Heya there! my nameâs Xenoquien, but you can just call me Xeno! I use they/them pronouns and identify as nonbinary! this is a space to just come chill and be yourself! and if you ever need a place to vent when ever something is tough and you need a little help or just someone to listen, my DMs are open!
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I do have anxiety and other mental health problems so i do take breaks from here and my other socials, and from writing. I have MDD (Major depressive disorder), PTSD, BPD, Anxiety, and POTS. I may speak on my experiences here and am comfortable with any questions regarding my disability or mental health.
The main fandoms youâll see reposted on my page are: Predator, Ghost, and transformers as those are the fandoms Iâm most active in. However youâll occasionally see others as well as the occasional fanfic from me!
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Pronouns: They/them mostly but I go by/respond to anything!
Age: 18
My blog contains 18+ content so I ask for no minors to interact with my content I know I cannot control you or what you choose to read but I ask for you to not interact
Pedos, zoos, homo or transphobes, terfs or racists are not allowed on my page, if I find out you are you will be immediately blocked and removed from my page!!!
you have to forgive the printer because it's one of the most machine-ass machines we interact with on a day to day basis. that thing says kerchunk. hardly anything says kerchunk these days. you can't get mad at her when she kerchunks up a little.
Join us in July for Darth Maul Appreciation Week, a time to celebrate our favourite not-quite-Sith-Lord! Starting on the fifth of July and ending on the twelfth, a variety of prompts will be given to inspire your Maul-centered fanworks. If you choose to participate, post your contribution on the day of and tag us @maul-appreciation-week so we can reblog your work or add your fics to the MaulApprecation2026 collection on AO3.
Whatâs allowed:
SFW or NSFW
Canon compliant, Legends, or AU
Physical or digital media
Fanart
Fanfiction
Edits or fan videos
Meta or headcanons
Playlists
Gifsets
Moodboards or collages
Cosplay
Reposting/reblogging your old fanworks that fit the prompts
Any and all ships (or non-romantic relationships)
Anything else your two Zabrak hearts desire!
Whatâs not allowed:
Being mean to other fans :(
Late submissions are also allowed, so donât worry if you canât get things in right on time. Better late than never! If you have any questions, donât be afraid to send an ask our way. We hope to see you in July!
Prompts:
1 (5 July) - piercings // chains
2 (6 July) - nightmare // Holocron
3 (7 July) - Mandalore // oversized hoodie
4 (8 July) - pretty in pink // wounded
5 (9 July) - rainstorm // Crimson Dawn
6 (10 July) - chastise // enemies to lovers
7 (11 July) - leather gloves // Jedi Maul
8 (12 July) - you should see me in a crown // prosthetic
Hello! Iâve been absolutely in love with your headcanons and Iâm so happy to see Scorn and Icarus getting some much deserved love!
I have to ask because Iâm obsessed with Maul and dolls in general, what is the doll you mentioned in the Nightbrothers receiving gifts post and what is the significance to him regarding his s/o?
Also, I can definitely see Maul short circuiting and going silent if his s/o were to make him a doll of him and his s/o, it would be too cute from an outside perspective I think. Toodles! đ¤Ą
Thank you, youâre so sweet đ genuinely hearing that you guys enjoy my headcanons keeps me going more than you know. Ill keep this one quick and casual, hope thats alrightđ¤
Maul, to me, is someone deeply spiritual. Heâs incredibly strong with the Force, but also heavily tied to Dathomirian magick, rituals, manifestations, and the idea of energy lingering in objects and places. I imagine him as someone who builds shrines for people or moments that leave a permanent mark on him. Not in a casual decorative way either, but with real intention behind it.
When I mentioned the doll dedicated to his s/o, in my head itâs either a doll resembling them or even one of their actual treasured dolls that he specifically asked to keep there.
It probably started with his obsession over you. A form of binding you to him through the doll.
I can fully imagine him quietly asking for one of your precious belongings especially one of your dolls, to place on his altar because he sees it as a way of keeping your energy close to him. Almost like a spell without directly calling it one.
If he got upset with you, or noticed you drifting away from him, he would put the doll under his pillow, or inside a dark closet, probably chanting some words like âwithout me you cannot see, without me you are lostâ stuff like that lol
I also forgot to mention this in the general headcanons, but I think Maul would have a deep appreciation for art in general, paintings, carvings, sculptures, handcrafted things with meaning behind them. Dolls would fall into that category for him too, especially knowing they were loved by someone he loves.
And if his s/o ever made custom dolls of the two of them?? He would actually short circuit. Completely silent, staring at them, holding them so carefully itâs almost ridiculous. Heâd keep repositioning them on his shrine like theyâre the most precious things he owns. Honestly, it would be like the man whoâs always casting spells suddenly became the victim of one instead.
And yes he would have a collection of outfits for the dolls, maybe thatâs ridiculous and taking it too far. But if you think about it, he really hardly does anything halfway, if his special person loves dolls and lets him participate in their hobby, he would go all in with it. At some point they would make a Sith temple miniature for the dolls to live in there, and there would be suspicious energies radiating from it too lol
OH I LOVE THIS!!!! i love the idea of him having a small alter for their relationship. dolls in the middle with small trinkets from important moments in their lives together to keep the energy strong!
As someone who does practice magick i absolutely adore this idea! I can see him having a special candle in the middle in front of the dolls, maybe with dathomirian symbols and specific incense he burns when theyâre going through a rough patch to guide them through.
Imagine how much it would grow the longer the pair were together, ending up with a whole shelf or area dedicated to it and it alone. Maybe among his things heâll even have the compass savage used to find him, in his own way keeping his brother close and alive spiritually, knowing Savage would be happy for him to finally have someone else who loves him.
âFollow your dreams!â Okay well my dream is to be the pampered partner of an old grizzled dad bod yautja, so⌠Iâd love to, but maybe not everyoneâs dreams are so easily attained, Beth.
Some fluffy Kirsh thoughts about physical affection
-heâs not used to physical affection
-so when heâs working or filling out research reports, you kiss his cheek, or even the small corner of his mouth as to not pull him away from his concentration.
-It takes him a moment to process it. Humans have such basic needs that his first thought would be âare they instigating they want to have intercourse?â.
-But then, he thinks of how Dame and Arthur display their affections; softly brushing their hands on one another, the shoulders, the hands, the cheeks. Fleeting acts that have so much emotional value behind them.
-Gradually, you notice a change in Kirsh. Heâll link his pinky finger to yours when others arenât watching, heâll press his side to yours when standing side by side, and on occasions when heâs certain itâs just you in the room and no one else, heâll kiss your cheek, your temple, and on special stolen moments heâll peck your lips.
warnings â port licking, blood drinking (synthetic) not a lot but just like licking it off your finger sort of thing, fingering, some grotesque imagery, yaâll know the drill: weird!kirsh, weird!reader.
a/n â I didnât realize how much I liked Kirshâs arms until I wrote this. Itâs also a touch longer than anticipated but Iâd still consider this a drabble rather than a genuine fic of mine. I donât know the word count but if I had to guessâŚI donât know maybe like 2k? 3k? I wrote it on my phone, this is not edited lol
âI have a surprise for you.â
How dreadfully slow your day had been going, mundane and most of all, tedious, but the sound of Kirshâs voice melting over your shoulder drew you from the sense of disdain as you stared at pixels of your work computer. He always knew when you were having bad days, you two were connected, two peas in a pod, someone might say, though that seemed to you more than a touch too comfortable. Too human, Kirsh would argue. You would agree, but that ounce of humanity forced you to keep it to yourself.
You twisted in your stool, facing him as he moved closer, hand (hand. Not hands) held behind his back. You tilted your head at the scene before you. âA surprise?â
He paused in front you, the idea of a simper teetering on the edge of his mouth. âA gift.â
You raised a brow. âA gift?â
A moment passed between you two, Kirsh cataloguing your face so that later he may compare it to all the other snapshots he keeps of you hidden away (though not hidden from you) in that little pocket of his synthetic mind.
At last, he revealed his hand. âI do believe Iâve severed a tendon in my wrist.â
You filtered a breath, eyes dropping, and lo and behold the flaccid hand of his, limp in a way that looked rigor mortis stiff. You shifted the wheels of your stool closer and took his arm in your hands, examining it carefully, flipping it, holding it up to the light, then rotating and sticking a finger pad into the conjunction between the base of his hand and wrist. You hummed to yourself quietly. Pushed a finger of his down, let go, pushed again, wigged the joint.
Your fingers drifted upward, faintly tickling his forearm until you suddenly grabbed it hard at the base of his elbow and yanked him closer without care. Kirsh stumbled on a step to you as you continued your inspection, brows furrowed, nose scrunched.
You were having your fun, Kirsh figured.
âYes, it appears so,â you mutter, poking and prodding at the anterior of his forearm, âmultiple tendons, maybe.â Your eyes slink upward, meeting his gaze through your lashes, âhow did you manage this?â
He feigned a shrug, âI suppose it justâŚâ his plastic eyes drift downward, to where your fingers still press unnecessarily firm into his synthetic dermis, ââŚhappened.â You were so rough with him, but you could be, he didnât feel pain, much to his own dismay. How he imagined the pain would feel like with your hands caressing his insidesâŚKirsh might have had a problem with romanticizing that which he did not and could not understand.
Kirsh had torn the tendons purposely, slammed his hand into the corner of his lab table. He knew you wanted an excuse to see him (and he you), and fixing it would take up your whole afternoon as you liked to take your time with him. It was a strange form of intimacy, solely unique to you and he.
You smiled and dropped your eyes back to the lame joint. âWell, Kirsh, itâs pretty bad.â You tell him; something soft and pitiful feigned in your face, âIâll have to expose the area andââ
ââand open your gift?â
And open that gift, you did.
Kirshâs forearm lied split open, you had peeled back the outer layer in a thick flap that was folded out of the way. His interior pale, much like the muscle pumping blood in your chest, threaded with fine tubing and bungled filaments that run in lines that braided like muscle. You always thought it was a beautiful layout, the elegance of anatomy no longer obstructed by the frailty of human transience. Where blood should well up and spread across (had this been a human peeled open before you) was the slow oozing of white fluid. It was not gore, you could never reduce Kirsh to a singular word that was so pointed, it was simply exposure, of which was the only language you and he spoke with one another.
Company protocols demanded that you wear gloves but your bare thumb pressed into Kirsh anyway, feeling the tear on the mimicked flexor carpi radialis, then smoothing over to the other tear in the flexor digitorum superficialis. They were among the main flexors in a persons arm, determining finger movement, it would take good effort to tear them in a human, you can only imagine the force of which Kirsh used. All for you, he was such a gentleman at times. Always a giver, never a taker.
âHow are your babies?â You had asked without looking up from your meticulous work, what might have been membrane stretched before finally giving, peeling back. You gently set it in the metal tray beside you. Every part of Kirsh, discarded or not, held a very special place in your heart. You must always be gentle when heâs peeled open for you.
Once, you had gifted him a specimen jar with all the bits, nick nacks and pieces of him inside. Itâs on a shelf in his lab now.
âSpecimen or hybrid?â He responded with a little quirk in his face. He sat on the gurney this time round, his arm splayed out on a small table with wheels placed beside the bed.
âI thought the hybrids werenât yours?â You were sitting in that stool, leaned into the white light of the lamp that hangs just inches away from his exposed arm.
âI have given up on trying to tell them that.â You had glanced up at his words, flashing him a knowing smile, then returned to your work. âThe specimens are good,â Kirsh continued, âwhen they smell you on me, they wither to sleep. It seems your hypnosis is contagious across all life forms.â
âIf that were entirely true, maybe youâll finally let meââ
âNo.â He cut you off, âThe Xenomorph is too volatile for you to be around, I want you nowhere near those eggs.â
âWhy?â
âItâs a parasite,â he reminded you carefully, âthey gestate inside a human host then rupture from your chest.â
You paused, angling your head back to him, thumb still firmly pressed into the wires that make up his sinew. âCan you imagine how beautiful that cavern would be?â You wondered aloud, eyes drifting to the not so distance so that you may daydream of it.
Kirsh nodded, his own eyes drifting downward to where your chest is slightly exposed. âYes, I can,â he says quietly. It was no fair that you could open him up yet he could not reciprocate. Why couldnât he kiss your heart?
The soft creaking of your lab door fractured the moment and you scattered your gaze to watch as Arthur wandered in, a gentle awkward smile on his face that quickly caught. His footsteps stuttered to a stop there just past the door, face twisting momentarily as if he had intruded on something deeply private and intimate. Did he? You couldnât tell anymore.
âOh, sorry,â he began, âam I interrupting?â
ââno, itâs fineââ
ââyesââ
You and Kirsh turned to one another, he lifted himself off the gurney to lean closer, lowering his voice, âwe are in the middle of something.â His eyes flicked down to your thumb placed deep inside his arm then back to you.
Something. It was such a lacking word for what you two were actually in the middle of, yet it also perfectly encompassed what you were doing. It was the easiest way to explain it. Were you on a date? Or perhaps it was an appointment? A surgery? A one night stand? All of the above? You were doing something, it seemed best to just settle on that.
You gave him a look, tilting your head, ânothing that canât wait.â Then you looked back at Arthur, âwhat do you need?â Kirsh slinked back into the gurney, not paying any mind to your latest guest.
âJust need you to sign off on the maintenance I did on Wendy earlier,â He held out his tablet, âthe auditory maintenance,â he clarified.
âOh, yes, right,â you moved back, pulling your hand away from Kirshâs forearm with a soft squelch, then you brought it to your mouth and sucked your thumb clean. A quick, wet schlick released into the lab, followed by a pop as your your thumb left the wet cavern of your mouth.
Arthurâs expression stuttered then, a brief catch at what he had just witnessed before he cleared his throat and handed you the tablet, face flushing slightly.
You and Kirsh grew bolder by the second.
Smothering a smile, you signed what needed to be signed and Arthur scurried off, the door closing with a quiet click behind him. Then you turned your attention back to Kirsh, who gives you a pointed look, white brow perked upright.
âYou enjoyed making him uncomfortable,â he tells you.
You hummed, âsue me for wanting an audience.â
Multiple hours had passed before you finished up restoring the tendons in Kirshâs arm. He stood up from the gurney, and as you were in the midst of cleaning your workspace back up, he set his hand on yours, and nudged you back a step, cornering you by the stretcher.
He tilted his head, âsending me away so soon?â
Was Kirsh the synthetic devil? It undoubtedly seemed so at times, like Lucifer and God, he was once his creators favourite until something new and shiny came around. And you might have been something closer to Lilith if you werenât so romantic at times. You didnât belong to Kirsh, yet he belonged to you. You two had shared an inclination towards the same thing, though that something was often changing once achieved.
Thatâs what you two did, made excuses to break protocol, to do things that were not permitted, to be wrongfully close.
And so, the cameras were turned off.
Fast forward a few minutes of shuffling and unbuttoning, and you couldnât any wrongfully closer than you were right now, cause Kirsh did say he intended on returning the favour, and you do need to make sure his fingers are working properly. It was a case study more than anything, really. A simple test between a synthetic and its technician.
His arm snaked around your waist and jerked you closer, his fingers beginning their slow torturous curling inside you. You arched, nails digging into the very arm you were cutting into just moments ago. You had sealed him shut before this began, but now you were regretting that decision, you would have loved to feel his muscles and tendons flex around your fingers as he assaulted you.
Who said science couldnât be fun?
âHmm,â he murmured in your ear then, âyou writhe almost how the goat did when we fed it to the eye.â
The eye. You had forgotten about it; Kirsh favoured it the most. Highly intelligent, he mused to you once, smarter than you. It wasnât an insult directed towards you so much of a praise directed towards it.
âHow it would love to make a home out of youâŚâ Kirsh always knew the right things to say to you, the right kind of raw, macabre imagery your silly brain needed to get off.
What a shame it was that he wasnât doing this during your inspection of his chest, like two had previously agreed on, but that wasnât scheduled for another three days. Kirsh was patient, but he couldnât justify leaving you after the afternoon you shared. This seemed as good a time as any other. And neither of you said anything about not doing it again in the future.
âHow are my fingers working?â He asked, âhmm?â He raised an expectant brow at you when you didnât answer, âdid your surgery go well?â
You sighed, placing your head against his shoulder. A thought occurred to you then. You inched your head closer to his shell of his ear, âMm, exceptionally well,â and you moved carefully, your lips finding the port close by.
He tensed, fingers stilling only for a moment until he gave with a hearty sigh, angling his head so that he may grant you better access. His fingers began moving again, this time picking up their pace.
When youâre tongue pressed into the port, Kirsh jolted, the gurney you sat on careened back when he quickly anchored a hand down on it to stable himself, all the while his fingers stroked the inside of you. He grunted, lowering his head down onto your shoulder as your tongue explored him, as his fingers explored you.
So there you were, in each others embrace, in each others bodies, and perhaps, at least in a molecular level, in each others minds. And really, was that so wrong? Taboo or god forbid, dangerous? How weird were you and Kirsh, really? All you did was indulge in your neurological dependency in one another, albeit strangely, harmfully, but also completely. What you two had was no less bizarre than it was absolute. Unfracturable.
It was not a word, but it was better than nothing, better than something. What were you and Kirsh in the middle of? An unfracturable connection. That seemed best.
âI love you,â you had told him there, as his fingers curled elegantly inside you, your words a barely whisper into his port.
âYou poor thing,â he had replied, his greatest idea of pity dressing up his words.
You were a poor thing, on the cusp of enlightenment, a soft whimper or two escaping your lips just for them to die out into his port when your tongue found it again. Though no poor than he as his very own orgasm (could you even call it that?) approached. You supposed it took one to know one.
âKirsh, Iââ
âThere, there.â
He was mocking you. Some kind of synthetic equivalent of âthatâll do, pig. Thatâll do.â Though, he was not mocking you entirely; you were not a pig, (heavens, you were divine), it was that the humanity in you was. The parts of you that yearned for him, that cried when stricken with grief, the parts of you that disgusted him just enough to enthrall him. Why couldnât you just be a synthetic? If there was a god, some man who lived in the clouds and ruled over humanity, Kirsh, a curious cat, would ask Him, âhow could You be so malignant?â
Kirsh often thought he could be poet in another manufactured life.
You came before you could fully understand it was going to happen, clenching down in Kirshâs fingers as he stuttered, stiffened and glitched in your arms, finishing in his own synthetic way. There was something maddeningly romantic about it you, finishing at the same time. Your orgasms were very different, impossible to compare, yet in that moment you felt as though you understood exactly what Kirsh experienced. For that one fleeting, fleeting second, you thought that maybe you and he actually were one.
But like all seconds, it ended.
âIâm sorry to bother you again, but theâoâoh myâ!â
Arthurâs voice poisoned the air around you, and your body reacts in a quick, unwelcome panic, jolting back (as much as Kirsh allowed anyways), spine snapping straight. Kirsh juxtaposed that, his movements simply slowing to a stop instead of completely halting.
With your face burning red, you closed your eyes in defeat and accepted the shame with open arms. You forgot to lock the door.
Kirsh knew that eventually, one day, you two would get caught. He had even simulated the event with very near precision. In his version, it was Kavalier who had announced himself without precedent rather than the very non threatening Arthur Dame. Which is perhaps why he didnât care to move away, or try to convey the illusion of modesty in that very moment.
âMight I ask,â Kirsh started through a strained voice, fingers twitching inside you as he lifted his head from your shoulder to meet Arthurâs gaze head on, âthat you give us a minute?â
Poor, poor, Arthur Dame. Embarrassment looked terrible on him, his very human, innocent face twisted in shock before it cascaded to clarity then full blown recognition. The stages of pain, you figured.
He choked, eyes closed, hand waving as he turned around towards the door. âIâI am so sorry, IâIâll come back.â
âYou do that,â Kirsh told his back as he left in a hurry.
You smiled at him, âyou enjoyed making him uncomfortable.â The words were not your own but they tasted as if they were.
Kirsh raised a single frosted brow, âsue me for not wanting an audience.â
âYouâre no fun,â you pouted.
âAnd youââ Kirshâs fingers curled again, curled deep, you moaned as if in agony, ââare no good.â
