back. 

Finally, he looked up at Cad, brow knitted slightly.

Cad tilted his head. “What?”

“...is it safe?”

“C’mon, Cad, have a little faith in me,”

“Yeah, kid,” Cad said, Jango’s exasperated sigh burned in his memory. “It’s safe.”

As the kid took that first step forward, Cad leaned against the ship and popped a toothpick between his teeth. He expected to be here a while as the kid grew accustomed to the planet. 

But the kid jumped in with two feet. Literally. And then took off like a blaster bolt, running through the fields like a wild lothcat and twice as silent, maneuvered through the grass with practiced efficiency. 

Huh…engineered for stealth…created for war…

The kid chased some unseen varmint for a while before stopping to catch a butterfly in mid-air. As he cupped it in his hands, peeking through the fingers, a frog leapt onto his leg.  The kid gasped, but even that was subdued. He eyed the frog with round, emotional eyes, then lifted his leg to show Cad. 

Created for war…but still just a kid.

The frog disappeared into the kid’s pocket only to leap back out again as soon as the kid’s attention turned to a flock of ducks flying overhead.

“Believe it or not, Cad,” Jango said, arm draped loosely over Cad’s shoulder as they walked through the grass together. “There are some planets in this galaxy that aren’t a kriffing nightmare to live on.”

“Pretty planets can be dangerous too,” Cad mumbled.

“Hey,” Jango stopped in his tracks and made the sulking duros look him in the eye. Human eyes were always too emotional for Cad's liking. Jango's eyes weren't bad to look at though. Still, he scowled stubbornly. “I promised you a quiet place to train you and I meant it. You’re safe here. You’re safe with me.”

As the kid stood transfixed over a grasshopper crawling along his arm, Cad slung the kid’s rifle over his own shoulder, grabbed a few more bags, and exited the ship. He was halfway to the house when he realized the kid was following him, silent as the grave and his arm still extended giving the grasshopper a proper runway.

“Just goin’ to the house. Go play, kid.”

“I’m not playing,” the kid denied. “I’m here to learn.”

Cad sneered. “Like a good little soldier, huh?”

“I’m not just a soldier. I’m an elite-”

“Just be a kriffin’ kid today, okay?”

The kid’s neutral expression melted into something teetering on panic. He looked around again as if searching for something or someone to explain “playing” to him.

Made for war...

“How about this,” Cad sighed. “Do some recon. Get familiar with the territory. The perimeter extends to the barbed wire fence and the border of the lake. Report back when yer done.”

Seemingly satisfied with this “mission” he nodded and bounded off, the grasshopper flying behind him. 

Fuck you, Jango, for givin’ just one special little Boba a childhood and leavin’ the rest behind.

Cad headed to the house and hoped Todo 360 had ordered the extra carrots for the nerf stew.

***

Cad remembered being disappointed when he first arrived at the hideout. 

The word “hideout” made him think of a beaten up shack filled with illegal artillery, chests full of credits, and a bunch of mean-looking mercs he’d be glad to have on his side.

But this hideout was a farmhouse. A quaint home perched on a hill overlooking the wheat fields. Over the front door was a wooden sign with hand carved, flowery aurebesh reading: “The Stars Shine on This Home”. Rocking chairs moved with the cool breeze on the porch. Cheerful tulips welcomed bees in the front garden. Inside the house, there were floral quilts on the plush couches and horseshoes over every doorway. There was a ubiquitous scent of cinnamon and aged wood. 

“Doesn’t look like much of a hideout,” Cad sulked, eyeing the pie cooling on the windowsill. 

“And you don’t look like much of a mercenary,” Jango sneered, pulling out two plates and a pie server. “Looks can be deceiving.”

Three hours later, the kid showed up. Dirt caked his cheeks, burrs stuck to his jumpsuit. There was a scrape on his hand, and a few bugs and a frog peeked out of his pockets.

From the kitchen, Cad slid a heap of carrots into the simmering nerf stew and watched the kid carefully stalk the living room, eyeing everything, but touching nothing. 

Well, almost nothing.

Cad’s wide-brimmed hat hung on the rack near the door.

The kid reached up for it. 

“Take a seat, kid,” Cad said, his tone sharp. “Food’s almost ready.”

The kid snatched his hand back and scurried to the small table in the dining area. He sniffed the daisy bouquet centerpiece and looked shocked to realize it was real.  He put one of the grasshoppers on one of the flowers.  The grasshopper immediately hopped away.

Cad set the bowl of hearty nerf stew in front of the kid and brushed the grasshopper onto the floor. “Eat up. It’s tastier than those shitty protein bars ya got stowed away.”

The kid’s spoon poked experimentally at the stew.

“I like the protein bars,” he said, watching the hearty chunks of nerf bobbing in the sienna broth.

He took a bite of just broth at first, his face remaining neutral, but his brow rose a little lighter.

The second bite was a little more adventurous with a piece of nerf added to it.

The third bite was all carrots…

…and the kid immediately spat them out in his napkin, wrinkling his nose.

Cad nearly snickered.

Under any normal circumstance he would’ve found it funny.

But the disappointment hit his gut like a cheap shot.

It was just carrots.  What would he care if the kid hated carrots and Jango ate them like candy?

Because this ain’t about carrots. If these clones ain’t like Jango, then they got free will, don’t they?

And if they got free will…

…what happens if they decide they don’t wanna be soldiers?

Questions far above his pay grade, but like Jango always said: “The day you stop asking questions is the day They win.”

Is that what you did, Jango? Cad wondered, bringing his own bowl of stew to the table. Did ya just stop askin’ questions?

Halfway through the quiet meal, Cad realized the kid was staring at him.

“Somethin’ on yer mind, kid?” He asked, not looking up.

The kid silently picked another carrot off his spoon and added it to the orange pile on his napkin. 

“I asked ya a question.”

“I didn’t find any Fabool,” the kid murmured.

“Didja know where to look?”

“No.”

Cad raised his brow ridge. “Didja ask where they were?”

The kid shook his head.

“So? Ask me.”

“Where are they?”

“Behind the house. Finish your stew and I’ll show y-”

The kid dropped his spoon, grabbed the bowl and, in record time, gulped down the rest of the stew, chewing the last bits noisily and spitting out a final piece of carrot.

“Ready.” he said, deadpan, though his eyes sparkled as bright as Jango’s whenever Cad handed him a Starsbar.

Need Todo to order more Starsbar, Cad reminded himself. Just in case.

***

Behind the house was a square, quarter acre of land, sectioned off with a two meter high fence covered in thick brown wool. From the outside, it just looked like an extra storage shed, but as Cad and the kid drew nearer, it was evident something was moving around inside the enclosure.  

The kid pressed his face against the fabric barrier trying to see through it without any luck. The Fabools snuffled inquisitively on the other side.

“Whats with the blankets?” 

Huh…first question I didn’t have to pry outta him, Cad mused. 

“Fabools are about as sensitive as they are stupid. In the wild they’re liable to get stuck on thorn bushes n' deflate, makin' 'em easy pickin's for predators. The goal is to keep ‘em safe n’ happy in here so they produce more eggs."

"Eggs?"

"These eggs ain't for eatin'. Not for us anyway. They fetch a pretty price on the black market since the egg whites got hallucinatory properties to 'em.” He unlocked the door but held it closed, his eyes narrowing at the kid. “Walk carefully n’ don’t bring anythin’ sharp in here. You deflate ‘em, I deflate you, got it?”

“Okay,” the kid said, with enough earnestness to ease Cad's mind. "Wait," he added suddenly, pulling out a small vibroblade from his boot, and stuck it in the ground outside the enclosure. "Okay, ready."

“Good kid,” Cad nodded.

The kid immediately looked away, but not before Cad noted the faintest trace of a smile in his cheeks. 

Soon as the gate opened, the kid slipped through it and was immediately overwhelmed, disappearing beneath a bouncing avalanche of furry Fabools.

Fabools were balloon-like creatures in every way imaginable, perfectly round, airy and gentle, and navigated the world through bouncing and floating with vague intent on their destination. Short gray fur covered their bodies, and their two webbed feet may have once been used for swimming eons ago, but that evolutionary branch had long since broken off. Their flippers remained as an imperfect guidance system, and Fabools tended to flap out of sheer excitement than for propulsion.

While they didn't exactly have heads, their face was located flush against the upper hemisphere of their round form, a tiny upturned mouth sandwiched between two, round black eyes which blinked adoringly at the kid.  

The kid sank into the grass in wide-eyed wonderment, opening his arms to gently hug however many Fabools he could while the rest rolled and bounced all around him.

Cad couldn’t be sure, but he thought he heard the kid hiss out a small, brief laugh.

“What the fuck, Jango?” Cad growled, backing up as the creatures bounced closer and closer. “Get ‘em away from me.”

“They’re harmless.”

“Then why’re they chasin’ me?” He climbed up the fence, the little monsters hopping in the air obviously trying to bite him.

“They don’t even have teeth. I promise you, they're not dangerous, just curious. Trust me.”

"Trust me..."

Something clicked in Cad’s mind.

…Well shit. Now I know why Jango asked me to train this kid. Snipin’ isn’t this kid’s problem. Trust is.

Not trust in other people. This kid seemed to have an abundance of blind trust for authority figures…something Cad would train out of him in a heartbeat if he wasn’t getting paid for this job. 

The thing is, the kid had trust for everyone outside of himself. 

That’s why he shoots so slow. That’s why he’s so damn hesitant to speak his mind. He’s got that spark in him, but Jango hired me for one specific reason: I got trust for no one but myself. 

“They’re so…helpless,” The kid said, watching one of the males roll by, webbed feet kicking uselessly in the air. The kid gave him a little push to help him to his feet.

So are you, kid, Cad thought, popping a toothpick in his mouth. But don’t worry. We’re gonna fix that. You may hate me afterwards…

…but either way you’ll be stronger for it, and I’ll get paid either way.

[aerospectrum]

edit: this was initially 3 short paras and then i lost control. random thoughts/character analysis of homelander under the cut; feel free to add your own thoughts or opinions if you see fit. these are just my own personal thoughts and opinions here I speak for nobody but myself 🫡🩵🔥 here is some listening music if you read along disclaimer: this is an rp related analysis so i talk about some shipping stuff too

one of the big reasons I like homelander and jamie together so much is because of the similarities i see between them both and I think think that makes their ship dynamic a bit more than just 2d for myself.

homelander/ john was created and forced into the spotlight from birth; he always has to be “on” for everyone and in the show it’s played out so well and lets the audience into this unspoken/unprocessed trauma that literally goes deeper than his childhood. I think of the scene where he looks in the file box and see's that they've even bagged his blanket up and call it a “prop”. It's like all he’s ever been to vought and the world is a prop. They have the control to send Homelander into a simultaneous spiral of self doubt and untamable rage: it gets them views, it reminds Homelander of his "place" it reminds him that he is a lab experiment, that everything special about him came from a fucking test tube and there's nothing he can do to change that. and when he starts to break free from their own little world of control and mind games it upsets them (but it forces them to recognize that he's nearly unstoppable and he can and will fight back when backed into the corner and they better watch their fucking backs). Homelander has his flaws, as does any good character and I think that's what I like about him.

Like he's a total asshole, a real dick who doesn't force himself to filter his shitty opinions or comments regardless of who it affects. We see that with the way he just freely lets people know that humans are toys that are there to be broken. That has got to be something that was hardwired into him as a kid anytime he made a mistake playing with another human and forgot his threshold is not at all the same as a humans. When he'd cry and feel remorse and empathy for those in pain; I think Vought cut that out of him, shamed him and made him feel less than for caring for those "less than him" and so of course he's grown to see himself as better than, to see humans as replaceable, expendable- useless toys that can be remade for his needs and desires. But I think there's a part of him still in there buried beneath all the darkness that wants human connection, wants worth and belonging. There's tons of scenes that prove this to me-- this man craves physical intimacy in the form of gentle touch and kind words, he was just abandoned so often that his depravity and douchebag external behaviors have become his security blanket.

In him embracing who they created him to be, suddenly he’s evil and malicious and needs to be killed. they created a “monster” and then got mad that it did exactly what they trained it to do. (For clarity homie is not a monster to me) he’s been abandoned by everyone and everything that makes a person “human” he was punished for his shortcomings, let down by everyone who should’ve done more and done better. And then they blame him for how he turned out and try to kill him at every single opportunity. He’s only out of control because there’s been no stability or security for him from anyone, anywhere, ever. It feels like fear is a big component or driving factor in how Homelander rationalizes his actions. 

So why do I see such similarities and enjoy the concept of shipping Homelander wiht Jamie Dutton from Yellowstone? Thanks for asking lmao. I'll jump right in. With Jamie Dutton we already know his birth dad was an abusive drunk who created a drug fueled addict out of his mother. John Dutton has no trouble telling Garrett to his face that Garrett punished his wife for becoming what he created her to be and then in a drug/alcohol fueled rage killed his mother when he found jamie had gotten ahold of her drugs-- he also passively states that if Jamie wants to allow Garrett to undo everything John made him to be then it was fair game and to go ahead. No decent parent views their child as a project they solely created- like some science project slapped together on the weekends. John Dutton for the record also has a savior complex though because he likes to play the part of a saint while being one of the most abusive fathers out there to all of his children, we just see it played out the most on screen with Jamie,

Garrett killing his wife gets him thrown in prison and Jamie is adopted out of obligation by none other than the states biggest name, John dutton, and john raises this kid to know that he’s not real family- he’s not loved or respected by him or the rest of his family. The proof of this is Beth yelling at her father to tell her that he ever cared about or loved Jamie the way he did her, Kayce, or Lee. So if the other children picked up on this fact I'm gonna be hard-pressed to believe Jamie didn't himself. And yet Jamie is expected to live up to and beyond the expectations and standards of John Dutton or suffer the consequences-- of which he's suffered a multitude of times already.

All Jamie wants is to be loved and to belong-- He has no sense of identity because that's how John raised him up. He was nothing but a means to an end, a tool and one that John spends his entire childhood berating in front of his siblings and everyone else watching. He disparages Jamie's accomplishments and character to anyone within listening distance constantly. Jamie was a good cowboy-- Rip has mentioned this a few times that Jamie was really good at what he did as a cowboy before John applied sneakily under the table to Ivy League College Harvard on the completely opposite side of the states and pushed Jamie as far away from the ranch as he legally could. He asks Jamie directly what he wants to be when he grows up and Jamie says, I wanna be like you dad, I wanna make you proud and run the Yellowstone like you and John laughs in his face and says the only way you'll be like me a protect the ranch is if you leave and do everything I tell you to do down to a T- don't stray, don't fuck up, do what I say and then you'll have a shot at being me. He lies through his teeth to this kid because he can't have someone who isn't blood in the line of inheritance.

Not only does John force Jamie to become the thing he hates most as a way to dangle the hope Jamie has of being loved in front of him, he vocally regrets and despises Jamie for it. Jamie operates out of abandonment a lot and begrudgingly becomes the best lawyer he can be- so much that he becomes the states attorney but only after John has spent full energy humiliating and punishing Jamie for daring to want more than what John will ever give him. Repeatedly, John yanks the respect and love right out of Jamie's reach anyway and every time. he ostracizes Jamie while demanding he not embarrass the Dutton family or name. When Jamie finally has enough and attempts having a backbone of his own John not only beats him up and has him disowned but agrees with his daughter that Jamie is his greatest failure in life and biggest disappointment.

They not only convince jamie not to kill himself but then they spend all their energy telling him he's a coward and weak minded and weakhearted and should kill himself it escalates to them saying that they will kill him. They created him to be the protector of their heritage; lineage, inheritance- everything he wasn't allowed to be a part of and when he's become what they forced him to be they still hate him and want him killed. 

Jamie breaks a window after his sister and father corner him in the kitchen. He screams that he’s given everything to this family and why isn’t it good enough and that he hates John. Later on his sister backs him into a corner- forces him to kill his birth father who surprisingly is the only one who genuinely loves Jamie and tells him to never let the Duttons convince him he's a bad man just because he's different from them. Then she threatens him with rape, prison, taking and hurting his child and finally with murdering him. But the narrative still wants you to believe that Jamie is the villain because he isn't a blood Dutton. They abuse this character over the span of 5 seasons and call his reactionary actions to the perpetual abuse wrong and abusive---why do they want me to view the victim of abuse as the victim-- that's fucked. Jamie operates a lot out of fear too and people think that it makes him spineless but it doesn’t. When you’ve been forced back in a corner all your life by pitchforks and fire eventually the fear breaks and you lash out in desperation. But they use that against him and consider him a villain for it. 

Jamie's storyline reminds me so much of Homelander asking Ryan “why am i not good enough for you?” Because his entire life he’s been forced into this worldview that he’s nothing more than a show animal or a puppet for the world to play with. Like Homelander laments; he does what people want they hate him... he doesn’t do what people want they hate him. He tries and he tries and he tries and it’s never good enough. But nobody ever stops to think he was raised from birth to be the way he is. There was no security for him, no warmth or care, no humanity nor humility for him to learn and grow from. Maybe he sees the way he could’ve been in Ryan and it opens up a wound in him like “but why couldn’t i have had a mother or father who loved me, who wanted me? Why did it always have to be “smile at the camera and do a trick?” Homelander was forced into to the dance monkey dance schtick and Jamie was forced to become the outlet of his families disgust and hatred. Therefore at the first signs of feeling anything other than fear, malice, self preservation, or disappointment they're incapable of accepting honest gestures of love from the people around them because it could all be a joke, it could be all for show and just a ruse- they could let their guards down and learn to love and be loved only for it all to be yanked away and the bright lights shined down on them in a display of "hahaha you idiot it was all fake!"

No matter what either of them do it’s never good enough and they both strike me as the carriers of the worst type of trauma from abuse and neglect, I just love my damaged me so deeply. Annnnyway that’s all. I mean there’s more but that’s all for rn because this is very long winded and I don’t want to be annoying lmao. 

[mejomonster]

Also yeah I did realize I contradicted myself ToT by saying I wanted a break from Silent Reading type crime mystery realism stories, just to immediately go find poyun in chinese and the English translation (which is by like 3 groups so I'm piecing together where to find all chapters) and then go on bilibili to watch fanmade music videos

;-; I remember the leak like YEARS ago now that potentially Cheng Yi and Liu Xueyi would play the leads in poyun 2 tunhai adaptation that was getting made. Which I assume may never see the light of day... (but that'd absolutely be Dream scenario if it existed)

I remember back then, the leaks also came for Silent Reading's drama casting. With fei du being picked fairly consistently, but Luo wenzhou having multiple picks with the actual guy in Justice in The Dark not being any of the rumored guys. I remember being SO excited and scared for it because I LOVE Silent Reading and feared it would get made so poorly, cast so poorly, look as visually yikes as Granting You a Dreamlike life etc... and also I figured if only X danmei got to air (word of honor and 2ha being rumored back then) then I figured modus certainly wouldn't make the cut. Because it was full of content that'd be potentially censored. Not just gay stuff but a Lot. And then like... like an absolute miracle, a completely unpredictable unforseen possibility. It actually did air partly. During a year when technically no danmei at all did (post Word of Honor), because League of Nobleman may be bromance but as far as I'm aware wasn't adapted from a danmei novel so it wouldn't have the same Critical Eye on it (I'm assuming it's more a dmbj situation). And those 8 episodes? They were good. They were better than I ever even dared imagining was a possibility. They were more than I could've ever hoped, so much exactly what I would've wished if I'd ever dared to let myself wish (which I didnt). And because of that absolutely unforseen surprise, I'm still very stubbornly (probably clownishly) going to assume some day the rest releases. Please.

(Though rationally I think... if big budget well made 2ha's Immortality airs, or Sha Po Lang's cdrama airs, there's hope for bl danmei/dangai show releases again. I say that because frankly so much money and investment of quality was put into 2ha's Immortality that i imagine the company's who own it would like that monetary payoff if there is ANY way to still air it eventually. And once it does air, it will be a temperature gauge: does it get so popular or so much attention in negative ways that there's Another long term halt of danmei releases, like right after Word of Honor? Does it release relatively calmly like The Untamed and pave the way for the plethora of currently-held danmei cdramas to get to air afterward? If the second option is true, then it's likely Sha Po Lang will air soon after... or wait several months so they get more of their own hype without competition, and it's likely the Eons of less Anticipated danmei adaptations start releasing again with less intense scrutiny like The Way of The Bat, Of Mountains and Rivers, etc. So I think... if Immortality manages to release and fully air, it'll set the tone of what is released after for the next year+. And that drama I find most likely to release next, just because there's a lot of money in it. Then I guess... the wildcard prediction is Justice in the Dark fully drops at some point like magic again, stealing steam and attention... or another unexpected smaller production danmei adaptation dares to drop. Then because it gets so much attention as an Unanticipated but Only danmei out, that'll set the tone but the tone will probably still be "NO more" until a big danmei airs. That's my thought process anyway... a reaction to a big danmei adaptation may predict if other less big ones are allowed to easily air again, or if there will be none for a while. I saw that Marcus guy mention that there were rumors of Immortality trying to release this summer. But honestly? Who knows.

Now. If you want to believe in something as illogical and senseless as superstition. I made a bet that Immortality would air when my health issues improved. And well. I ate pizza for the first time again in like 3 years. I'm seriously considering maybe lowering my medicine dose soon. So lol based on my Completely Illogical superstition? I predict a release for Immortality in August to September, if it's this year.

As for Justice in the Dark? I desperately hope the companies involved straighten up their mess, and re-release and finish releasing with no warning asap. I would like to hope it just all leaks accidentally like Joy of Life did. But I think it's more likely (although still magically unpredictable) the show will just suddenly reappear, as randomly as it did the first time. It's a Well made fucking show. It's like a good budget crime kdrama, it's fucking excellent. So i hope it sees the light fully eventually.

Anyway just... I'm nostalgic from when all the news of danmei adaptations came out... and against many factors, I still wish somehow they do come out. I'd love to see Poyun realized as a show. I remember seeing Justice in the Dark the first day, and just blown away beyond any assumptions I couldve had, that the show was really everything me and fan made videos alike had envisioned for the novel in shoe form, and more.

[sleep-escapes-me]

word prompt: ruddy; fearless

Imogen x Laudna

Finally on Ruidus, Laudna contemplates what fear means to her.

word count - 520

Laudna thought she’d feel some form of fright when up on Ruidus. Not to say she wasn’t frightened. This was more foreign a place than she’d ever ventured to; filled with more unknowns than any place on Exandria. Its very landscape was hidden from sight by the merciless dust storm it fostered. Fear was welcomed here like the comfort of a well-fed fire on a cold night in the Marquesian desert. But fear as an emotion that shuddered rationality was less jarring when it was expected. 

Here, where the source of untamed divinity seemed closer than ever, it simmered in her belly like it had her entire life when journeying to a new place. That instinctual paranoia-bred trepidation that seized her limbs with an inculcated touch and gripped her slow-beating heart in vice; a pervading sensation that never lapsed. 

It’s lessened in the last couple of months—that fear. Diluting and filtering through six of her dearest companions before it reached her: Fearne’s captivating—distracting presence behind her, Orym’s ever-watchful eyes looking ahead at all angles, Fresh Cut Grass’ good-natured sympathetic interference, Ashton’s and Chetney’s reactive protectiveness flank their vulnerable formation. Then Imogen beside her, holding her arm, body devotedly flush against her side in a way that demonstrated Laudna was cared for and loved and not the harbinger of ill will to anyone. 

While this configuration had become old hat in just a few short months, 30 years of extant existence, uncertain if the local townsfolk she ran into would treat her with kindness or cruelty takes its toll. The fear never truly expires and this unfamiliar environment made that all too apparent.

———

The storm eventually broke and from its clarity brought nothing but red. Stronger. Brighter. It gave Laudna’s undead nature the illusion of a ruddy warmer complexion and she had the idle thought that the facade would burst into flames, consuming her entirely, as if the false moon knew she wasn’t their kin. 

Instead, the flames came from inside her. Gripping underneath her veins, it ran through the blood-mixed ichor that arduously flowed throughout and burned up from the inside. It sharpened all her dulled edges, making her aware of every minute detail of her body as the flames ran through every facet of her being. It cut deep into her with every step taken forward on this celestial prison.

She thought it was that familiar fear that afflicted her but when Imogen squeezed her arm affectionately in a silent question, Laudna saw in her eyes the source of that fire.

The flames, born of Imogen, who fearlessly led them through this strange new world by example. Imogen, who had dreamed about this place for far longer than the understanding of it was granted to her. Her love who had experienced the Ruidian storms countless times. Imogen, who had conquered her nightmares and come out the other side of them. There was no fear in Imogen’s eyes but familiarity—her eyes held their own raging tempest, unbothered by the one whirling around. 

Who was Laudna to betray her fearless love? 

A storm that incessantly endured was due for a change.

[anryuuepic]

Test Subject: Mercury Bio

Name: Test Subject Mercury

Species: Daryan

Race: Whitescale

Role: A Test Subject of Winterkill Works, whose experimental power, like nearly all of the rest, backfired. A self-proclaimed “logical” man whose short fuse and propensity for holding vicious grudges go against the image he wishes to present. Has a particular animosity toward Mars and Orcus. 

Affiliation: Winterkill Works

Gender: Male

Age: 29

Height: 5’10

Appearance: Mercury is a man of average build and slightly taller than average height. His hair is golden blond and worn in a short, spiky cut that constantly looks untamed. His eyes are a light shade of warm-hued gray, and he wears rectangular-framed glasses. The most striking things about him are his perpetual sour scowl and matching nasty glare. 

Personality: Mercury is the kind of person who claims to be one thing, but is actually the complete opposite. He insists that he’s a logical, rational sort who has the only working brain amongst the Test Subjects, but the reality is that he’s hyper-aggressive, short-tempered, and dangerously reckless the second something makes him angry. He’s bitter, sarcastic, rude, and has a serious problem with people telling him what to do. Anything that upsets him earns a rapid, violent reaction... and he’s prone to holding grudges for longer than anyone reasonably should. A lot of this stems from a strong sense of pride; Mercury holds himself to a high standard, and he can’t tolerate letting his own expectations down, no matter what the reason for it may be. 

Positive Traits: Mercury’s pride is, in some ways, his best trait. Even though it drives him to a lot of his less-than-ideal behaviors, it also makes him want to constantly improve. When he does realize that he’s in the wrong, Mercury makes a genuine effort to improve. He’s surprisingly earnest; when one gets close enough to him, they’ll find that he’s a passionate person with strong emotions and very poor control over them. When he cares about something, he won’t give up on it for anything.

Negative Traits: Mercury’s greatest problem is his snap decisions and lack of thinking. He’s dangerously prone to acting before he thinks, and of all of his issues, that’s what’s given him the most trouble. His arrogance and deluded posturing aren’t much better, though, and his tendency to hold grudges is equally unpleasant. He has a major sadistic streak that he keeps thinly concealed— it most often comes out when someone has particularly earned his ire, and when it does, the results are hard to watch. 

History: Mercury doesn’t talk much about his past. The exact reasons are unclear, but it seems that he’s just ashamed of ending up a Test Subject after occupying whatever profession he did in the past. From what the others in the group have gathered, he likely did some kind of bureaucratic job, and it may not have ended on good terms. He refuses to say why he joined Winterkill Works as well, and that seems to be a much more sensitive subject. Overall, he clearly has something to hide about his past. 

Relationships: In general, Mercury isn’t on good terms with the other Test Subjects, nor the higher-ups of Winterkill Works. His bad attitude makes him very difficult to be around, and he seems to think of himself as better than everyone around him. He has a notably awful relationship with Mars and Orcus; the three of them are the kind of enemies that can barely be allowed  to exist in the same space without a fight of some kind breaking out.

Interests: Mercury likes historical studies, feeling important, and seeing others in pain (when they deserve it). He dislikes being looked down on by anyone, Mars and Orcus, and personal shame. His interests include reading (usually textbooks) and getting into pointless arguments with people. 

WW Role: As one of the specially selected Test Subjects, Mercury was given a particular experimental power. In his case, it was the ability to crystalize objects and living beings through a fine mist in his breath. Unfortunately, this mist turned out to be most effective on his own body... and beyond that, he often has to be quarantined when the concentration flares up. 

Miscellaneous: While Mercury is far from the “rational” person he thinks he is, he is quite intelligent. He most enjoys subjects just as history and political studies, but his knowledge is surprisingly well-rounded. He doesn’t know exactly what made him despise Mars and Orcus so greatly, but they’re all well past the point of ever getting along. He’ll never admit it, but the quarantine times terrify him— sometimes, he wonders if he’ll ever be let out of the containment cell again. The crystal that grows on his skin also has to be regularly removed, and the process is bloody and highly painful. 

Connotative Description: A highly arrogant man who believes himself to be logical, rational, and intelligent, when he’s actually a short fuse with anger issues, a sadistic streak, and a problem with holding grudges.

[balanceoflightanddark]

The Lost World's Heart of Darkness

In 1899, Joseph Conrad would write the short story Heart of Darkness, a tale about a steamer traveling up the Congo River picking up shipments of ivory all along the way. Needless to say, it's a pretty grim story, a charged anti-colonial message about the depravities of the Congo Free State, which only gets worse the further you go up the river. That as you get further from civilization, you realize just how bad humanity can truly be.

In many ways, you could consider it to be Arthur Conan Doyle's 1912 classic The Lost World to be a different take on that. Instead of man's cruelty though, it's more about their place in nature. Both novels could certainly fall in the pro-colonialist adventure novels that were popular during the time. European explorers venturing into an untamed wilderness, discovering lost riches and conquering various hazards along the way. And indeed, The Lost World does fall into that category a bit. It's about a British explorer named Professor Challenger braving the Amazon to find a plateau where dinosaurs and other prehistoric beasts still exist. Their adventures are chronicled by Edward Malone who along with describing the various beasts they encounter, also reports of a war between two tribes of people (one more human and one more ape).

Naturally being from 1912, it has a lot of...uncomfortable implications about colonialism. In particular having unflattering portrayals of the natives and characterizing the dinosaurs as being brutish monsters. But at the time the novel was a smash hit that eventually got turned into a feature length film with the same plot in 1925.

While the film does still have a few problematic elements to it though (there is a case of blackface), it also features a much...different take on the story. Here, the focus is solely on the dinosaurs (animated beautifully via stop-motion by Willis O'Brian), with the only native being a single ape-man. The critical plot point of Challenger bringing back a young pterosaur to civilization was changed to him capturing a Brontosaurus for a more thrilling climax when the sauropod inevitably escapes.

It's also here where we get that shift in attitude I was talking about. In the novel, the explorers were able to mostly gun their way through the jungle, including dealing with the dinosaurs by pumping them full of lead, and being able to put down the ape tribe by allying themselves with the natives. Effectively, the conquering hero triumphant against nature.

Here though, it's a bit different. The power dynamic is shifted. Gunning down the dinosaurs isn't an option when you're separated from civilization and need to ration ammo carefully. Man is treated less as conquering, but more surviving, hiding out in caves instead of being the ruler. The only dinosaur they're able to fend off is an Allosaurus, but even only barely. And while they do make preparations for another dinosaur attack, there's no guarantee that it's going to work, and it's powerless in the face of a volcanic eruption that nearly kills them all.

Here in the most primeval part of South America, man isn't ruler. He's prey. Heart of Darkness was all about exploring just how cruel man was. The 1925 Lost World was about exploring just how small man was. A reminder of a time when man wasn't the dominate species.

And ultimately, that's a lesson Challenger (Wallace Beery) learns the hard way in the climax, where the Brontosaurus tears through London while the would-be heroes can only look on hopelessly. They brought it to civilization to prove their theory and return as brave conquerors. Only to bring something they can't control and now have to pay the price for it. The colonials meeting their match essentially.

This is something that is a running subplot with Edward Malone (Lloyd Hughes). The only reason he went on the trip was because his would be fiancé wanted a hero for a husband. Only when he returns, he finds out she just found another man since she thought he wouldn't come back. He does marry another girl he fell in love with on the journey, but his zeal for glory was for nothing in the end.

On another interesting note, the dinosaurs (while not being the brightest) are portrayed with some sympathy. There's a scene of a Triceratops protecting and caring for her young way before the idea of parental care in dinosaurs became mainstream. And the Brontosaurus isn't actually killed like it normally would in these sorts of movies. It just falls through the London Bridge...and is able to swim to safety. The last shot of the film is the Bronto swimming away (presumably back home) peacefully while Challenger looks on. While they can be certainly violent, the fact is that they're still portrayed as animals and ultimately it was humans that brought the Bronto to civilization and put everyone in danger.

While it may have been unintentional, The Lost World (at least the 1925 version) did tap into that sort of anti-colonialism sentiment that was beginning to crop up at the time in a similar vein to Heart of Darkness (though not to the same extent). That ultimately it was the arrogance of Europeans that brought death and destruction in their attempts to conquer the "uncivilized" world. Something that would later be repeated and explored even further in the 1933 classic King Kong (another film where Willis O'Brian did the special effects), which follows a similar premise.

[morrisonrs]

The World's Calling Chapter 1: Rock Bottom is a Temporary Condition

Several hundreds of miles away, in the back of a less than reputable establishment, in a booth that was made of black pleather, a Mech was in the process of melting down. As far as he was concerned, the booth he was sitting in was worth more than he was. Contained within a black box, their LED eyes were bugging out in more ways than one. Pure strawberry red flitting along a dark background. The side panels of his head were abuzz as an evergreen line turned into mountains and valleys on his temples. Any remaining part of his CPU that wasn’t in a panic spiral was busy trying to ensure that he didn’t melt something crucial in the midst of his bout of self-depreciation. How could it get like this?

To start, the idea of a lack of worth wasn’t the thing that hurt most. No… No, what hurt was the turn around. For a brief decade, he was part of the main focus, part of something important and now he was reduced to sitting in the back part of a grease fire waiting to happen. In his mind, he would rather have been scrapped long ago, or hell, just let some chop shop strip him for parts. Anything was better than being repurposed. He was useful, he was only a few generations removed from the current set, there had to be a niche he could fill. He had enough memory for the agricultural sector, he never disliked fruits. Or secretarial work, a bit of a bore but nothing There was that co-op a few klicks under that sent out a radio transmission for help, he could definitely….

Radio. He was only supplied with Radio. Pathetic.

Mechanoids such as Reimos were of the utmost importance to the Impetus Committee. They were the ones who assigned purpose, who divined meaning and purpose and value out of the puzzle pieces of life. There was a purpose for each Mechanoid’s existence, there was a process, there were assignments and customizations and an order to things. Weaponry, Communications, subunits to divide tasks and thinking. Lasers and Flares and Rockets and the doodads that seemed to pass by Shoa’s formation. To be repurposed was a fate worse than anything. Sending you out into the wilds to be set upon by rust and fight in battles that the Committee doesn’t dare to publish or to work awful shifts at some mining company in order to fuel the desire for resources. Horrid, just horrid. As the idea of him getting shelled took up space in his electric mind, he slumped over in his pity booth.

Shoa had to face the facts. He was old. Not in experience or age, he certainly lacked both of those in comparison to his fellow units. A better comparison would be to call him obsolete. The very thought of the word made his metallic frame shudder. A product of a long-disbanded experiment that produced no meaningful results till units like him didn’t even need to be a part of it. Others of his type were already assigned to outposts out in the infinite frontier and were more than likely getting shelled to bits. Even on the microscopic chance he could get through all the red tape and forms and parley, ultimately, he wouldn’t be able to justify or afford the upgrades needed to stave him off from his impending reassignment. In a matter of days, he would get a beep in his head, and that would be it. Through the air sensors in front of him, the particulates of indeterminate beef and other meat products wafted through the air. If he was going to have a breakdown, he wanted it to be in a better place than a 2 Star Slop Shop that couldn’t regulate its own grease traps. He was a Mechanoid after all. Three stars or better for a total shutdown of rational thought processes. There was roughly a week left on this untamed mess of a planet, he at least had the courtesy to his future self to plan his meltdown properly. As he lifted his soon to be scrapped corpse out of the pleather booth, the only thing to catch his eye was an advertisement printed in thick letters, with the calligraphy of a 5-year-old flesh thing. An advertisement for a government position though…

To put it simply, Rhys was not satisfied with the idea of living. The common agreement was that to live was to break your back on the rocks while some tophat wearing bastard got to roll in it. What was “it”? Not important and ultimately not the point. Her life was to push past menial labor. To live was to thrive and to thrive was to get that metaphorical top hat and to metaphorically roll in “it”. One of the biggest obstacles to this conceptual life is the fact that most, but not all people, start with a life that can barely be considered living. And at that current moment, that aspect of life had become all too familiar to the woman.

Due to some… less than trustworthy investments involving a Mirepod Chimera, a busted-up fighting ring, and gladiatorial combat, collections had been taken and now Rhys found her shack as empty as her wallet. Her black hair was put to the side as she sat on the wooden floor with a malformed glass mug of indeterminate origin and indeterminate liquid. While all was squared up with her debtors through a combination of shouting matches and threats of stabbery, that had left her in a left than favorable position. A woman with hair as dark as the soil outside her window and skin tanned through a mixture of the sun’s rays and some long-forgotten combination of genealogy was now left with a shack, a cup and a bag buried in the middle of the woods as the value attached to her name.

“Good things come, and good things go.” She lifted her mug in a toast to no one in particular. “Could’ve lasted a bit longer that time at least,” she mused. A swig of the drink made her long-term reasoning a bit shorter in exchange for temporary bliss.

This wasn’t the first time that Rhys found herself at seemingly rock bottom. If anything, the experience was more familiar than the high points of life. Month after month, she had found a way to live on this side of the rocks. Whether that be through the simplistic means of scrounging up whatever was left over from failed explorations, to just straight up robbing an outlaw (or being in the right place when said outlaw was shot down by proper authorities), what needed to be done would be done. In all honesty, she didn’t want to dumpster dive, but her usual spots had started putting an insane amount of pesticides on it, and she wasn’t gonna try eating around it again. At this point, there was only one thing left to do.

“God damn it,” she muttered as she lifted herself off the uneven floorboards. A few paces out and upwards led her outside of her humble dwelling into the woods where she resided. A few more paces led her to a secluded area, serene in the lights falling through the trees, leaving its mark on an unsuspecting pile of leaves. As she bent down to get closer to that pile, the small glint of metal reflected off the sunlight. Each leaf pushed aside to reveal a beat-up bag, tagged and taped and roped together with years of hardship aged into it, the hilt of a metallic baseball bat sticking out of it. With the tenderness and hollowed silence of a squire holding his master’s sword, A paint as dark as the night and a logo as striking as the impact. With the end of the bat, painted as if dipped and slashed in Silver, only the name brand escaped her lips.

“Belluci.”

In that one moment, there was only her, the feeling of her hands on the grip, and a bag lying on her foot filled with a collection of knick knacks. The soft wind blew and took her out of her stupor. She went back to her aged bag, pulling out a variety of sharp objects, blunt objects and what appeared to be a small variety of shiny coins and gems. An emergency pack of sorts, set beside a solid red box. A chief lesson was to always leave a small portion aside unless you wanted to lose everything in the eventual robbery or grand disaster.

“Hasn’t been the first time that I’ve had to leave home. Once I leave, flip a coin. Heads for labor, tales for scheming.”

As she picked a coin out of the bag, she felt its rough texture and uneven engraving. Professionally made yet barely identifiable as trading tender.

One quick movement for the set up.

Another for the flip,

And one more instant for the wind to blow and send the thing off to the distance.

“Motherfucker!”

As the glint of light reflected off the cheap red metal, falling down through the evergreen, Rhys followed like a bat out of hell, carrying her bag of trinkets with her. Clinking down the rocks and trees followed by a woman somewhere around 5’9 navigating the trees and moving swiftly through as if she were the wind herself. Racing down with ferocity unmatched and desperation fueling her actions, she found herself jumping down through the forest with only the glint of a bouncing coin to guide her every move. Each pounce and movement down through the trees followed by an audible…

“C’mon, stop bouncing, you copper little shit!”

While each exclamation was different in its own unique articulation, it followed that same formula of cursing the coin. This pursuit continued until finally near the bottom of the forest, she was able to pounce upon the rogue currency in a heap.

“Finally,”, she gasped. “Swear to god, I’m not starting a new life losing valuables like that.” Rhys furiously stuffed her coin into her knapsack. As she looked up, she found herself at the edge of the tree line, with the arbor decorated with posters of differing colorations but the same message. As she moved closer to inspect it, the poster itself was just… just great. Whoever made this knew how to advertise. Might as well try to apply. Always gotta respect the branding.

As both Shoa and Rhys took their respective passages towards Waning Rock, the tides of carriages and walking bodies also seeking a new opportunity in life, the same thought defined all their visions of the future.

"Might as well try."

[renehta]

It’s been centuries since people believed in dragons and “fairy tale” beasts. But long ago, fairy tales weren’t just stories to entertain children, they were warnings. Cautionary tales to keep little ones from straying too far from the safe glow of the hearth and the watchful eyes of their families. Nowadays though, when their children are frightened of tales of witches and monsters their parents soothe them. “Don’t worry, it’s not real,” they say, “it’s just a story, make-believe,” they insist. Forgetting the old warnings and making simple stories of these warnings was the first big mistake modern humans made.

Their second big mistake, perhaps a direct consequence of the first, was sprawling into dark and ancient places. Like roots of a great tree, they spread, the edges of their cities and towns encroaching ever further into the wild and untamed. Humans disappear in the wilderness all the time, but there’s always a rational explanation. Sightings of the unexplainable are dismissed as fantasy and rumor, or the result of too much drink. And so, the Smith family, like many others, believed they had nothing to fear when they settled into a small house in a pretty meadow right on the edge of the woods.

It was just a short walk into the village, the air was sweet with wildflowers, and there always seemed to be a soft chorus of birdsong. “What more perfect place could there be to raise a family?” The Smiths wondered as they packed their bags.

Davey Smith was a sturdy little lad of four and his favorite activity in his new home was to play in the meadow. He loved to frolic among the bobbing heads of wildflowers with the flutter of butterflies and gentle droning of bees for company. He told himself stories and created imaginary friends to help him discover all the meadow’s secrets. Sometimes Davey was lonely, but his mother made up for it as best she could.

Amelia was the kind of mother who had a seemingly endless wealth of patience for Davey’s games and stories. She worked from home selling magazines over the phone. She dressed with purpose, and wore her mother’s pearls every day. When the work and chores were done she read, voraciously. Sometimes to herself, often to Davey who liked fantasy and adventure stories best. Sometimes they played in the meadow, but she liked to let him play on his own and develop his imagination, too. When he wandered too close to the edge of the forest, Amelia, always watching from the kitchen or the porch would call him back.

“Not without me, sweet pea!” She’d tell him, firmly. “But we can explore the woods together if you’d like!”

Making good on her promises, Amelia often took Davey on walks among the tall trees with ferns curled at their bases. Together they made their way over the forest floor and between low-hanging branches draped with long strands of lichen like old men’s beards. The forest yawned so big and dark that sometimes it felt like it would swallow Davey whole, but he felt safe with his plump hand securely in his mother’s. Her hand was always soft, and strong, and warm. He simply had to look up to meet her familiar brown eyes and the strange sounds and dark corners of the forest felt less scary. He began to see the beauty instead. He fell in love with the emerald carpet of moss dotted with dainty plants, and the thick tree trunks anchored to the ground by webs of roots. He grew to love the strange sounds of bird calls. He enjoyed searching for the impressions of animal prints in the moss. The trees felt like home as much as his meadow and warm little house. As Davey grew friendlier with the woods, venturing into them on his own began to tempt him more and more.

Perhaps all would have been well if Davey had kept a healthy fear of the woods and stayed close to home. But Davey was insatiably curious. Davey began to feel bored by the meadow. The mystery of the trees surrounding his home seemed to call to him; he often found himself venturing to the edge of the forest, peeking over his shoulder to see if Amelia noticed, before retreating back to the meadow.

It was a late summer afternoon, the sun hung low in the sky bathing the world in warm light like golden honey. Bees hummed lazily, loaded with nectar from a hard day’s work. Davey was playing in the meadow, pretending to be a knight like in his mother's stories. He ran around slaying imaginary monsters with a stick, shouting victoriously. But his triumph was interrupted by a strange sound like music, coming from the woods.

Davey approached the forest. The sound was louder closer to the tree line. Davey was certain it was music, a song sweet little Davey didn’t recognize. A new friend! He thought peeking over his shoulder. Amelia was in the kitchen; Davey faintly heard the clatter of her cooking. She looked up and met his eyes through the window. Davey smiled, taking a few steps back towards her. Amelia nodded approvingly and satisfied, turned to grab something from the refrigerator.

Now’s my chance! Davey thought, turning on his heel and dashing into the trees as quickly as his little legs could carry him. The song is clearer now, getting louder with each step Davey takes. His short legs bumble over moss-covered rocks and fallen trees. His tiny feet sink into deeper parts of the moss, but he struggles along, intent to discover the source of the music. The further he follows the sound; the less light penetrates the tree cover. The smell of decay fell over Davey like a curtain. A dampness and chill in the trees’ shade, made Davey shiver.

Meanwhile, Amelia has noticed Davey is missing. She looked up after she turned back around, and Davey was gone. She ran to the edge of the woods and called for him but heard no answer. Amelia pulled the phone from its cradle and called her husband, Paul. He rushes home and they search high and low. After combing the woods surrounding the home, Paul and Amelia return home and call the police. The Department sends an officer who asks a few unhelpful questions, but at Amelia’s frantic urging, agrees to muster a search party. Paul joins them, Amelia reluctantly agrees to remain at the house in case Davey comes back. She finds herself in the kitchen staring out the window to the forest. I know he’s in there. She thinks. Nervously twisting her wedding ring around her finger.

Poor Davey has wandered deeper into the forest than he’s ever been, even with the company of his mother. His legs hurt from walking, and he’s just starting to feel as if he can’t go any further when he sees a clearing in the trees. It’s almost sunset, the sky is a dusky purple with fluffy, cotton candy clouds overhead. His eyes travel back down, scanning his surroundings. The clearing is lit by tiny glowing bugs that float above a verdant cushion of moss. Upon a pale, mossy rock, sits a creature that looks almost human but for the bluish hue of its skin and the tapered point of its ears. It holds a flute made from gleaming white bone to its lips. The flute is covered with impossibly intricate carvings of vines and flowers. The song continues to call Davey forward, its sweet notes ringing in his ears. Davey approaches, wide-eyed.

“Hello!” Davey shouts in his friendliest voice as the last notes of the song fade. The Creature looks up and gives Davey a demure, closed-mouth smile.

“Hello child!” The Creature replies. “What brings you to my forest?”

“I heard your song! It was really nice. Do you wanna be friends?” Davey chirps hopefully.

“Perhaps, little human.” The creature replies. “Now, tell me your name.”

“I’m Davey, Davey Smith. What’s your name?” Davey offers his chubby hand to The Creature. It leans down, its pale eyes peering into Davey’s. It regards him for a moment before gently grasping Davey’s hand. The Creature’s touch is cold, and Davey can feel the strength in its grip despite its restraint.

“Nice to meet you, Davey.” The Creature says with another demure smile. “You look exhausted.” It adds, with a pitying expression.

“I walked a long way,” Davey admits, looking down at his sore feet.

“Well, no wonder you’re tired.” The Creature says amiably. “I have something that’ll do just the trick.” The Creature reaches into the pouch at its waist and pulls out something wrapped in a large leaf secured with twine. The Creature pulls gently on the twine to reveal a deep purple fruit, resembling a peach or a plum.

“Here, child. It’ll restore your strength.” The Creature says, holding the fruit out to Davey. Davey knew better than to take food from strangers, but this was no ordinary stranger, and he was tired and hungry and lost. Gingerly, he took the fruit from The Creature. It pulled its hand back slowly as if swift movements would spook the little human. Davey took a bite, and his mouth was flooded with sweet juice. Almost instantly his legs felt renewed with vigorous energy, and his belly felt full.

“Thank you!” He said gratefully as he wiped his sticky mouth on his sleeve.

“No. Thank you.” The Creature said. Its voice changed and it smiled revealing sharp teeth. Davey tried to run, but he froze. “Children used to have the sense not to tell me their names, but these days, it’s just so easy.” The creature grinned. “Follow me, Davey Smith.”

Davey felt his feet take a step towards it. The creature waved its hand and a shimmering portal appeared between the trees. Gnarled branches encircled it, and it held their reflections like a mirror.

“Come along.” the creature said, striding forward, and Davey followed the creature through the mirror.

On the other side of the mirror, Davey regarded the forest with awe. The trees were even bigger here seeming to stretch almost infinitely upwards. Tiny, Bioluminescent creatures swirled around in the air emitting a soft glow. Mushrooms unfurl around the roots of trees in all shapes and colors. The silhouettes of strange creatures moving among the trees are almost hidden by a cool mist swirling along the ground. The spark of magic hangs in the air as heady as the cool, green smell of the forest. Davey senses the immensity of the magic around him, but he’s too young to possess the vocabulary to describe the vastness of his amazement, or the depth of his fear. He feels smaller than he’s ever felt as his legs take one unbidden step after another, following The Creature even deeper into this strange world. He glances over his shoulder and watches with dread as the portal closes and disappears behind them. Panic washes over Davey as he realizes that his only known way home has vanished into thin air. Against his better judgment, Davey cries out for his mother. The Creature stops in its tracks and spins to face him, a cruel smile again revealing its teeth.

“She won’t hear you here. No human can.” The Creature grinned toothily. “Now come along,” It said, turning back to the direction it had been leading Davey. Davey balled his little hands into fists and scrunched his eyes closed, doing his best to muster the willpower to escape.

With a grunt, Davey managed to take a step back, his fear overpowering the hold the creature has on him. Davey opens his eyes, almost surprised to have had any effect at all. With all the strength his tiny body can summon, he takes another step and another. Davey’s eyes remain locked on The Creature, the poor lad doesn’t see a tree root twisting up from the ground until it’s too late and he’s tumbling. Davey lands hard on some rocks camouflaged by moss. Bruising his palms.

The Creature advances, its face appears less human, its eyes are filled with hunger, and saliva drips from its fangs. Davey closes his eyes and flings his hands up to protect himself, bracing for it all to be over.

A huge bellowing roar splits the air! Davey peeks between his fingers, The Creature isn’t looking at him, but at the sky as another roar rumbles like thunder. The Creature turns and gives Davey one last hungry look before vanishing into the darkness.

Davey, scrambles to his feet, looking for somewhere to hide. His eyes settle on the web of roots under a large tree. The tree has grown over top of a huge boulder, creating a little alcove just big enough for a little boy to squeeze into. Davey scurries into the hole beneath the tree. He tucks his arms and legs as tightly around himself as he can, hoping neither The Creature or whatever scared it away will find him. The night is settling quickly. Some of the mushrooms begin to glow, their light casting eerie shadows on the trees. Davey starts to cry.

“Why didn’t I listen to my mother? Now I’m lost and I’ll n-never get h-home!” He sobs, covering his mouth with his hand to try to keep his voice from drawing attention.

As his sobs quiet, Davey realizes he hears what he can only describe as peculiarly rhythmic gusts of wind. They seem to be getting louder. The trees rustle around him. Davey peeks up through the roots and sees what appears to be a huge, green lizard descending towards him. It beats the air with massive, emerald wings. As it approaches the ground small branches caught in its range crack and break under its wings. Davey shrinks back into the roots, pressing his back against the cool rock and trying to make himself invisible. The lizard hits the ground with a controlled thud!

Mighty claws on scaly green hands wrap around the roots inches from Davey’s face, their sharp tips leave impressions in the bark.

“I know you’re there, human,” a deep voice like tumbling rocks whispers. “I could smell you for miles.” The claws disappear and Davey breathes a sigh of relief for a moment until he finds himself staring into the dragon’s enormous yellow eye which is now pressed up against his hiding spot. “Come out, human. Let me get a look at you.” The beast pulls its head back away from the roots, and the claws return to their resting place above Davey’s head. “Don’t make me pull you out myself!” It adds, menacingly.

Reluctantly, Davey emerges from his hiding spot. He stares up at the creature before him. It has a smooth, scale-studded body like a snake or a lizard, but its head is shaped sharp and aerodynamically like a spear. Steam rises from its nostrils as it huffs curiously at Davey. Huge, intelligent eyes sparkle as nimble-clawed hands reach to turn Davey this way and that to inspect him. Davey is terrified, but he’s also entranced by the beauty of The Dragon’s glimmering shades of iridescent green.

“I’ve never seen a human as small as you in my forest. How did you come to be here?” The Dagon booms. Marveling at the little creature standing before her with its round cheeks and huge eyes and mop of dark curls.

“I followed a song, and then a creature tricked me and took me through a mirror” Davey replies in his tiny voice. “But I don’t know how to get home,” he whimpers.

“Yes, you’re not the first to be spirited away by The Fae. Be grateful I was around to scare him away or you’d have made a quick meal!” The Dragon warned.

“Thank you!” Davey said, in a shaky little voice. His mom had always taught him to be polite when someone helps him.

“You’re welcome.” The dragon said, extending its long neck and moving its head back to get a better look at Davey. “Tell me, child, did you give it your name?” The Dragon raised the ridge of scales above one of its eyes inquisitively. Davey nodded sheepishly.

“Well, that’s no good, tiny human. You can’t just go around giving creatures your true name, you get into all sorts of trouble.” The Dragon wagged its finger disapprovingly in an almost human gesture.

“I was told it’s polite to say your name when you introduce yourself.” Davey cried, parroting his mother and preschool teacher.

“Maybe in the human world. Your kind used to have stories that warned about this, but most of you stopped taking them seriously.” The Dragon scoffed.

Davey began to cry again.

“There, there Small Human.” The Dragon rumbled softly “I can help you get home.”

Davey looked up excitedly, he opened his mouth to speak, but the Dragon held up a hand.

“Listen Little One, there are rules. I’ll take you home, but you must make a deal with me.” The Dragon said gravely. “So, what can you give me, Little Human?”

Davey paused. He hadn’t brought anything into the forest with him.

“I don’t have anything!” Davey cried. The Dragon gave him a considering look and after a moment, offered a solution.

“Here’s what we’ll do. Since you’re such a little human lost in such a big forest, I’ll help you return home. When we arrive, you’ll give me that which is most dear to you to add to my collection. Do we have a deal?” The Dragon asked, extending its reptilian hand.

“What does ‘most dear’ mean?” Davey asked, hesitantly.

“It’s whatever brings you the most joy, something you feel as though you couldn’t do without.” The dragon replies. Davey considers The Dragon’s words. A parade of favorite toys and possessions march through his mind. Stuffed animals he’s had as long as he can remember, souvenirs from his father’s trips that Davey keeps on a little shelf, and his favorite storybooks stacked on his nightstand.

“So little human, is a return trip worth giving up something precious?” The Dragon asks.

“I’d give anything up to return home to my mother,” Davey says taking The Dragon’s hand, her cool scales remind him of The Creature’s icy touch.

“So, we have a deal?” The Dragon asks. Davey nods solemnly. “Excellent, but I need you to say it aloud, child.”

“We have a deal. I’ll give you what is most dear to me if you help me go home.” He tried to sound resolute, but his voice wobbled.

“Very well.” The Dragon replied, scooping the child onto her shoulders. “Hold tight, we need some help getting you home.” Davey wrapped his arms around The Dragon’s neck, wondering if he’d have to offer anything else.

Davey peeked over The Dragon’s shoulder as the treetops shrank beneath them and looked up at the clear sky full of strange stars spread above them in the violet twilight. The Dragon’s scales shimmered in the moonlight, glinting like stars themselves. After a seeming-eternity, but also no time at all, The Dragon circled a large mountain peak with a cavern tunneling deep into its face. Davey braced for impact, but they landed with surprising smoothness.

The walls of the cavern were piled with treasures. Stacks of colorful gems overflowed from large chests and cups of gold and silver were stuffed to the brim with strings of pearls and chains weighted with ornate pendants. Resplendent paintings in gold frames were wedged prominently among the piles along with statues and sculptures as if The Dragon had curated a display.

The Dragon busied herself digging in a large wooden chest at the back of her lair. Davey tried to ignore a large pile of bones, gathering dust in the corner. A few skeletal hands still clung to swords that had done little to spare them their fates. Davey gulped but waited patiently, clasping his hands behind his back, and rocking on his heels as he inspected The Dragon’s towering heaps of loot.

“Aha, here it is!” The Dragon rumbled, turning to reveal a smooth, silvery stone clasped in its clawed fingers. “Now, be careful with this, I’ve only got one of these.” The Dragon warned, offering Davey the stone and a small burlap shoulder bag. The handle of the bag hung down almost to Davey’s ankles. The Dragon chuckled and tied a small knot in the fabric to shorten it.

The Dragon scooped Davey back up onto her shoulders patiently waiting for him to wrap his little arms around her. Davey patted the bag to ensure that the stone was securely tucked away, pressed between his torso and The Dragon’s scales. The Dragon awkwardly lumbered to the entrance of the cave and leaped over the edge of the cliff. Her mighty wings unfurled with a snap like the sails on the ships Davey’s father had shown him once, and they took flight.

Back at the cottage, Amelia paced back and forth, worrying about Davey. Her whole world had shrunk to the all-consuming fear that she’d never see her little boy again. She stared at a framed photo of Davey smiling on his first day of preschool.

“I’ll do anything to bring you home.” She whispered, touching the pearls around her neck as if they could grant wishes.

The Dragon flew Davey to another clearing in the forest. Moss sprawled beneath her feet and trailed up the sides of massive, ancient trees. A crystalline pool of water burbles at the center of the clearing, reflecting the glow of luminescent mushrooms and tiny flitting creatures contrasted against the distant ring of sky above. Hiding among the trees, peeking out at Davey and The Dragon are delicately pointed faces with tapered ears. Davey starts to panic, wrapping his arms tighter around The Dragon.

“Don’t be frightened, Little One,” The Dragon says reassuringly, reaching up and gently lifting Davey from its shoulders and setting him softly on the ground. He realizes the creatures before him are a soft hue of green, rather than the bluish tone of The Creature. When they smile, their teeth are smooth and flat like his.

“Don’t worry, not all of us hunt children.” A smiling green face comforted. “What brings you here?”

The Dragon reaches out a hand and gently pushes Davey forward, his little feet sliding along the densely grown moss with ease.

“Tell them what you want.” She whispers encouragingly.

“I w-want to go home.” Davey squeaks. He takes a breath, “I need to go home!” He repeats, louder and with all the authority a small child can conjure.

“As you wish. We’ll help you. Place the stone in the water, please.” Davey nods and steps forward, gently placing the stone in the water. It sinks and disappears. With a flash of light, vines erupt from the ground encircling a portal that raises between Davey and the pool of water. The portal shimmers in front of him like the surface of the water but reflects Davey and the fearsome green dragon behind him.

“Do I just walk through?” Davey asks. The Green Ones nod.

Davey proceeds carefully through the portal, taking slow and deliberate steps as if wading into a pool. On the other side, the trees return to normal, there’s no longer a magical charge in the air. Davey finds himself in near darkness, the pale light of the moon blotted out by the imposing crowd of trees. Davey can almost hear voices calling his name, I must be imagining it. The Dragon comes through after him, her neck extending forward to fit through the human-sized doorway of the portal. Once The Dragon emerges she lifts Davey onto her shoulders, and with several strong flaps of her wings, they drift up towards the luminous moon and familiar stars shining above the trees. The Dragon inhales deeply and flicks its tongue, tasting the air. Her wings are buffeted by the wind as she soars upwards.

“I’ve found your scent; it’ll lead back to your home.” The Dragon says. Davey braces against her to hide from the icy night wind. Soon she begins to circle and relief washes over Davey as he spies his familiar meadow and the cottage. As they fly closer, Davey sees his mother’s silhouette hunched at the kitchen table, he feels a pang of guilt. She must be so worried.

Davey and the Dragon land in the meadow. Amelia looks up and stares open-mouthed realizing she is not imagining her tiny son on that enormous thing. Amelia jumps to her feet and sprints outside. She grabs the broom she keeps by the door to sweep the patio and thrusts it out like a sword. The Dragon laughs and lifts Davey up and places him softly on the ground.

“Slow down there.” The Dragon warns, backing away from Davey. Amelia barrels toward Davey and snatches him up in her arms, scurrying away from The Dragon.

"Davey, why didn’t you listen to me? I told you it isn’t safe in to go in there alone!” She yelled between sobs clutching at him and inspecting him to ensure he wasn’t hurt. “Your poor hands.” She gasped, holding his scraped and bruised palms up to the light. The Dragon cleared her throat, steam rising from her nostrils. Amelia looked up.

“So, here’s the thing, I made a deal with your kid-” The Dragon began.

“What do you mean 'deal?’” Amelia asked, straightening and stepping towards The Dragon. “What kind of deal did you make with my four-year-old?” She asked, placing her hands on her hips, furiously staring The Dragon down.

“I bring the kid home, I take what’s most precious to him...which is you.” The Dragon says matter-of-factly pointing at Amelia.

“Well, that’s very sweet, but I’m not going with you,” Amelia says firmly.

“A deal’s a deal. I either take you, or I take the kid.” Amelia goes pale, but then the expression on her face changes. Davey starts to protest.

“Give me a moment to think and talk this over with me son.” Amelia insists. The Dragon rolls her eyes, but assents.

“I can wait.” She rumbles.

“Okay, my love, don’t worry. I’m not going to let it take you.” Amelia says, tousling Davey’s dark brown ringlets.

“You c-can’t let it take you either!” Davey cries, his eyes filled with terror.

“What exactly did it promise you?” Amelia asks.

“That she’d take me home to you,” Davey said.

“Okay. And is this a dragon like in the stories who likes treasure?” she asked, a plan slowly beginning to form. Davey nods.

“Okay Dragon, come back,” Amelia says in her most businesslike voice. “Let’s make a deal.”

The dragon raises a scaled brow. “You sure you wanna deal with me?”

“Yes. If you can deal with my four-year-old, you can deal with me.” Amelia says sternly.

“Fine. But there’s no deal that won’t involve you coming with me.” The Dragon smirks, but when she makes eye contact with Davey, guilt flashes in her eyes. “Don’t worry kid, I’ll take good care of her. I just need someone to polish my treasures.”

“What could I trade for time with my son?” Amelia asks. The Dragon looks her up and down.

“I supposed I could take that necklace, and that ring around your finger, as long as the gold and pearls are real.” The Dragon offers, the reflection of the pearls glinting in her eye.

“How much time will they buy me?” Amelia unclasps the necklace.

“Let me see them.” The Dragon says holding out a hand. Amelia works the ring off her finger, gently setting it and the pearls in The Dragon’s palm. The Dragon brings its enormous eye level with the jewelry. The Dragon rumbles to itself in a mysterious language that must be its native speech. She looks back up at Amelia. “These are nice, I can sense they’re sentimental. I’ll give you until his 18th birthday before you see me again. That’s my offer.”

Davey is immediately relieved, to a four-year-old, his 18th birthday feels as if it could be centuries away.

“Do we have a deal?” The Dragon asks.

“We have a deal.” Amelia answers. The Dragon smiles and flies abruptly away into the night.

Davey had a normal life for the next fourteen years. Little Davey was so young when The Dragon found him that he started to think it was just a dream, or his vivid imagination creating a friend when he was lost in the woods. Just in case though, he rarely ventured past the edge of the meadow, and he never told strangers his full name.

The night of Davey’s 18th birthday, he went to sleep in his bedroom after a party with his friends and family. As he drifted off, he wasn’t thinking of The Dragon at all. But in his dreams, he heard the song from when he was a boy and the rhythmic gusts of wind approaching. Davey sat up in bed, his eyes adjusting to the greyish predawn light. The hairs on the back of his neck stood upright, something was wrong. Davey climbed out of bed and sprinted towards his parents’ room. His dad snored soundly, an arm flung over his eyes to block out the light, but the space in the bed next to him was empty. Davey fell to his knees. This can't be real, it was just a fairy tale. What will I tell him? Davey thought frantically as he stared out the open window

[starmanleo]

Chapter 1:Rock Bottom is a Temporary Condition:

In the back of a less than reputable establishment, in a booth that was made of black pleather. a Mech was in the process of melting down. As far as he was concerned, the booth he was sitting in was worth more than he was. Contained within a black box, their LED eyes were bugging out in more ways than one. Pure strawberry red flitting along a dark background. The side panels of his head were abuzz as an evergreen line turned into mountains and valleys on his temples. Every part of his CPU was busy trying to ensure that he didn't melt something crucial in the midst of his bout of self depreciation. How could it get like this?

The idea of a lack of worth wasn't the thing that hurt most. No...it was the turn around that hurt him the most. For a brief decade, he was part of the main focus, part of something important and now he was reduced to sitting in the back part of a grease fire waiting to happen. Preferably , he should've been scrapped long ago, preferably when he wasn't aware or hell, just let some chop shop strip him for parts. Anything was better than being repurposed. He was useful, he was only a few generations removed from the current set, there had to be a niche he could fill. He had enough memory for the agricultural sector, he never disliked fruits. Or secretarial work, a bit of a bore but nothing that he couldn't handle. There was that co-op a few klicks under that sent out a radio transmission for help, he could definitely....

Radio. He was only supplied with Radio. Pathetic.

Mechanoids such as Reimos were of the utmost importance to the Impetus Committee. They were the ones who assigned purpose, who divined meaning and purpose and value out of the puzzle pieces of life. There was a purpose for each one's existence, there was a process, there were assignments and customizations and an order to things Yet he was lost with nothing to guide him.   Weaponry, Communications, Bureaucracy, Experimentation! So many paths yet all locked off to him.  Sub units to divide tasks and thinking, lasers and flares and rockets and the doo-dads that seemed to pass by Shoa's formation leaving him in the dust.  There was only one path left for him. Repurposing.

To be repurposed was a fate worse than anything. Sending you out into the wilds to be set upon by rust and fight in battles that the Committee doesn't dare to publish. There was no other way to justify his existence, no other way to keep his head above water. They would put down the ruling soon.   Horrid, just horrid. As the idea of him getting shelled filled up his electric mind , he slumped over in his pity booth.

To make a long story short, Shoa was old. Not in experience or age, he certainly lacked both of those. A better word to say would be obsolete. The very thought of the word made his metallic frame shudder. Shoa was a product of a long disbanded experiment that produced no meaningful results. Others of his type were already assigned to outposts out in the infinite frontier and were more than likely getting shelled to bits. Even on the microscopic chance he could get through all the red tape and forms and parley, ultimately, he wouldn't be able to justify or afford the upgrades needed to stave him off from the end. In a matter of days, he would get a beep in his head, and that would be it. Through the air sensors in front of him, the particulates of indeterminate beef and other meat products wafted through the air. If he was going to have a breakdown, he wanted it to be in a better place than a 2 Star Restaurant in a place that couldn't regulate its own grease traps. He was a Mechanoid after all. Three stars or better for a total shutdown of rational thought processes. There was roughly a week left on this untamed mess of a planet, he at least had the courtesy to his future self to plan his meltdown properly. As he lifted his soon to be scrapped corpse out of the pleather booth, the only thing to catch his eye was an advertisement printed in thick letters, with the calligraphy of a 5 year old flesh thing. An advertisement for such a high position though...

To put it simply, Rhys was not satisfied with the idea of living as it stood. The idea that to live was to break your back on the rocks while some top hat wearing bastard got to roll in it. No, that wouldn't do at all. To live was to thrive and to thrive was to get that metaphorical top hat and to metaphorically roll in it. One of the biggest obstacles to this conceptual life is the fact that most, but not all people, start with a life that can barely be considered living. And at this current moment, that aspect of life had become all too familiar.

Due to some... less than trustworthy investments involving a Mirepod Chimera , a busted up fighting ring, and gladiatorial combat, collections had been taken and now Rhys found her shack as empty as her wallet. Her black hair was put to the side as she sat on the wooden floor with a malformed glass mug of indeterminate origin and indeterminate liquid. While all was squared up with her debtors through a combination of shouting matches and threats of stabbery, that had left her in a left than favorable position. A woman with hair as dark as the soil outside her window and skin tanned through a mixture of the sun's rays and some long forgotten combination of genealogy was now left with a shack, a cup and a bag buried in the middle of the woods as the value to her name.

"Good things come and good things go." She lifted her mug in a toast to no one in particular. "Could've lasted a bit longer that time at least," she mused. A swig of the drink made her long term reasoning a bit shorter in exchange for temporary bliss.

This wasn't the first time that Rhys found herself at seemingly rock bottom. If anything, the experience was more familiar than the high points of life . Month after month, you had to find a way to live on this side of the rocks. Whether that be through the simplistic means of scrounging up whatever was left over from failed explorations, to just straight up robbing an outlaw, what needed to be done would be done. In all honesty, she didn't want to dumpster dive but her usual spots had started putting an insane amount of pesticides on it, and she wasn't gonna try eating around it again. At this point, there was only one thing left to do.

"God damn it," she muttered as she lifted herself off the uneven floor boards. A few paces out and upwards led her outside of her humble dwelling into the woods where she resided. A few more paces led her to a secluded area, serene in the lights falling through the trees, leaving its mark on an unsuspecting pile of leaves. As she bent down to get closer to that pile, the small glint of metal reflected off the sunlight. Each leaf pushed aside to reveal a beat up bag, tagged and taped and roped together with years of hardship aged into it, the hilt of a metallic baseball bat sticking out of it. With the tenderness and hollowed silence of a squire holding his master's sword, A paint as dark as the night and a logo as striking as the impact. With the end of the bat, painted as if dipped and slashed in Silver, only the name brand escaped her lips.

"Bellucci."

In that one moment, there was only her, the feeling of her hands on the grip, and a bag lying on her foot filled with a collection of knick-knacks. The soft wind blew and took her out of her stupor. She went back to her aged bag, pulling out a variety of sharp objects, blunt objects and what appeared to be a small variety of shiny coins and gems. An emergency pack of sorts, set beside a solid red box. A chief lesson was to always leave a small portion aside unless you wanted to lose everything in the eventual robbery or so.

"Hasn't been the first time that I've had to leave home. Once I leave, flip a coin. Heads for labor, tales for scheming."

As she picked a coin out of the bag, she felt its rough texture and uneven engraving. Professionally made yet barely identifiable as trading tender.

One quick movement for the set up.

Another for the flip,

And one more instant for the wind to blow and send the thing off to the distance.

"Motherfucker!"

As the glint of light reflected off the cheap red metal, falling down through the evergreen, Rhys followed like a bat out of hell, carrying her bag of trinkets with her. Clinking down the rocks and trees followed by a woman somewhere around 5'9 navigating the trees and moving swiftly through as if she were the wind herself.. Racing down with ferocity unmatched and desperation fueling her actions, she found herself jumping down through the forest with only the glint of a bouncing coin to guide her every move. Each pounce and movement down through the trees followed by an audible...

"C'mon, stop bouncing, you copper little shit!"

While each exclamation was different in its own unique articulation, it followed that same formula of cursing the coin. This pursuit continued until finally near the bottom of the forest, she was able to pounce upon the rogue currency in a heap.

"Finally", she gasped. " Swear to god, I'm not starting a new life losing valuables like that." Rhys stuffed her coin into her knapsack. As she looked up, she found herself at the edge of the tree line, with the arbor decorated with posters of differing colorations but the same message. As she moved closer to inspect it, the poster itself was just... just great. Whoever made this knew how to advertise. Might as well try to apply.  If not for herself then to respect the branding.

As both Shoa and Rhys took their respective passages towards Waning Rock, the tides of carriages and walking bodies also seeking a new opportunity in life, the same thought defined all their visions of the future.

"Might as well try."