Eddie’s Words

[Throw TheLiving Silverware he/him/il/lui]

19 minutes ago, Spark of Hope said:

I was asking Sil if he wanted more of the story lol

I would indeed, how did you guess? 

No seriously that's really cool

and really messed up in some yet undetermined way

[RoyalBeeMage he/him]

1 hour ago, Edema Rue said:

Something New:

  Hide contents

“Nite.”

It was Teacher who spoke, so Nite turned. None of the other boys moved. “Yes?”

“We have a meeting. Bring your staff.”

Nite stood and followed him out the door. None of the other boys ever left the passageways where they’d been raised, but Teacher often expected it from him. The first time, he’d been so excited Teacher had needed to punish him. But he’d since learned that it was nothing new. Teacher had more duties than a Caretaker, and so Nite accompanied him. Usually that meant training in a small room while Teacher led meetings or worked with the girls. Recently, Teacher had been leaving him to instruct the other boys, and today felt like proof that something had changed. They walked up, up, farther than Nite had been before, through more locked doors and checkpoints than he could have imagined. So far that sunlight streamed through tiny windows near the ceiling. Nite’s eyes widened.

“Nite,” Teacher said, and he forced himself back to neutrality.

“What is different about today, Teacher?”

“We’re meeting a patron,” Teacher said, lip curling. “He isn’t like you or I, or the Caretakers, or even the other boys. He is the sort of person you must never become.”

“Yes, Teacher.”

“He may try to speak with you, to entertain you, even to offer you rewards if you obey him. He is a liar.”

“Why would he speak directly to me?”

Teacher laughed softly. “He only knows about the girls. You are something he’s never seen before.”

“I understand.”

“Good. I shouldn’t need to clarify, but you are not to answer him.”

“Of course.”

Teacher nodded once, and Nite followed him through a final door. The room on the other side was grand and dramatic, stained glass and dark wood trim. A man was sat facing a tall desk. Teacher smile, shaking the man’s hand then sitting behind the desk. Nite stood at his side.

“What’s this?” The man grinned widely. “You’ve brought me something new.”

“Maybe,” Teacher said. “That depends what you’re willing to pay.”

“Are they like Dollys? But I thought the formula didn’t work on males…something else, then? Except the hair is the same. What is he, an improved Dolly?”

“Are there problems with my girls?”

“No,” the man said quickly. His round head was shiny. How, Nite wondered, could he swear while sitting down? “No, they’re are as brilliant as ever. But even with such a limited supply, the market is nearly saturated. We’ve seen them. We’re ready for something new, that’s all.” The man laughed nervously.

“New,” Teacher drawled. “We can do that. This is the first of my Knights.”

Nite noted, unimpressed, that the man was trembling with excitement. “No more suspense. What do they do? Magic?”

Teacher fixed the man with a level stare. “They have no magic. Neither do the Dollys…but then, it’s all the same to you. Advertise however you can. My Knights are companion to Dollys. Protectors. Soldiers, though there aren’t enough to form armies.”

For the first time, the man frowned. “We have no need for killers.”

Teacher cocked his head. “None? I’ve heard rumors of unstoppable monsters. I’ve seen madmen destroy entire Families. And surely the Families themselves wouldn’t complain about a new advantage.”

The man shrugged, and Nite was surprised to see the faintest sheen of intelligence in his eyes. “But you sell to everyone. No one gets an advantage—and anyone who can’t afford you is suddenly behind. What’s to stop the Families from shutting your lab down forever?”

Teacher’s lip curled into a smile. “Nite,” he said. “I believe this man has threatened me, but I don’t want him dead.”

Nite moved, and an instant later the man was on his knees, Nite’s staff across his throat so that his face was forced towards Teacher. If Nite had been practicing the move on another boy, there would have been some resistance. But this man didn’t even move, and only now appeared to realize what had happened. “How…” he cut off as Nite added pressure with his staff. Nite didn’t speak, but the message was as clear as it was when he disciplined the other boys: wait for Teacher. 

“If it looks like there are problems, you will keep the Families in line,” Teacher said. “My Knights are not to be crossed, and any threat to their home, or to me, will not be taken lightly. Do you understand?”

The man nodded weakly. Teacher jerked his chin, and Nite released the fool, returning to his position behind Teacher. “It wasn’t a threat,” he rasped, rubbing his throat. “I’m only trying to be realistic.”

“Then I thank you for your pragmatism,” Teacher said smoothly, “and I hope that you better understand the value of even a single Knight.”

“I do,” the man affirmed. Nite noted that the sweat was back, but so too was an overwhelming greed. “How many do you have?”

“Dozens.”

The man started to laugh.

 

“Aria.”

“Someone’s here for you.”

Aria’s gaze sharpened. “For me specifically?”

Sira coughed. “He said he had to talk to our leader, so...”

“Get rid of him.”

Sure shrugged. “He’s got information.”

“He said that, or you think that?”

“Both.”

“Fine.” Sira’s intuition was usually right. Not Sight, just good instincts. “Anything to watch out for?”

“Nope.” Sira snickered. “He’s pretty naive, actually. So even if he isn’t all that helpful, we should probably give him a hand.”

“Nomad?”

“Not sure. Don’t see how he could be anything else, but he doesn’t have the usual look.”

Aria nodded, opening her office door and starting down the stairs. It only took about two steps before she heard a gasp.

“You have a Dolly?” He sounded disgusted. Well, that was a good sign.

Aria frowned. Even now, the term made her feel dirty, but it wasn’t something she could outrun. “My name is Aria.”

That was enough for the boy’s face to pale, his eyes to widen. Girls with pure white hair and dark eyes were Dollys. Dollys did not speak unless spoken to. They did not act without orders. They did not have names. “You…”

“I’m in charge here,” Aria said smoothly. “I heard you have information.”

The boy swallowed. “I didn’t know you were a…” he trailed off as Aria’s expression darkened. “I mean, uh, if you can See, you might already know. Or maybe you have sources in the Families. I just—you need to know.”

“Know what?” Sira said. She wasn’t a patient sort of person.

“There are rumors,” the boy mumbled, looking away. “Of a new product.”

A chill danced along Aria’s spine. That matched what she’d Seen. She hadn’t wanted to believe it, but a second witness was too much confirmation to ignore. She closed the rest of the distance to the boy. “Do you have details?”

The boy shrugged. “I don’t know if it’s true, but I heard they’ll be fighters.”

“Fighters?” Aria frowned.  “That makes no sense. There’s no market for fighters.”

Behind her, Sira coughed. “Uh, the monsters?”

“Even you guys,” the boy added. “The labs aren’t happy with your raids.”

Aria sighed. “What’s your name?”

“Cota.”

“You ever been in a lab, Cota?”

Cota crossed his arms. “You don’t need to talk down to me. Just say what you mean.”

“The people who become these products don’t change overnight. If rumors are starting now, they’re ready. So, assuming he wants to sell them at seventeen, the boys have to have been training specifically as warriors for the last thirteen years. That’s before the monsters, before our attacks, and no Dolly can See that far. Back then, there would have been no reason to create them.”

A beat. “I didn’t tell you they were boys,” Cota said.

Aria crossed her arms. That’s what he focused on? “I Saw.”

“So you already knew everything I had to say.”

“No,” Aria said patiently. “I knew they existed. I didn’t know they were fighters. I didn’t know a timeline. Sight isn’t all powerful.”

“But you have it. I thought you weren’t a Dolly.”

“I’m not.”

“Aria.” Sira had come up beside her. “Calm down.” She turned to Cota. “She was raised like one. She has the ability, but she’s not like them.”

“That’s not possible,” Cota said. “You can’t just say she was raised like one if she’s here now. It doesn’t work that way.”

“Understand that I’m not condescending,” Aria said slowly. “But if you haven’t been in a lab, you don’t know.”

“No one gets out,” Cota said again.

Aria opened her mouth, but Sira cut her off. “Who’d they take?”

“Brother.”

“Older or younger?”

“He’ll be eight next month.”

Sira nodded. “My sister was bought almost a year ago. She has no idea who I am.”

Aria stayed quiet, watching the connection spring between them. Part of her wanted to be jealous. But jealousy was one of the first emotions they’d taught her not to feel. So she just watched. Sira explained. Cota listened, hostility draining. Finally, he turned back to Aria.

“I don’t know anything else about the fighters. But I do have a group of people who think you’re doing the right thing. We need a favor, and if you can help us, we’ll join you.”

Aria and Sira shared a gaze. “What do you need?”

Cota took a breath. “We’ve got friends in Cogs. We want them out.”

Sira started to laugh.

Aria smiled. “Us too.”

sorry lol I know this only gives you more questions and has pretty much no answers

Love Nite so much!!! Kind of gives hawkings labs from stranger things.

[Edema Rue she/her]

Catch Me:

Spoiler

She smiled at him over a trophy. Golden, glittering, perfect. He ran. He couldn’t help it. She found him, of course. He was sitting outside, back against the cool brick wall, pants stained from the dirty parking lot. Her cheeks were still flushed with excitement, her dress falling in perfect waves, that stupid trophy dangling haphazardly at her side. She was holding something out to him…a small silver medal.

“There’s nothing wrong with second,” she said. 

“Why are you out here?”

“My mom says you need a ride home.”

He kicked at something. “I’ll walk.”

“It’s dark.”

“I’m not scared,” he snapped. “Go home.”

She crossed her arms. “My mom won’t let you.”

He stood. “Then you go cry to her, and I’ll go.”

She sighed. “I’m not the one running away crying.”

“I’m not crying.”

“Close enough. Don’t be a sore loser.”

“I hate you.”

“That’s too bad.” She was smirking. He wanted to hit her. “Guess you should get some revenge.”

“What?”

“If you really hate me, beat me.”

“I tried,” he growled. “You don’t have to rub it in.”

“I’m not.” She winked like she thought she was charming. “You were really close this time.”

“I’m not doing this again.”

“You sure?” He made the mistake of looking at her. She smiled bright enough that the stars dimmed. “Catch me,” she whispered. “I dare you.”

 

Second.

 

Second.

 

“You aren’t allowed to quit.”

“Why not?”

“I’ll be lonely.”

 

Second.

 

Tied. She hadn’t smiled that wide any of the times she won. She threw her arms around him. Her mom took a picture. 

 

Second.

 

Everyone said it was an accident. Everyone said there was nothing that could have been done. At least she got to say goodbye, they said. That’s more than most people get. At least she has a friend like you. He wanted to say something to make it better. He was supposed to make it better, wasn’t he? There was no one else, and she hadn’t said a word to him since it happened. 

“I—I wanted—I’m sorry.”

“Catch me,” she murmured, but she wouldn’t look at him. Her eyes were on the stars.

 

Third.

 

Second.

 

Fourth, but she was second.

 

First? That was gold. She laughed, and there was music and open windows and an empty freeway, and she missed their exit, and all of a sudden they were at the cemetery, and she was talking too loud. “Guess who won, Mom? Guess who finally did it?” An old man glared and told them to leave. “Bye, Mom!”

 

He started to lose track of who won what. Most of the awards went in the garbage anyways. As the stakes got higher, there were checks instead of trophies. They started to get invited to competitions. People started to notice. They met a boy who regularly came in the top ten, and clapped when they saw him succeed. 

She mostly smiled onstage. Everything else started to fall to pieces, but the podium was safe. It was home. He watched her dig in her heels and work until there was nothing left to do but watch, amazed. She pulled ahead. 

“You stopped beating me.”

“I’ll get you next time.”

“You better.”

“Except…why?”

“Why what?”

“Why does it matter if I beat you?”

“The top of the world fits two better than one.”

“What if I don’t want to be on top?”

“I’ll stop buying you dinner.”

“I’m never losing to you again.”

 

He did lose to her again. And she lost to him. And they wrote their names in wet concrete, and they danced, and crowds parted at the sound of their names. 

And then there were college applications and goodbyes and moving boxes and scholarships and new friends. And then she’d text him new competitions, and they’d apply, and he’d smile when he saw her name in the slot for first, because that was nearly the same as seeing her. 

And then they slipped, and one day he sent a message that didn’t go through.

And then there were more years, and sometimes he remembered a girl who wanted to be caught.

And then he had a family and a job and he was rising, rising, rising. And then he walked into a meeting, and then she was there, and he stopped, and he stared, and she smiled, and the smile was golden, glittering, perfect. 

And he had nothing to say, so he pulled her into his arms, and saw a dozen scars he knew as if they were his own, and he whispered, “I caught you,” and she laughed.

“Not yet.”

 

Edited September 24, 2025 by Edema Rue

[Throw TheLiving Silverware he/him/il/lui]

35 minutes ago, Edema Rue said:

Catch Me:

  Reveal hidden contents

She smiled at him over a trophy. Golden, glittering, perfect. He ran. He couldn’t help it. She found him, of course. He was sitting outside, back against the cool brick wall, pants stained from the dirty parking lot. Her cheeks were still flushed with excitement, her dress falling in perfect waves, that stupid trophy dangling haphazardly at her side. She was holding something out to him…a small silver medal.

“There’s nothing wrong with second,” she said. 

“Why are you out here?”

“My mom says you need a ride home.”

He kicked at something. “I’ll walk.”

“It’s dark.”

“I’m not scared,” he snapped. “Go home.”

She crossed her arms. “My mom won’t let you.”

He stood. “Then you go cry to her, and I’ll go.”

She sighed. “I’m not the one running away crying.”

“I’m not crying.”

“Close enough. Don’t be a sore loser.”

“I hate you.”

“That’s too bad.” She was smirking. He wanted to hit her. “Guess you should get some revenge.”

“What?”

“If you really hate me, beat me.”

“I tried,” he growled. “You don’t have to rub it in.”

“I’m not.” She winked like she thought she was charming. “You were really close this time.”

“I’m not doing this again.”

“You sure?” He made the mistake of looking at her. She smiled bright enough that the stars dimmed. “Catch me,” she whispered. “I dare you.”

 

Second.

 

Second.

 

“You aren’t allowed to quit.”

“Why not?”

“I’ll be lonely.”

 

Second.

 

Tied. She hadn’t smiled that wide any of the times she won. She threw her arms around him. Her mom took a picture. 

 

Second.

 

Everyone said it was an accident. Everyone said there was nothing that could have been done. At least she got to say goodbye, they said. That’s more than most people get. At least she has a friend like you. He wanted to say something to make it better. He was supposed to make it better, wasn’t he? There was no one else, and she hadn’t said a word to him since it happened. 

“I—I wanted—I’m sorry.”

“Catch me,” she murmured, but she wouldn’t look at him. Her eyes were on the stars.

 

Third.

 

Second.

 

Fourth, but she was second.

 

First? That was gold. She laughed, and there was music and open windows and an empty freeway, and she missed their exit, and all of a sudden they were at the cemetery, and she was talking too loud. “Guess who won, Mom? Guess who finally did it?” An old man glared and told them to leave. “Bye, Mom!”

 

He started to lose track of who won what. Most of the awards went in the garbage anyways. As the stakes got higher, there were checks instead of trophies. They started to get invited to competitions. People started to notice. They met a boy who regularly came in the top ten, and clapped when they saw him succeed. 

She mostly smiled onstage. Everything else started to fall to pieces, but the podium was safe. It was home. He watched her dig in her heels and work until there was nothing left to do but watch, amazed. She pulled ahead. 

“You stopped beating me.”

“I’ll get you next time.”

“You better.”

“Except…why?”

“Why what?”

“Why does it matter if I beat you?”

“The top of the world fits two better than one.”

“What if I don’t want to be on top?”

“I’ll stop buying you dinner.”

“I’m never losing to you again.”

 

He did lose to her again. And she lost to him. And they wrote their names in wet concrete, and they danced, and crowds parted at the sound of their names. 

And then there were college applications and goodbyes and moving boxes and scholarships and new friends. And then she’d text him new competitions, and they’d apply, and he’d smile when he saw her name in the slot for first, because that was nearly the same as seeing her. 

And then they slipped, and one day he sent a message that didn’t go through.

And then there were more years, and sometimes he remembered a girl who wanted to be caught.

And then he had a family and a job and he was rising, rising, rising. And then he walked into a meeting, and then she was there, and he stopped, and he stared, and she smiled, and the smile was golden, glittering, perfect. 

And he had nothing to say, so he pulled her into his arms, and saw a dozen scars he knew as if they were his own, and he whispered, “I caught you,” and she laughed.

“Not yet.”

 

Interesting

[Through the Living Hope]

4 hours ago, Edema Rue said:

Catch Me:

  Hide contents

She smiled at him over a trophy. Golden, glittering, perfect. He ran. He couldn’t help it. She found him, of course. He was sitting outside, back against the cool brick wall, pants stained from the dirty parking lot. Her cheeks were still flushed with excitement, her dress falling in perfect waves, that stupid trophy dangling haphazardly at her side. She was holding something out to him…a small silver medal.

“There’s nothing wrong with second,” she said. 

“Why are you out here?”

“My mom says you need a ride home.”

He kicked at something. “I’ll walk.”

“It’s dark.”

“I’m not scared,” he snapped. “Go home.”

She crossed her arms. “My mom won’t let you.”

He stood. “Then you go cry to her, and I’ll go.”

She sighed. “I’m not the one running away crying.”

“I’m not crying.”

“Close enough. Don’t be a sore loser.”

“I hate you.”

“That’s too bad.” She was smirking. He wanted to hit her. “Guess you should get some revenge.”

“What?”

“If you really hate me, beat me.”

“I tried,” he growled. “You don’t have to rub it in.”

“I’m not.” She winked like she thought she was charming. “You were really close this time.”

“I’m not doing this again.”

“You sure?” He made the mistake of looking at her. She smiled bright enough that the stars dimmed. “Catch me,” she whispered. “I dare you.”

 

Second.

 

Second.

 

“You aren’t allowed to quit.”

“Why not?”

“I’ll be lonely.”

 

Second.

 

Tied. She hadn’t smiled that wide any of the times she won. She threw her arms around him. Her mom took a picture. 

 

Second.

 

Everyone said it was an accident. Everyone said there was nothing that could have been done. At least she got to say goodbye, they said. That’s more than most people get. At least she has a friend like you. He wanted to say something to make it better. He was supposed to make it better, wasn’t he? There was no one else, and she hadn’t said a word to him since it happened. 

“I—I wanted—I’m sorry.”

“Catch me,” she murmured, but she wouldn’t look at him. Her eyes were on the stars.

 

Third.

 

Second.

 

Fourth, but she was second.

 

First? That was gold. She laughed, and there was music and open windows and an empty freeway, and she missed their exit, and all of a sudden they were at the cemetery, and she was talking too loud. “Guess who won, Mom? Guess who finally did it?” An old man glared and told them to leave. “Bye, Mom!”

 

He started to lose track of who won what. Most of the awards went in the garbage anyways. As the stakes got higher, there were checks instead of trophies. They started to get invited to competitions. People started to notice. They met a boy who regularly came in the top ten, and clapped when they saw him succeed. 

She mostly smiled onstage. Everything else started to fall to pieces, but the podium was safe. It was home. He watched her dig in her heels and work until there was nothing left to do but watch, amazed. She pulled ahead. 

“You stopped beating me.”

“I’ll get you next time.”

“You better.”

“Except…why?”

“Why what?”

“Why does it matter if I beat you?”

“The top of the world fits two better than one.”

“What if I don’t want to be on top?”

“I’ll stop buying you dinner.”

“I’m never losing to you again.”

 

He did lose to her again. And she lost to him. And they wrote their names in wet concrete, and they danced, and crowds parted at the sound of their names. 

And then there were college applications and goodbyes and moving boxes and scholarships and new friends. And then she’d text him new competitions, and they’d apply, and he’d smile when he saw her name in the slot for first, because that was nearly the same as seeing her. 

And then they slipped, and one day he sent a message that didn’t go through.

And then there were more years, and sometimes he remembered a girl who wanted to be caught.

And then he had a family and a job and he was rising, rising, rising. And then he walked into a meeting, and then she was there, and he stopped, and he stared, and she smiled, and the smile was golden, glittering, perfect. 

And he had nothing to say, so he pulled her into his arms, and saw a dozen scars he knew as if they were his own, and he whispered, “I caught you,” and she laughed.

“Not yet.”

 

Aww..  

[RoyalBeeMage he/him]

5 hours ago, Edema Rue said:

Catch Me:

  Hide contents

She smiled at him over a trophy. Golden, glittering, perfect. He ran. He couldn’t help it. She found him, of course. He was sitting outside, back against the cool brick wall, pants stained from the dirty parking lot. Her cheeks were still flushed with excitement, her dress falling in perfect waves, that stupid trophy dangling haphazardly at her side. She was holding something out to him…a small silver medal.

“There’s nothing wrong with second,” she said. 

“Why are you out here?”

“My mom says you need a ride home.”

He kicked at something. “I’ll walk.”

“It’s dark.”

“I’m not scared,” he snapped. “Go home.”

She crossed her arms. “My mom won’t let you.”

He stood. “Then you go cry to her, and I’ll go.”

She sighed. “I’m not the one running away crying.”

“I’m not crying.”

“Close enough. Don’t be a sore loser.”

“I hate you.”

“That’s too bad.” She was smirking. He wanted to hit her. “Guess you should get some revenge.”

“What?”

“If you really hate me, beat me.”

“I tried,” he growled. “You don’t have to rub it in.”

“I’m not.” She winked like she thought she was charming. “You were really close this time.”

“I’m not doing this again.”

“You sure?” He made the mistake of looking at her. She smiled bright enough that the stars dimmed. “Catch me,” she whispered. “I dare you.”

 

Second.

 

Second.

 

“You aren’t allowed to quit.”

“Why not?”

“I’ll be lonely.”

 

Second.

 

Tied. She hadn’t smiled that wide any of the times she won. She threw her arms around him. Her mom took a picture. 

 

Second.

 

Everyone said it was an accident. Everyone said there was nothing that could have been done. At least she got to say goodbye, they said. That’s more than most people get. At least she has a friend like you. He wanted to say something to make it better. He was supposed to make it better, wasn’t he? There was no one else, and she hadn’t said a word to him since it happened. 

“I—I wanted—I’m sorry.”

“Catch me,” she murmured, but she wouldn’t look at him. Her eyes were on the stars.

 

Third.

 

Second.

 

Fourth, but she was second.

 

First? That was gold. She laughed, and there was music and open windows and an empty freeway, and she missed their exit, and all of a sudden they were at the cemetery, and she was talking too loud. “Guess who won, Mom? Guess who finally did it?” An old man glared and told them to leave. “Bye, Mom!”

 

He started to lose track of who won what. Most of the awards went in the garbage anyways. As the stakes got higher, there were checks instead of trophies. They started to get invited to competitions. People started to notice. They met a boy who regularly came in the top ten, and clapped when they saw him succeed. 

She mostly smiled onstage. Everything else started to fall to pieces, but the podium was safe. It was home. He watched her dig in her heels and work until there was nothing left to do but watch, amazed. She pulled ahead. 

“You stopped beating me.”

“I’ll get you next time.”

“You better.”

“Except…why?”

“Why what?”

“Why does it matter if I beat you?”

“The top of the world fits two better than one.”

“What if I don’t want to be on top?”

“I’ll stop buying you dinner.”

“I’m never losing to you again.”

 

He did lose to her again. And she lost to him. And they wrote their names in wet concrete, and they danced, and crowds parted at the sound of their names. 

And then there were college applications and goodbyes and moving boxes and scholarships and new friends. And then she’d text him new competitions, and they’d apply, and he’d smile when he saw her name in the slot for first, because that was nearly the same as seeing her. 

And then they slipped, and one day he sent a message that didn’t go through.

And then there were more years, and sometimes he remembered a girl who wanted to be caught.

And then he had a family and a job and he was rising, rising, rising. And then he walked into a meeting, and then she was there, and he stopped, and he stared, and she smiled, and the smile was golden, glittering, perfect. 

And he had nothing to say, so he pulled her into his arms, and saw a dozen scars he knew as if they were his own, and he whispered, “I caught you,” and she laughed.

“Not yet.”

 

Why does this encompass my relationship with crush? (Everything before they split apart)

anyway that was beautiful 

[Seonid he/him]

Oh that's beautiful. This is what my prose wishes it could be

[Edema Rue she/her]

7 hours ago, Just A Silvereye said:

Interesting

3 hours ago, Spark of Hope said:

Aww..  

3 hours ago, RoyalBeeMage said:

Why does this encompass my relationship with crush? (Everything before they split apart)

anyway that was beautiful 

Thanks guys

1 hour ago, Seonid said:

Oh that's beautiful. This is what my prose wishes it could be

Aww, thank you. You’ll catch me soon enough.

[Honors Spectral Image She/her]

8 hours ago, Edema Rue said:

Catch Me:

  Hide contents

She smiled at him over a trophy. Golden, glittering, perfect. He ran. He couldn’t help it. She found him, of course. He was sitting outside, back against the cool brick wall, pants stained from the dirty parking lot. Her cheeks were still flushed with excitement, her dress falling in perfect waves, that stupid trophy dangling haphazardly at her side. She was holding something out to him…a small silver medal.

“There’s nothing wrong with second,” she said. 

“Why are you out here?”

“My mom says you need a ride home.”

He kicked at something. “I’ll walk.”

“It’s dark.”

“I’m not scared,” he snapped. “Go home.”

She crossed her arms. “My mom won’t let you.”

He stood. “Then you go cry to her, and I’ll go.”

She sighed. “I’m not the one running away crying.”

“I’m not crying.”

“Close enough. Don’t be a sore loser.”

“I hate you.”

“That’s too bad.” She was smirking. He wanted to hit her. “Guess you should get some revenge.”

“What?”

“If you really hate me, beat me.”

“I tried,” he growled. “You don’t have to rub it in.”

“I’m not.” She winked like she thought she was charming. “You were really close this time.”

“I’m not doing this again.”

“You sure?” He made the mistake of looking at her. She smiled bright enough that the stars dimmed. “Catch me,” she whispered. “I dare you.”

 

Second.

 

Second.

 

“You aren’t allowed to quit.”

“Why not?”

“I’ll be lonely.”

 

Second.

 

Tied. She hadn’t smiled that wide any of the times she won. She threw her arms around him. Her mom took a picture. 

 

Second.

 

Everyone said it was an accident. Everyone said there was nothing that could have been done. At least she got to say goodbye, they said. That’s more than most people get. At least she has a friend like you. He wanted to say something to make it better. He was supposed to make it better, wasn’t he? There was no one else, and she hadn’t said a word to him since it happened. 

“I—I wanted—I’m sorry.”

“Catch me,” she murmured, but she wouldn’t look at him. Her eyes were on the stars.

 

Third.

 

Second.

 

Fourth, but she was second.

 

First? That was gold. She laughed, and there was music and open windows and an empty freeway, and she missed their exit, and all of a sudden they were at the cemetery, and she was talking too loud. “Guess who won, Mom? Guess who finally did it?” An old man glared and told them to leave. “Bye, Mom!”

 

He started to lose track of who won what. Most of the awards went in the garbage anyways. As the stakes got higher, there were checks instead of trophies. They started to get invited to competitions. People started to notice. They met a boy who regularly came in the top ten, and clapped when they saw him succeed. 

She mostly smiled onstage. Everything else started to fall to pieces, but the podium was safe. It was home. He watched her dig in her heels and work until there was nothing left to do but watch, amazed. She pulled ahead. 

“You stopped beating me.”

“I’ll get you next time.”

“You better.”

“Except…why?”

“Why what?”

“Why does it matter if I beat you?”

“The top of the world fits two better than one.”

“What if I don’t want to be on top?”

“I’ll stop buying you dinner.”

“I’m never losing to you again.”

 

He did lose to her again. And she lost to him. And they wrote their names in wet concrete, and they danced, and crowds parted at the sound of their names. 

And then there were college applications and goodbyes and moving boxes and scholarships and new friends. And then she’d text him new competitions, and they’d apply, and he’d smile when he saw her name in the slot for first, because that was nearly the same as seeing her. 

And then they slipped, and one day he sent a message that didn’t go through.

And then there were more years, and sometimes he remembered a girl who wanted to be caught.

And then he had a family and a job and he was rising, rising, rising. And then he walked into a meeting, and then she was there, and he stopped, and he stared, and she smiled, and the smile was golden, glittering, perfect. 

And he had nothing to say, so he pulled her into his arms, and saw a dozen scars he knew as if they were his own, and he whispered, “I caught you,” and she laughed.

“Not yet.”

 

It’s beautiful 

[Edema Rue she/her]

Okay, so again, this is technically a words thread.

also, it’s mine.

so there.

have some more of my mediocre calligraphy

Spoiler

The last one is a progress picture, I’m not done yet and I KNOW those cats are ugly but honestly, I don’t like cats that much anyway, and I haven’t spent a crazy amount of time drawing, so I’m ok to not be as cracked as some of the people are. And it’s coming along really good, I’m excited to show you the finished product (thanks to @Wittlesfor being a genius and giving me good ideas)

[Edema Rue she/her]

Okay double post, my apologies, but I finished the last one. Not my favorite, but it was a lot of fun and a super peaceful way to spend a rainy day.

Spoiler

 

[RoyalBeeMage he/him]

9 hours ago, Edema Rue said:

Okay, so again, this is technically a words thread.

also, it’s mine.

so there.

have some more of my mediocre calligraphy

  Hide contents

The last one is a progress picture, I’m not done yet and I KNOW those cats are ugly but honestly, I don’t like cats that much anyway, and I haven’t spent a crazy amount of time drawing, so I’m ok to not be as cracked as some of the people are. And it’s coming along really good, I’m excited to show you the finished product (thanks to @Wittlesfor being a genius and giving me good ideas)

 

2 hours ago, Edema Rue said:

Okay double post, my apologies, but I finished the last one. Not my favorite, but it was a lot of fun and a super peaceful way to spend a rainy day.

  Hide contents

 

i love that third one with the eldritch horror vibes and that last one is like the definition of my pintrest

[Edema Rue she/her]

1 hour ago, RoyalBeeMage said:

 

i love that third one with the eldritch horror vibes and that last one is like the definition of my pintrest

Thanks! The third one is the album cover of Take Me Back to Eden by Sleep Token, except I added the color cause I wanted to. And mine is messy, but I liked that vibe.

[RoyalBeeMage he/him]

Just now, Edema Rue said:

Thanks! The third one is the album cover of Take Me Back to Eden by Sleep Token, except I added the color cause I wanted to. And mine is messy, but I liked that vibe.

do you recomend the music? clearly they have some taste with the album name and pic

[Edema Rue she/her]

Just now, RoyalBeeMage said:

do you recomend the music? clearly they have some taste with the album name and pic

I really like them, but it’s definitely not for everyone

it’s a lot of screaming heavy metal. If you want to give them a try with something more chill, I recommend the song Rain, their most popular album is Even in Arcadia but it isn’t my favorite of theirs.

[RoyalBeeMage he/him]

Just now, Edema Rue said:

I really like them, but it’s definitely not for everyone

it’s a lot of screaming heavy metal. If you want to give them a try with something more chill, I recommend the song Rain, their most popular album is Even in Arcadia but it isn’t my favorite of theirs.

sounds intresting... i might try them out later during my 5 hour tech run for my dance preformance

[Edema Rue she/her]

Do you guys know those nights where you can’t sleep?

where you can’t work on any of the million things you need to, you don’t have anyone to call, and you’re left with nothing but a blank page and an overwhelming black mass of emotion?

yeah, me too.

this is a product of last night’s wandering. Please know it’s completely fiction, and doesn’t reflect my life at all. I’ve got an awesome family.

TW: abuse

No New Thing:

Spoiler

“We have to tell someone.”

Angel wiped blood from his cheek. “Nope.”

“Are you kidding me? You’re just going to sit there and let him hurt you?” Shayla looked furious. No, afraid. She was pale, shaking. Angel realized abruptly that where she was from, people didn’t hit one another. She could probably count on one hand the number of times she’d seen a person bleeding because of someone else.

“Huh, I never thought about that. I just won’t let him. Come on, Shay.”

“I didn’t say you had to fight him. Just make a call.” Angel didn’t answer, instead pulling a roll of toilet paper out of the closet and pressing a wad to his forehead. “If they saw you like this, my parents would have you halfway to the hospital already.”

“Good to know you won the lottery,” Angel growled. “Except that my parents are here, and yours are dead.”

Shayla’s breath caught. “Don’t,” she said, but it was a snarl, and the phone in her hand looked hard and heavy as a brick. 

“Guess you should’ve chosen foster care.”

“Stop it!”

“Did I make you mad? Are you going to throw a punch? Give it a try. Maybe it’ll make you feel better.”

“Are you stupid?”

“That’s what my teachers say.”

“This isn’t going to work.”

Angel lifted his head, meeting her gaze flatly. “Was I trying something?”

“I’m not going to hate you.” Shayla sounded like she was trying to convince herself. “We’re family.”

“Oh, and that means something now?”

Shayla swallowed. “You’re all I’ve got left.”

“Am I supposed to cry for you?”

“You’re supposed to stand up and make this better.”

Angel threw up his hands. “I can’t fix this!” The now-red toilet paper fell to the floor. He tore off another strip. “It isn’t some new thing, okay? The only reason this time is different–different, not better–is that you’re here.”

“I didn’t have a choice–”

“Neither do I!”

Shayla crossed her arms. “Taking his abuse doesn’t make you a hero.”

“Don’t use that word.”

“Hero?”

“The other one.”

She scoffed. “That’s what it is.”

“I don’t care. You don’t say that here.”

If he cared enough to notice, Angel might have been impressed at her poise. He didn’t. “Why not?”

“We aren’t…” Angel spit to the side, out the window and onto the fire escape. “We aren’t that kind of family. Marco and Daniella aren’t going to grow up thinking of themselves as abused kids.”

“That’s crap,” Shayla said. “You think they can’t feel it?”

“This isn’t about them, all right? They have friends. They’re happy.”

“You still think this makes you a hero.” Shayla shook her head. Her eyes looked wet. “I don’t believe this.”

Angel opened his mouth, but there was a knock on the door. He glared at Shayla, hoping that was enough to keep her quiet, hoping it told her just how much he hated her, then turned the doorknob.

“Hi, Dad.” Behind him, Shayla took a sharp breath.

“What happened to your face?”

“Cut it on the mirror.”

His father frowned. “You sound like you’re angry. Did I do something wrong?”

“No.”

“Would you tell me if I did?”

“Mm.”

“Okay. Get some sleep. You’ve got school tomorrow.”

“Right.” When Angel shut the door, Shayla looked sick. “If you throw up in here, you can clean it.”

“What’s wrong with him?”

“I don’t know.”

“Why doesn’t…how can he not remember what he did?”

“I don’t know.” Angel gritted his teeth. Don’t get angry. Don’t be him. She isn’t the problem.

“This isn’t right, Angel.”

“Guess not.”

Shayla sat heavily on his bed. “So you want me to go to school tomorrow, and smile like everything’s fine, and pretend this is a normal family.”

“We’re normal enough.” Shayla blinked, and Angel could see the moment where she realized what he meant. “You’ve seen my school, Shay. Everyone’s bruised, cut, scarred. How did you think it happened? It’s not like they’ve been climbing trees, not in this city.”

“You all live like this?”

“You get used to it.” Angel was too tired to argue any longer. Luckily, so was Shayla. “You put your head down and do your best to keep your siblings alive. You throw away your homework and spend nights putting yourself back together. You make friends and skip classes, because when teachers like you they ask questions. You get grades that pass but don’t ever look for praise. You listen to gunshots and sirens at night and tell yourself it could be worse. You figure it out and you keep on living. I’m sorry about your parents, okay? You shouldn’t have to be here, but you are. Give it a few more months, and it won’t be so bad.”

Shayla squeezed her eyes shut. “I can’t do that,” she whispered. “I’m sorry, but I can’t. I won’t call CPS tomorrow or anything, because I won’t do it until I know it’ll fix this. But it can’t stay this way. It can’t.”

Angel shrugged a halfhearted shoulder. The bleeding on his forehead was finally slowing down, but he could feel bruises forming along his arms and back. He had to be awake in…what, five hours? What he’d give to sleep, just for one day, but tomorrow couldn’t be that day. He wouldn’t go to school, but if he stayed here, there’d be trouble. “I’ve tried, okay? A lot of us have. Every teacher gives the speech about being safe at home, and every year a few people can’t take it anymore. But come on. Our parents grew up the same way we have. They know the same tricks their parents used. The younger siblings are more afraid of their parents than some officer, so they lie, and the rebellious older sibling looks stupid, and the family gets crossed off a list, and no one looks into it again for years.”

Shayla was shaking her head. “My mom didn’t…she was nothing like your dad. She never said anything. She–she loved her parents. She talked about her house like it was paradise.”

Angel shrugged again. “I wasn’t there. Obviously. But she was eight years younger than my dad. There are things kids don’t ever know. Maybe it changed by the time she was a teenager. Maybe it was different because she was a girl. Maybe she didn’t want you to know, maybe she learned to forgive, maybe she forgot. But my dad’s got scars all over, and he still grabs whatever counts as a weapon when he hears a door slam.”

“I’m not going to feel bad for him.”

“I didn’t want you to. But I need you to know that this is a bigger problem than just us.”

“Me telling someone is that bad?”

“You don’t have to get hurt.”

“How many times do I have to tell you that you aren’t a hero before you believe me?”

“I’m not trying to be one,” Angel snapped. “It’s not right for you to be here, that’s all. You don’t have to be a part of the cycle.”

“And you do?” Angel looked away. “You’re just going to stay here, probably drop out of high school, get a crappy job, and live like this your whole life? Or maybe start a family and be just like him, is that what you mean?”

“I don’t know.”

“Well, why not?”

“I don’t know,” Angel’s teeth were gritted. Just go away. Just leave.

Shayla shook her head. “I’m not going to let you do this. You can’t live passively.”

“I sure can.”

“Not forever. Not well.”

“Maybe I just don’t care,” Angel said. He started throwing the toilet paper away, putting the roll back on its shelf. “Maybe everything is just fine, and you’re making it worse.”

“I’m not.” Shayla stood up, something hard and fiery and determined behind her eyes. It was a look Angel had seen a dozen times, when he’d visited her farm and she’d climb the tallest tree or jump the widest creek. She’d back up, give him this look, then run. When they were kids, it was a silly thing. Now, it was something with power. Now, it was something to be afraid of. Angel wanted nothing to do with it.

“You are. Put your head down, and learn to live like we do.”

“I won’t.”

“Then it isn’t my fault when he hits you. Go to bed.”

“Don’t tell me what to do!”

“Fine,” Angel said. “I’m going to bed, and you’re in my way.”

Shayla’s fists were clenched. Slowly, she released them and started for the door. “This doesn’t end tonight.”

“Awesome. Don’t wake Daniella up, or she’ll never get back to sleep.”

 

[Edema Rue she/her]

Halloween post! Sorry, I think I may have lost my touch for things that’ll give you the heebie jeebies.
 

Beautiful:

Spoiler

It was a hallway. Then it was a room. Then it was a kitchen, a bathroom, a bedroom, a porch, and a hallway again. It didn’t flash between them. It didn’t change. It simply was, and then it wasn’t. It wasn’t, and then it was. Alice Sunn walked through the room. And then she sat. And then she stood, walked, sat, lay, stood, fell, danced, stood. She was, and then she wasn’t. She wasn’t, and then she was. “I miss you,” she said, laughed, cried, breathed, growled, muttered, mused, sang, moaned. “You weren’t supposed to leave me.”

The boy on the bed—chair, couch, floor, window seat—was sleeping. Sleeping, and sleeping, and only sleeping, and maybe dead, but only sleeping. His eyes were shut. Blond hair was mussed. Eyelashes perfect, cheeks rosy, shallow breaths and lips so close to speaking Alice waited to hear a word. He didn’t move. He didn’t shift. He was sleeping, maybe dead and only sleeping, and the sight made Alice shiver. There wasn’t a mirror, but now there was, and when Alice looked in it she was blond, brunette, ginger, tall, short, dark, pale, bloody, neat, disfigured, beautiful. In the mirror the boy had rosy cheeks, blond hair, open lips, gentle breath. 

“Peter?” The name had no effect. It was the right name, Alice was sure of it, but the boy was sleeping, and it didn’t wake him.

“You’re still here.” A man had entered the room, the hallway, the courtyard, the—a man had entered. 

“Yes,” Alice choked, said, thought, nodded.

“I said I’d tell you when he woke up,” the man murmured, snapped, screamed, agreed.

“I believe you,” Alice started, begged, sniffed, glared, “but I’m still going to visit.”

In the mirror, the man was young, old, ragged, bright, awake, dull, exhausted, bearded, clean shaven, whole, scarred, suspicious, peaceful. “The house doesn’t want you here.”

The house, castle, shack, apartment, mansion, palace, tent, made its agreement known. It didn’t reply, but Alice felt it, the man felt it, and the boy slept.

“He isn’t dead,” Alice promised, wept, asked.

“He never will be,” the man swallowed, hissed, grinned.

“I’m going home.” Alice decided, considered, refused, yielded.

 

“I could be a hero,” Peter said. The sunlight danced off fingernails that were more like claws. He smiled, and his teeth were straight and right and altogether wrong. Crimson lips, hair that hung loosely over his eyes. Alice adored every piece of him almost as much as she adored the whole.

“Is that right?”

“I could,” he insisted. “I could kill a monster, and they’d worship me.”

“You’re the only monster they want dead,” Alice pointed out.

He winked. “Then I’ll tell them I’m a god.” The sun was behind him and he was nearly glowing, and if it had been Alice who he was trying to convince, she’d already be on her knees. But it was Peter, and so she lay back and rested her head on his lap, and pointed to pictures in the clouds, and he brushed loose hairs from her face.

“What about a prince?”

Alice opened her eyes blearily. “They aren’t going to love you, Peter.”

“Am I unlovable?”

Alice snorted, sitting up and kissing him, long and slow and perfect. “They don’t know what love is, that’s all.”

“I think you’re lying.”

“I’m not.”

“I went to a festival last week. They were dancing. Laughing.”

Alice started, eyes widening. “That was you?”

“Were you there?”

Alice sighed softly. “When humans are massacred, other humans hear about it. I told you to be careful.”

“I don’t take orders from you, pretty thing. You’re human too.” A thrill ran through Alice, and a  quiet laugh escaped her lips before she could stop it. “None of that,” Peter said, but he took her into his arms, as tight and protective as a cage. Her monster. “I can take you with me next time,” he whispered into her hair.

Another laugh broke free. “Yes, please.” Peter traced patterns along her arms, around her neck, gentle, violent, perfect. Alice opened her mouth to say something, she wasn’t sure what, but then Peter froze. His claws dug into her shoulder, and she felt warm blood springing out.

“What is that?” 

Alice followed his gaze, and her breath caught in her throat. “It’s called a moose.”

“Can it kill you?”

“Easily.”

Between one breath and the next, he was gone. Then the moose’s corpse hit the ground and Peter was with her again, dark blood scattered over his pale cheek. “Saved you,” he whispered. “See? I’m a hero.”

“I can make you beautiful,” Alice said. “Beautiful to them.”

“Can you?”

“It will hurt.”

“That isn’t a problem.”

“It’s dangerous. You’ll look human. You might become human.”

Peter stopped to think about that. He rolled his neck, finally returning her gaze. “Not a problem,” he decided. Alice looked down. “Alice,” he crooned. “Make me a prince.”

 

The house, prison, dream had never liked Alice. Not the first day and not today, whenever today was. The man who lived inside, the Watcher he was called, was indifferent, angry, apathetic, miserable, pleased by her presence. He changed. She changed. Peter did not change. 

“You were wrong to change him.”

“He asked me to.”

“He was as he was meant to be.”

“He wanted to be beautiful.”

“He was beautiful.”

“I know.”

“Alice…”

“I’m leaving.”

“Don’t.”

“Why?”

“He loves you.”

“He doesn’t know how to love.”

“He trusts you.”

Alice eyed, glared, watched, looked at the boy on the bed. Peter. But he wasn’t her Peter. He was their Peter. He was unchanging, because he had changed. “I loved him.”

“You don’t anymore?”

“I think,” Alice said softly, sharply, loudly, “that I don’t know how to love.”

“Alice,” the Watcher said, considered, countered, advised. “If you leave, he will die.”

“He is already dead. Only sleeping, but already dead.”

“He will wake.”

“Even so, he is dead.” Peter breathed in. He breathed out. The room was a hallway, a closet, a bedroom. Alice closed her eyes. She opened them, and everything was different. “We live, and then we don’t. We are, and then we aren’t. He was, and now he isn’t.”

The Watcher said nothing, and Alice had nothing left to say. She turned and walked until the world stopped shifting around her. Peter, still sleeping, cried out. A dark stain grew on his bed. Alice left, and Peter, only sleeping, now dead, was beautiful. 

 

[Ink and Embers Any pronouns]

6 hours ago, Edema Rue said:

Halloween post! Sorry, I think I may have lost my touch for things that’ll give you the heebie jeebies.
 

Beautiful:

  Hide contents

It was a hallway. Then it was a room. Then it was a kitchen, a bathroom, a bedroom, a porch, and a hallway again. It didn’t flash between them. It didn’t change. It simply was, and then it wasn’t. It wasn’t, and then it was. Alice Sunn walked through the room. And then she sat. And then she stood, walked, sat, lay, stood, fell, danced, stood. She was, and then she wasn’t. She wasn’t, and then she was. “I miss you,” she said, laughed, cried, breathed, growled, muttered, mused, sang, moaned. “You weren’t supposed to leave me.”

The boy on the bed—chair, couch, floor, window seat—was sleeping. Sleeping, and sleeping, and only sleeping, and maybe dead, but only sleeping. His eyes were shut. Blond hair was mussed. Eyelashes perfect, cheeks rosy, shallow breaths and lips so close to speaking Alice waited to hear a word. He didn’t move. He didn’t shift. He was sleeping, maybe dead and only sleeping, and the sight made Alice shiver. There wasn’t a mirror, but now there was, and when Alice looked in it she was blond, brunette, ginger, tall, short, dark, pale, bloody, neat, disfigured, beautiful. In the mirror the boy had rosy cheeks, blond hair, open lips, gentle breath. 

“Peter?” The name had no effect. It was the right name, Alice was sure of it, but the boy was sleeping, and it didn’t wake him.

“You’re still here.” A man had entered the room, the hallway, the courtyard, the—a man had entered. 

“Yes,” Alice choked, said, thought, nodded.

“I said I’d tell you when he woke up,” the man murmured, snapped, screamed, agreed.

“I believe you,” Alice started, begged, sniffed, glared, “but I’m still going to visit.”

In the mirror, the man was young, old, ragged, bright, awake, dull, exhausted, bearded, clean shaven, whole, scarred, suspicious, peaceful. “The house doesn’t want you here.”

The house, castle, shack, apartment, mansion, palace, tent, made its agreement known. It didn’t reply, but Alice felt it, the man felt it, and the boy slept.

“He isn’t dead,” Alice promised, wept, asked.

“He never will be,” the man swallowed, hissed, grinned.

“I’m going home.” Alice decided, considered, refused, yielded.

 

“I could be a hero,” Peter said. The sunlight danced off fingernails that were more like claws. He smiled, and his teeth were straight and right and altogether wrong. Crimson lips, hair that hung loosely over his eyes. Alice adored every piece of him almost as much as she adored the whole.

“Is that right?”

“I could,” he insisted. “I could kill a monster, and they’d worship me.”

“You’re the only monster they want dead,” Alice pointed out.

He winked. “Then I’ll tell them I’m a god.” The sun was behind him and he was nearly glowing, and if it had been Alice who he was trying to convince, she’d already be on her knees. But it was Peter, and so she lay back and rested her head on his lap, and pointed to pictures in the clouds, and he brushed loose hairs from her face.

“What about a prince?”

Alice opened her eyes blearily. “They aren’t going to love you, Peter.”

“Am I unlovable?”

Alice snorted, sitting up and kissing him, long and slow and perfect. “They don’t know what love is, that’s all.”

“I think you’re lying.”

“I’m not.”

“I went to a festival last week. They were dancing. Laughing.”

Alice started, eyes widening. “That was you?”

“Were you there?”

Alice sighed softly. “When humans are massacred, other humans hear about it. I told you to be careful.”

“I don’t take orders from you, pretty thing. You’re human too.” A thrill ran through Alice, and a  quiet laugh escaped her lips before she could stop it. “None of that,” Peter said, but he took her into his arms, as tight and protective as a cage. Her monster. “I can take you with me next time,” he whispered into her hair.

Another laugh broke free. “Yes, please.” Peter traced patterns along her arms, around her neck, gentle, violent, perfect. Alice opened her mouth to say something, she wasn’t sure what, but then Peter froze. His claws dug into her shoulder, and she felt warm blood springing out.

“What is that?” 

Alice followed his gaze, and her breath caught in her throat. “It’s called a moose.”

“Can it kill you?”

“Easily.”

Between one breath and the next, he was gone. Then the moose’s corpse hit the ground and Peter was with her again, dark blood scattered over his pale cheek. “Saved you,” he whispered. “See? I’m a hero.”

“I can make you beautiful,” Alice said. “Beautiful to them.”

“Can you?”

“It will hurt.”

“That isn’t a problem.”

“It’s dangerous. You’ll look human. You might become human.”

Peter stopped to think about that. He rolled his neck, finally returning her gaze. “Not a problem,” he decided. Alice looked down. “Alice,” he crooned. “Make me a prince.”

 

The house, prison, dream had never liked Alice. Not the first day and not today, whenever today was. The man who lived inside, the Watcher he was called, was indifferent, angry, apathetic, miserable, pleased by her presence. He changed. She changed. Peter did not change. 

“You were wrong to change him.”

“He asked me to.”

“He was as he was meant to be.”

“He wanted to be beautiful.”

“He was beautiful.”

“I know.”

“Alice…”

“I’m leaving.”

“Don’t.”

“Why?”

“He loves you.”

“He doesn’t know how to love.”

“He trusts you.”

Alice eyed, glared, watched, looked at the boy on the bed. Peter. But he wasn’t her Peter. He was their Peter. He was unchanging, because he had changed. “I loved him.”

“You don’t anymore?”

“I think,” Alice said softly, sharply, loudly, “that I don’t know how to love.”

“Alice,” the Watcher said, considered, countered, advised. “If you leave, he will die.”

“He is already dead. Only sleeping, but already dead.”

“He will wake.”

“Even so, he is dead.” Peter breathed in. He breathed out. The room was a hallway, a closet, a bedroom. Alice closed her eyes. She opened them, and everything was different. “We live, and then we don’t. We are, and then we aren’t. He was, and now he isn’t.”

The Watcher said nothing, and Alice had nothing left to say. She turned and walked until the world stopped shifting around her. Peter, still sleeping, cried out. A dark stain grew on his bed. Alice left, and Peter, only sleeping, now dead, was beautiful. 

 

That is terrifying and also awesome 

[Throw TheLiving Silverware he/him/il/lui]

8 hours ago, Edema Rue said:

Halloween post! Sorry, I think I may have lost my touch for things that’ll give you the heebie jeebies.
 

Beautiful:

  Reveal hidden contents

It was a hallway. Then it was a room. Then it was a kitchen, a bathroom, a bedroom, a porch, and a hallway again. It didn’t flash between them. It didn’t change. It simply was, and then it wasn’t. It wasn’t, and then it was. Alice Sunn walked through the room. And then she sat. And then she stood, walked, sat, lay, stood, fell, danced, stood. She was, and then she wasn’t. She wasn’t, and then she was. “I miss you,” she said, laughed, cried, breathed, growled, muttered, mused, sang, moaned. “You weren’t supposed to leave me.”

The boy on the bed—chair, couch, floor, window seat—was sleeping. Sleeping, and sleeping, and only sleeping, and maybe dead, but only sleeping. His eyes were shut. Blond hair was mussed. Eyelashes perfect, cheeks rosy, shallow breaths and lips so close to speaking Alice waited to hear a word. He didn’t move. He didn’t shift. He was sleeping, maybe dead and only sleeping, and the sight made Alice shiver. There wasn’t a mirror, but now there was, and when Alice looked in it she was blond, brunette, ginger, tall, short, dark, pale, bloody, neat, disfigured, beautiful. In the mirror the boy had rosy cheeks, blond hair, open lips, gentle breath. 

“Peter?” The name had no effect. It was the right name, Alice was sure of it, but the boy was sleeping, and it didn’t wake him.

“You’re still here.” A man had entered the room, the hallway, the courtyard, the—a man had entered. 

“Yes,” Alice choked, said, thought, nodded.

“I said I’d tell you when he woke up,” the man murmured, snapped, screamed, agreed.

“I believe you,” Alice started, begged, sniffed, glared, “but I’m still going to visit.”

In the mirror, the man was young, old, ragged, bright, awake, dull, exhausted, bearded, clean shaven, whole, scarred, suspicious, peaceful. “The house doesn’t want you here.”

The house, castle, shack, apartment, mansion, palace, tent, made its agreement known. It didn’t reply, but Alice felt it, the man felt it, and the boy slept.

“He isn’t dead,” Alice promised, wept, asked.

“He never will be,” the man swallowed, hissed, grinned.

“I’m going home.” Alice decided, considered, refused, yielded.

 

“I could be a hero,” Peter said. The sunlight danced off fingernails that were more like claws. He smiled, and his teeth were straight and right and altogether wrong. Crimson lips, hair that hung loosely over his eyes. Alice adored every piece of him almost as much as she adored the whole.

“Is that right?”

“I could,” he insisted. “I could kill a monster, and they’d worship me.”

“You’re the only monster they want dead,” Alice pointed out.

He winked. “Then I’ll tell them I’m a god.” The sun was behind him and he was nearly glowing, and if it had been Alice who he was trying to convince, she’d already be on her knees. But it was Peter, and so she lay back and rested her head on his lap, and pointed to pictures in the clouds, and he brushed loose hairs from her face.

“What about a prince?”

Alice opened her eyes blearily. “They aren’t going to love you, Peter.”

“Am I unlovable?”

Alice snorted, sitting up and kissing him, long and slow and perfect. “They don’t know what love is, that’s all.”

“I think you’re lying.”

“I’m not.”

“I went to a festival last week. They were dancing. Laughing.”

Alice started, eyes widening. “That was you?”

“Were you there?”

Alice sighed softly. “When humans are massacred, other humans hear about it. I told you to be careful.”

“I don’t take orders from you, pretty thing. You’re human too.” A thrill ran through Alice, and a  quiet laugh escaped her lips before she could stop it. “None of that,” Peter said, but he took her into his arms, as tight and protective as a cage. Her monster. “I can take you with me next time,” he whispered into her hair.

Another laugh broke free. “Yes, please.” Peter traced patterns along her arms, around her neck, gentle, violent, perfect. Alice opened her mouth to say something, she wasn’t sure what, but then Peter froze. His claws dug into her shoulder, and she felt warm blood springing out.

“What is that?” 

Alice followed his gaze, and her breath caught in her throat. “It’s called a moose.”

“Can it kill you?”

“Easily.”

Between one breath and the next, he was gone. Then the moose’s corpse hit the ground and Peter was with her again, dark blood scattered over his pale cheek. “Saved you,” he whispered. “See? I’m a hero.”

“I can make you beautiful,” Alice said. “Beautiful to them.”

“Can you?”

“It will hurt.”

“That isn’t a problem.”

“It’s dangerous. You’ll look human. You might become human.”

Peter stopped to think about that. He rolled his neck, finally returning her gaze. “Not a problem,” he decided. Alice looked down. “Alice,” he crooned. “Make me a prince.”

 

The house, prison, dream had never liked Alice. Not the first day and not today, whenever today was. The man who lived inside, the Watcher he was called, was indifferent, angry, apathetic, miserable, pleased by her presence. He changed. She changed. Peter did not change. 

“You were wrong to change him.”

“He asked me to.”

“He was as he was meant to be.”

“He wanted to be beautiful.”

“He was beautiful.”

“I know.”

“Alice…”

“I’m leaving.”

“Don’t.”

“Why?”

“He loves you.”

“He doesn’t know how to love.”

“He trusts you.”

Alice eyed, glared, watched, looked at the boy on the bed. Peter. But he wasn’t her Peter. He was their Peter. He was unchanging, because he had changed. “I loved him.”

“You don’t anymore?”

“I think,” Alice said softly, sharply, loudly, “that I don’t know how to love.”

“Alice,” the Watcher said, considered, countered, advised. “If you leave, he will die.”

“He is already dead. Only sleeping, but already dead.”

“He will wake.”

“Even so, he is dead.” Peter breathed in. He breathed out. The room was a hallway, a closet, a bedroom. Alice closed her eyes. She opened them, and everything was different. “We live, and then we don’t. We are, and then we aren’t. He was, and now he isn’t.”

The Watcher said nothing, and Alice had nothing left to say. She turned and walked until the world stopped shifting around her. Peter, still sleeping, cried out. A dark stain grew on his bed. Alice left, and Peter, only sleeping, now dead, was beautiful. 

 

Hehehehe

This is pretty cool

[Edema Rue she/her]

Been a hot sec since I posted here, but I’ve got 10,000 posts! So, in celebration, here’s a teeny excerpt from my current project.

Spoiler

“I used to drive,” Jake said. “Most of every day. I had to start keeping a spare tank in my back seat in case I ran out before I could get to a gas station.”

“What did you tell her, Jake?”

“Parents were never around. They loved me—I’m sure they still do, actually—but they were busy. Working. Dana moved out, and then it was just me.”

Ben sighed softly. “I need you to tell me what you said to April. West will get it out of her either way.”

Jake studied Ben’s face for a long moment. The kid’s power was weird, all right. You saw him as an acquaintance. When you first met him, he looked like someone you almost knew. Slowly, the details would resolve. But the name was the trick. The only name you could ever hear him called was that of the person you’d first seen. “What does she think your name is?”

“Ben,” Ben said, only Jake was sure he hadn’t said Ben at all. There was no other name, though, not for the creature in front of him. 

“Are you even human?”

“Jake…”

“I just don’t get it. What hold does Tommy have on you? And how does he see you?”

“He’s my dad,” Ben said, watching the sky as if it might finally change. “Is April going to run?”

“I hate empty houses. Empty cars are better, though. You can turn the music up as loud as you want, and only turn down roads if you aren’t sure where they’ll take you.”

“If she runs, we’ll all be in trouble.”

“I hated to turn around. If I was going to go home, I wanted to do it in a new way. But there are only so many roads to take when you know where you’re going. Some nights I couldn’t stand it. I’d keep driving until my engine stopped. Then I’d climb onto the hood and watch the stars. There’s nowhere safer than a driver’s seat.”

“I’m not West,” Ben finally snapped. “You don’t have to tell me stories to hide what you’re thinking.”

“I don’t have to do anything,” Jake said, finally meeting Ben’s eyes. “But most of the time, I can’t even talk.”

“I’m sorry.”

“You aren’t fixing it.”

“I can’t. You know that I can’t.”

Jake turned away, looking into the trees. It was dark. Nothing moved. Nothing lived. “I had a girl, back at home. We met at about two in the morning, on a road where I’d never seen another person. I was distracted, looking up at a pair of bats flapping across the road. There was a sharp corner ahead, and in a moment, a pair of headlights were blinding me. Then we hit. I couldn’t move. The front of the car was crumpled, and my leg was pinned. A minute later, the other headlights turned off. This girl stumbled out, blood dripping down her chin. I saw her look at her phone, then put it down. She made her way to my door, and after a moment, she opened it. She freaked out. Kept saying how sorry she was, how she didn’t mean to, how she was distracted by these bats. I told her it was all right. She left, went to find some service and call 911. Then she came back. Every time I tried to move, a sharp pain ran up my leg. So I stayed where I was, and eventually she climbed into the passenger seat, and we started to talk. 

“I asked her what she was doing on such a quiet road, so late. I loved her answer. She blushed and said she was driving, just driving. I asked if she did that often, and she said yes. We waited for a long time for the ambulance, or it felt like a long time, and we talked. About music, about driving, about our favorite secret places. I was surprised how many of mine she knew. We’d both walked along the same abandoned train track, both eaten at the same tiny cafe, both found the same hidden treehouse. Then there were sirens and lights. Everything blurred. They pulled me out of the car, took both of us to the hospital. In the morning, I had a cast on my leg and stitches on my shoulder. The girl, her name was Lilly, had stitches across her forehead. Before she left, she put her number in my phone…”

Jake trailed off, glancing at Ben. “I miss her.”

“I know.”

 

[RoyalBeeMage he/him]

On 12/28/2025 at 6:20 PM, Edema Rue said:

Been a hot sec since I posted here, but I’ve got 10,000 posts! So, in celebration, here’s a teeny excerpt from my current project.

  Hide contents

“I used to drive,” Jake said. “Most of every day. I had to start keeping a spare tank in my back seat in case I ran out before I could get to a gas station.”

“What did you tell her, Jake?”

“Parents were never around. They loved me—I’m sure they still do, actually—but they were busy. Working. Dana moved out, and then it was just me.”

Ben sighed softly. “I need you to tell me what you said to April. West will get it out of her either way.”

Jake studied Ben’s face for a long moment. The kid’s power was weird, all right. You saw him as an acquaintance. When you first met him, he looked like someone you almost knew. Slowly, the details would resolve. But the name was the trick. The only name you could ever hear him called was that of the person you’d first seen. “What does she think your name is?”

“Ben,” Ben said, only Jake was sure he hadn’t said Ben at all. There was no other name, though, not for the creature in front of him. 

“Are you even human?”

“Jake…”

“I just don’t get it. What hold does Tommy have on you? And how does he see you?”

“He’s my dad,” Ben said, watching the sky as if it might finally change. “Is April going to run?”

“I hate empty houses. Empty cars are better, though. You can turn the music up as loud as you want, and only turn down roads if you aren’t sure where they’ll take you.”

“If she runs, we’ll all be in trouble.”

“I hated to turn around. If I was going to go home, I wanted to do it in a new way. But there are only so many roads to take when you know where you’re going. Some nights I couldn’t stand it. I’d keep driving until my engine stopped. Then I’d climb onto the hood and watch the stars. There’s nowhere safer than a driver’s seat.”

“I’m not West,” Ben finally snapped. “You don’t have to tell me stories to hide what you’re thinking.”

“I don’t have to do anything,” Jake said, finally meeting Ben’s eyes. “But most of the time, I can’t even talk.”

“I’m sorry.”

“You aren’t fixing it.”

“I can’t. You know that I can’t.”

Jake turned away, looking into the trees. It was dark. Nothing moved. Nothing lived. “I had a girl, back at home. We met at about two in the morning, on a road where I’d never seen another person. I was distracted, looking up at a pair of bats flapping across the road. There was a sharp corner ahead, and in a moment, a pair of headlights were blinding me. Then we hit. I couldn’t move. The front of the car was crumpled, and my leg was pinned. A minute later, the other headlights turned off. This girl stumbled out, blood dripping down her chin. I saw her look at her phone, then put it down. She made her way to my door, and after a moment, she opened it. She freaked out. Kept saying how sorry she was, how she didn’t mean to, how she was distracted by these bats. I told her it was all right. She left, went to find some service and call 911. Then she came back. Every time I tried to move, a sharp pain ran up my leg. So I stayed where I was, and eventually she climbed into the passenger seat, and we started to talk. 

“I asked her what she was doing on such a quiet road, so late. I loved her answer. She blushed and said she was driving, just driving. I asked if she did that often, and she said yes. We waited for a long time for the ambulance, or it felt like a long time, and we talked. About music, about driving, about our favorite secret places. I was surprised how many of mine she knew. We’d both walked along the same abandoned train track, both eaten at the same tiny cafe, both found the same hidden treehouse. Then there were sirens and lights. Everything blurred. They pulled me out of the car, took both of us to the hospital. In the morning, I had a cast on my leg and stitches on my shoulder. The girl, her name was Lilly, had stitches across her forehead. Before she left, she put her number in my phone…”

Jake trailed off, glancing at Ben. “I miss her.”

“I know.”

 

Ooh I’m intrigued! It kind of gives me cozy horror vibes… love it!

[Edema Rue she/her]

4 hours ago, RoyalBeeMage said:

Ooh I’m intrigued! It kind of gives me cozy horror vibes… love it!

Yep! This scene has a little more of the cozy, but overall it’s turning out delightfully creepy, and it’s longer than most of my usual projects, and (you’ll never believe this) I’m writing chronologically??

[Throw TheLiving Silverware he/him/il/lui]

On 12/28/2025 at 7:20 PM, Edema Rue said:

Been a hot sec since I posted here, but I’ve got 10,000 posts! So, in celebration, here’s a teeny excerpt from my current project.

  Hide contents

“I used to drive,” Jake said. “Most of every day. I had to start keeping a spare tank in my back seat in case I ran out before I could get to a gas station.”

“What did you tell her, Jake?”

“Parents were never around. They loved me—I’m sure they still do, actually—but they were busy. Working. Dana moved out, and then it was just me.”

Ben sighed softly. “I need you to tell me what you said to April. West will get it out of her either way.”

Jake studied Ben’s face for a long moment. The kid’s power was weird, all right. You saw him as an acquaintance. When you first met him, he looked like someone you almost knew. Slowly, the details would resolve. But the name was the trick. The only name you could ever hear him called was that of the person you’d first seen. “What does she think your name is?”

“Ben,” Ben said, only Jake was sure he hadn’t said Ben at all. There was no other name, though, not for the creature in front of him. 

“Are you even human?”

“Jake…”

“I just don’t get it. What hold does Tommy have on you? And how does he see you?”

“He’s my dad,” Ben said, watching the sky as if it might finally change. “Is April going to run?”

“I hate empty houses. Empty cars are better, though. You can turn the music up as loud as you want, and only turn down roads if you aren’t sure where they’ll take you.”

“If she runs, we’ll all be in trouble.”

“I hated to turn around. If I was going to go home, I wanted to do it in a new way. But there are only so many roads to take when you know where you’re going. Some nights I couldn’t stand it. I’d keep driving until my engine stopped. Then I’d climb onto the hood and watch the stars. There’s nowhere safer than a driver’s seat.”

“I’m not West,” Ben finally snapped. “You don’t have to tell me stories to hide what you’re thinking.”

“I don’t have to do anything,” Jake said, finally meeting Ben’s eyes. “But most of the time, I can’t even talk.”

“I’m sorry.”

“You aren’t fixing it.”

“I can’t. You know that I can’t.”

Jake turned away, looking into the trees. It was dark. Nothing moved. Nothing lived. “I had a girl, back at home. We met at about two in the morning, on a road where I’d never seen another person. I was distracted, looking up at a pair of bats flapping across the road. There was a sharp corner ahead, and in a moment, a pair of headlights were blinding me. Then we hit. I couldn’t move. The front of the car was crumpled, and my leg was pinned. A minute later, the other headlights turned off. This girl stumbled out, blood dripping down her chin. I saw her look at her phone, then put it down. She made her way to my door, and after a moment, she opened it. She freaked out. Kept saying how sorry she was, how she didn’t mean to, how she was distracted by these bats. I told her it was all right. She left, went to find some service and call 911. Then she came back. Every time I tried to move, a sharp pain ran up my leg. So I stayed where I was, and eventually she climbed into the passenger seat, and we started to talk. 

“I asked her what she was doing on such a quiet road, so late. I loved her answer. She blushed and said she was driving, just driving. I asked if she did that often, and she said yes. We waited for a long time for the ambulance, or it felt like a long time, and we talked. About music, about driving, about our favorite secret places. I was surprised how many of mine she knew. We’d both walked along the same abandoned train track, both eaten at the same tiny cafe, both found the same hidden treehouse. Then there were sirens and lights. Everything blurred. They pulled me out of the car, took both of us to the hospital. In the morning, I had a cast on my leg and stitches on my shoulder. The girl, her name was Lilly, had stitches across her forehead. Before she left, she put her number in my phone…”

Jake trailed off, glancing at Ben. “I miss her.”

“I know.”

 

Oooh

Intriguing

On 12/30/2025 at 5:29 PM, Edema Rue said:

I’m writing chronologically??

Who are you and what did you do to our Eddie? 

[Edema Rue she/her]

7 minutes ago, A Silvereye in Silverlight said:

Oooh

Intriguing

Who are you and what did you do to our Eddie? 

I KNOW

ITS WEIRD

kinda neat though to be able to just…know what’s going on.