#moze post

[radical-boy-kisser]

I don't owe you anything. I don't have to tell you if I'm fronting. I don't have to tell you if we switched. I can mask to you as much as I want. I don't have to tell you my name. I don't have to tell you my pronouns or gender or source or anything about me. You don't have the right to know anything about me.

[daz4i]

good evening i have made a bunch of hsr memes last week and this isn't even half of them. hope everyone's having a lovely and enriching day ✨ or else

[hydrachea]

Oh yeah, the polycule is poly-ing.

[incorrectstarrailquotes]

Moze: The recipe says to beat 3 eggs.

Feixiao: Yeah, in hand to hand combat.

Moze: Ohh, okay.

Jiaoqiu: Both of you get out of my kitchen.

[shalomniscient]

Ahhhhh, imagining general feixiao strenght on bed 🤤🤤🤤🤤🤤 while on her rut 🤤🤤🤤🤤 please one chance general feixiao 🙏🙏

[nsft utc]

cw. omegaverse

anon i held off on answering this because i wanted to try and wait for more of her leaks to drop but i’m so down horrendous and in heat for this fox woman it’s so crazy i simply can’t stfu anymore. anyway feixiao in rut is a menace, all teeth and a firm grip on whichever part of your body makes it easier for her to pull you back onto her cock.

as a general she’s evidently incredibly strong, also helped by the fact she frequently hits the gym. all that means is that it’s truly no problem for her to lift or manhandle you in any way she likes, be it fucking you midair or against a wall, where she’s the only thing keeping you upright, or on the bed where she’s moving you up and down her cock like you’re her own personal fucktoy. her voice turns lower and all growly in her rut, and her scent grows stronger, sandalwood and spice and earth. she scents you obsessively, always taking your wrists and lightly nipping at them or pressing her own against the column of your neck so your scents can mingle and settle. god, she gets so greedy for you, so needy, her words slurring together as she fucks you with languid, deep strokes that have you pushing up against the bed with each thrust, the corners of the bedsheet coming free. she’s obsessed with the way you squeeze around her so perfectly, so warm and tight and welcoming to the point that some part of her delirious rut-brain doesn’t ever want to leave.

and oh, when she finally knots you… it takes some effort, namely her teeth in the junction of your shoulder and neck, right above the mating bite she gave you. she renews it every rut, fangs sinking into your soft skin, breaking it ever so slightly until she tastes the hint of copper on her tongue. the way you howl in pleasure as she bites, your foggy omega brain delighted at the claim, has her hips stuttering and jumping, a strangled groan rumbling deep in her throat. you slacken reflexively beneath her, and feixiao doesn’t have to look at your face to know your eyes have rolled so far back into your skull that only the whites are visible. with a final roll of her hips she slips her thick knot into you, your lower lips sealing around her base and holding her tight inside your cunt, inner walls squeezing and clamping around her dick until she cums with a low whine, vision going white as she breeds you full. her knot doesn’t go down for hours afterward, keeping both of you joined together.

feixiao doesn’t mind this part either. she actually really likes it, once the both of you have gotten into a more comfortable position. there’s a special sort of intimacy tied to you like this, her cock stuffed deep in your cunt as she holds you against her chest. your breathing is even and deep as you rest lightly on top of her, recovering your energy for the next few rounds that are definitely happening. it’s in these moments in-between that your beloved general is the most affectionate, pressing kisses to your cheeks and nose and lips and anywhere she can reach, really, as she praises you gently for being her darling, perfect mate.

[binkybuzz]

DAMN I DIDNT REALIZE FEIXIAO WAS CARDI B WHO DON'T COOK AND DONT CLEAN??

ALSO, MOZE BEING A HOUSESPOUSE IS SO CUTE ARE YOU KIDDING ME?? Brb screaming into the void.

[unriding]

me n moze say good morning to the world !!! ᕙ( •̀ ᗜ •́ )ᕗ

art by @rabbbitseason of course <3

[endlessskymaster]

Characters from the Xianzhou Alliance phone cases

[rennebright]

来一起吃月饼吗~ by 墨宇Moyo ※Illustration shared with permission from the artist. If you like this artwork please support the artist by visiting the source.

[slowd1ving]

TALES OF A DISGRUNTLED CORVID ⁺ 　 . MOZE

Quite frankly, you've been assigned an absolute loser (unaffectionate) to work with after your dramatic exit from the Intelligentsia Guild. Whoever said this guy was too silent was wrong, as he verily proves himself as the bane of your existence with his ceaseless yapping. art credits to @code_tesseract on x!! and tagging @ilovechuuy4 as requested :3 pairings: moze + male cryptologist reader (will be part of a series methinks) warnings: male reader, mentions of assassination? may be a touch ooc since this is pre-release writing unfortunately, lowkey crack fic, pre relationship, business partnership of hating each other wc: 1.9k

HONKAI STAR RAIL MASTERLIST

MASTERLIST ・゜・NAVIGATION

There’s never a dull day when a certain Shadow Guard is your partner for an assignment. Truly, your life always sparkles brilliantly when the information pings on your Jade Abacus; without fail, everything gains just a bit more colour, a bit more vivaciousness. Pathetically fallacious, you might’ve described it as had you taken literature classes: mood hued with such dynamic chromaticity that you fear you might explode into little prismic rainbows. Always such a bundle of joy to be geminate with him. 

“Must you be so… disorganised?”

Oh, who are you kidding.

It’s always a dull day when you’re paired with Moze.

“Get out.” A particularly rude gesture materialises in your open hand as you stare at the door he practically kicked down. Apartments in this particular sector of the Xianzhou Yaoqing do not come cheap, and you half-wonder whether he’d eke out coin to console your landlord. Then, with an especially sour, lemon-like expression, you realise he would fork out his own money just to make your life more difficult. 

When you first got assigned work in the Yaoqing (read: kicked to the curb by the Intelligentsia Guild to gain real world experience), you really did expect your tenure to be plain office work. Letters, forms, public relations—these mundanities you anticipated. In fact, you would’ve relished such tedium; after decrypting endless scientific formulae and pondering your mysterious tomes, engaging in bureaucratic matters would be a piece of cake! A little treat for your weary eyes—if you closed them, you could still see faint imprints of equations in the theatre of your mind. 

But what you hadn’t factored into your (ahem) calculations was just how sharp the Arbiter-General Feixiao was: just how passionate she was about pursuing Abominations and ruthlessly eliminating them, just how frank and swift the Madam General was. You also forgot that out of all the flagships, the Yaoqing were one of the most militarily driven. A blunder most fatal. 

“Thy talents would be wasted in the mere administrative wing,” Feixiao gesticulated. “Come, child, put thy brain and brawn to use and track down these villainous curs most evil.”

“Goodness, Madam General!” you’d cried out pitifully. “My heart is thine for the keeping!”

Or something like that. Actually, it may have not all been like that. 

After all, you were kicked out (temporarily! temporarily!) partly due to your penchant for delivering heart-rendering performances to your professors to avoid taking on their extra work. Such moving renditions, that they had to let you go lest you broke their bleeding hearts. Had you known you’d be working in the shady corners of intelligence and decryption, you would’ve kowtowed to the Guild for utmost forgiveness. Probably. 

When your path first overlapped with the Shadow Guards’, you honestly couldn’t give two hoots about the rumours that followed silently behind their own noiseless steps. Your ears had perked somewhat at the gossip your colleagues threw back and forth—though, who could blame you. The job was no fun!

Weirdo with the crow feathers, they’d murmured. He’s so quiet. What a reticent chap. 

Of course, you’d disagree, and perhaps tack on a loser to the descriptions of Moze. You’d disagree not with the ‘weirdo’, but rather with the quiet and reticent adjectives—partly because he really does need to shut up more. 

And he needs to stick to his rumours more. If this loner’s made it a point to not work with people, then why oh why did the honourable Madam General decide your ancient science and study complemented his shady skillset? And why oh why does he never refuse her request? (You’ve conveniently forgotten how you always fold when it comes to her.) You’ve always worked alone too, for as long as you can remember; decoding the ancient equations in ruins and solving their gimmicky puzzles using your boundless wits is a job for one. 

As it stands, the people he investigates, the work he takes care of, sometimes intrudes into the realm of questionable rituals and summonings the Abominations and their ilk oft partake in. Thus do you find your career verging into some gruesome form of forensics as you stare down what would commonly be considered a murder scene: sigils and ancient alchemical algebra staring right back at you. He deals with the human aspect of intelligence: the psychology, the crime, the covert espionage. You deal with the technical fallout: the analysis of antique sciences is your specialty, after all. This has culminated in a begrudging partnership where both parties wish nothing more than to leave it. 

A business relationship, of sorts, founded on the mutual dislike (a weak description) of each other. 

“No.” He doesn’t budge from where he leans against the doorframe, but he does have the decency to swing the door closed behind him. Yet, it’s not out of any respect for the hallowed sanctity of your abode, but more because he’s sooo Mysterious and Aloof that none of your neighbours are allowed to view his visage. 

“You are—” a quick glance at your watch proves your point. For someone obsessed with keeping tidy, he sure does have messy time management. “—eighteen minutes too early.”

“And you still aren’t ready,” he counters, pointedly eyeing the loose shirt and comfortable cotton trousers slung over your hips. You yawn, tired already from his yapping. He’s been compared to a crow for as long as you’ve been here—and perhaps far longer—but to you he’s always been more like a little dog. Yap. Yap. Yap. 

This is precisely why I don’t work with others, you can almost taste his words—his thoughts. 

“You are currently the biggest hindrance to my getting ready,” you grimace. Casting a quick glance over his intricate garb, it’s no wonder he feels getting ready is such a lengthy endeavour: all straps and buckles and tough layers that makes him the walking fortress he is. “I’ll be on time.”

He doesn’t reply: laconic only when he acknowledges your point as unequivocally right, which is seldom. 

“Are you going to keep staring?” you snap as you sling the worn shirt from your body. Beneath the soft clothes is muscle hard-won through your frequent collaborations with the Armed Archaeologists in the Guild: days filled with more sparring and their stupid callisthenics than actually finding ruins. 

“Do you have to dress right here?” he counters, but it’s a futile argument—this apartment is barely big enough for you as it stands. Currently, he’s situated by the doorway, but you’re on the unseen boundaries of the living room and the tiny kitchen. Beyond is your bedroom and miniscule bathroom, of which neither have enough space to move comfortably to change. And you certainly aren’t going to sacrifice your comfort to appease his poor eyes; he’s seen worse for sure. Though, you doubt he’s ever seen a naked body that wasn’t in the context of assassination and the anatomy classes you know he’s meticulously attended for his shady work. Surreptitiously, you snicker at the thought: that there aren’t any lovers lined up for this weirdo. 

You toss the garment onto your couch, precisely because you know he’s grinding teeth over it; and there’s that tell-tale click of molar against molar. You even whistle a bit as you untie the neat bow holding your trousers to your hips; the fabric pools on the floor, and you don’t make any move to pick it up. 

There it is. His glower—red-hot and piercing through the flesh and sinew of your back—is heavy in this small space. What you don’t see, however, is how his eyes flicker briefly across your body, down the firm step of your legs as you step out of the trousers. Out of context, watching muscle ripple and twist as you strip forces crimson to seep into his face. This is an implication he’s absolutely disgusted with—with you. 

“If you have any more input as to what I do in my home, you’re welcome to pay my rent first,” you finally deign to reply, rummaging in the dresser in your hallway—which he knows has never been neat with all the clothes spilling from the edges. His eye twitches. 

“You’re an incorrigible man,” he retorts, carmine flush now from irritation rather than anything else. Irritation from the beginning, because it was never anything else. 

“Wow,” you blink, weighing your options between shirt A and shirt B. The cherry-red with straps, or the Prussian blue with straps, you muse, holding the shirts against your beloved grey cargoes. “You sound exactly like my professor. Same adjective and everything.”

When it comes to shameless people, there comes the very real risk of insults being nullified by the insulted through them simply agreeing. 

“No wonder the Guild kicked you out.” As you’re pulling the scarlet fabric over your head, you pause—it seems he’s finally hit a nerve. There’s a rare smile toying with his lips at the victory: one he doesn’t notice, but ghosts across his face nonetheless.

Now, there are many things you could reply to that with. Such as, did your parents give you a reason when they abandoned you? Nay, that is too low of a blow. No wonder you don’t have any friends. But he probably grapples with that bitter reality each morning, gnashing his teeth and beating his chest. 

“Bold of you to speak of being unwanted,” you comment matter-of-factly. Both insults it is then, wrapped neatly into an ambiguous tale of these eight words. His smile fades. 

With a slight gasp, you finally wrangle the tight material on—it’s armour, after all, a specific textile development by the Yaoqing for the protection of civilians and tourists alike, though you aren’t considered a tourist by your special work-abacus-plaque. It fits snugly against you: straps for knives sit tight against your forearms, while the harness that provides extra support for your torso rests neatly beneath your chest. The garb’s almost like a compression shirt from your home planet, except the Yaoqing has far more violent uses for it. 

“Didn’t Guard Zhí reject you?” He bites out, and it takes a minute for you to realise he’s talking about Zhí Hua, the best friend you’d made on the flagship—and your Shadow Guard drinking buddy. 

“Huh?” Dumbfoundedly, you pause in doing the buckles on your trousers, losing far more time than you’d bargained for. “A-hua is my friend.”

The diminutive doesn’t go unnoticed, which rankles him far more than falling prey to the rumour about you and his fellow Guard. No, both rankle him—likely because hearing about a workplace romance about you just disgusts him in general. 

“Pfft,” you snort out, finally done with the laborious task of adjusting the materiel and various other gadgets attached to your body. “I have got to tell her about this. Who knew your ability to gather information would be stopped by a rumour?”

The tightness in his chest lessens somewhat. 

“Besides, everyone already knows my heart belongs to the Madam General,” you sigh, clasping your hands to your chest in a dreamy gesture. It’s an ongoing joke: you professing your deep adoration of Feixiao after she gives you a pay raise for putting up with the so-called ‘reticent’ Moze. “Woah, what’s with the sour look?”

“Gross,” he mutters. 

As you step near the doorway to grab your boots, you lean into his space mockingly: and he recoils back in even more revulsion. 

“Of course, you wouldn’t know.” You pat his shoulder once, condescendingly, then promptly slip your heavy boots off the shelf. “Since there’s no one who loves you.”

And his glare as you shuffle your shoes on is poignant. 

 ₊  ⋆   ☾

[radical-boy-kisser]

Switching is such a funny and gross feeling.

[daz4i]

hope everyone's enjoying 2.6 so far ✨ here's some more memes

[silkenedstars]

What HSR men do when they get angry at reader?

Additional Notes: Somewhat edited (don't trust me though I'm doing this at 2am yet again), might make more parts featuring more male characters later idk

Try with all your might, you'll never get Argenti to be truly angry at you. The most you'll get from him is a gentle scolding, but nothing more. If there's a problem, then he'd rather approach it from a place of understanding. You're his beloved after all, you must have a reason for the things you do, be it a good or bad one.

✿❀✿

Aventurine will let a lot of things slide, especially if you're the one saying or doing those things. The only thing he won't, however, is anything relating to Sigonia: specifically his family and that he's the last avgin to survive.

He hates that he's vulnerable. The days of being a slave were long past him, he had all the wealth and power he could imagine now preventing him from being the weak little kid he was back then. But just a mention of his past is enough to bring back that horrible, claustrophobic feeling from back then.

It's still all too much for him, the wounds still painfully fresh in his mind. Despite all the power he held within the palm of his hand, he didn't have enough strength to properly confront those memories.

So won't you give him just a bit more time?

✿❀✿

Boothill doesn't like it if you say anything positive about the IPC, and he certainly won't be happy hearing you talk about them in general.

It hurts to hear their praise coming from you, and it especially hurts if he opened up to you about his past.

He'll distance himself from you, both because he wants time to himself and because he's hoping you'll realize what you did wrong and will apologise to him sooner or later.

But if you don't, then he has no problems cutting you off from his life. He'll miss you for sure, but the wounds of his past are far too deep for him to forgive you.

✿❀✿

The only way that you could ever upset Jiaoqiu, or betray his trust is by putting coriander in any one of his dishes. The moment he finds out? You can expect him to give you the cold shoulder for the rest of the day, muttering and pouting over how he chose to trust the wrong person.

Fortunately, his pouting won't last long and he'll be by your side by sunset; wanting cuddles for the rest of the night.

✿❀✿

The General isn't one to get mad, especially not towards his significant other. If there's a problem, then it's nothing that can't be fixed with a cuddle and a nap.

That said, he's not immune to being disappointed in you if you mess up seriously and cause a lot of problems. But, again, it's nothing that a cuddle and a nap can't solve…

…as well as a good talk after everything calms down and the mess is fixed, but cuddles come first as Jing Yuan requires a good rest before doing anything.

✿❀✿

Moze doesn't get mad per se, but he definitely gets petty; be it over something small like you accidentally adding too much spice to a dish, or something big like landing a hit on Feixiao... that she got on purpose, but neither you nor Moze needed to know that.

It'll be small things that show his pettiness, but nothing beyond what he usually does when he's in stalker mode. That said, while he is petty — and honestly, all too happy to annoy you as payback — he won't do anything that will put you in danger.

Protecting you is part of his job, after all.

✿❀✿

[aventurineswife]

Running in the Shadows

Summary: Caught in a chase under the moonlit sky, you believe you can outrun Moze, the elusive Shadow Guard of the Yaoqing. But Moze quickly catches up, only to surprise you.

Tags: Moze x Reader(can be read as platonically) Chase scene, Hurt/Comfort, Protector, Slow Burn, Tension, Fluff with Angst, Emotional Vulnerability, Barefoot Running.

Warnings: Mentions of panic and fear during the chase, Slight physical restraint, Mild emotional tension.

Feel free to send in your requests!

Original Idea

The moon hung high in the sky, casting an eerie glow on the deserted streets of the city. You sprinted down the narrow alleyways, adrenaline coursing through your veins as you glanced back over your shoulder. The sound of footsteps echoed ominously behind you, but you believed you could outpace your pursuer. After all, you were nimble and fast, and this was your territory.

You turned sharply, weaving through the shadows, your breath quickening as you picked up speed. However, the footsteps only grew louder, each step punctuating the air with an unsettling promise. Who was chasing you? You didn’t have time to think about it; you needed to escape.

As you rounded another corner, the alley widened, and you felt a rush of hope. Perhaps you could find a place to hide, a chance to lose whoever was behind you. You pushed your legs harder, ignoring the sting of your bare feet against the cold pavement, the gravel digging into your soles. You were almost there—just a few more steps.

Suddenly, a shadow loomed ahead of you, and instinct kicked in. You turned to run the other way, but in an instant, the figure emerged from the darkness—a tall, muscular silhouette with gray hair cascading over one shoulder. You recognized him instantly.

“Moze...” you gasped, feeling a mix of fear and an inexplicable thrill.

He moved with a predatory grace, closing the distance between you with ease. Panic surged through you, and you quickened your pace again, but it was futile. With a swift motion, he reached out and grabbed your waist, effortlessly lifting you off your feet.

“Got you.” he said, his voice low and steady, but there was no malice in his tone—only an unsettling calm.

Before you could react, he lowered you gently onto something soft. Confused, you looked down to find your shoes—waiting for you. The act was so unexpected, so disarming, that you almost forgot about your fear.

“Why were you running?” Moze asked, his violet-blue eyes locking onto yours, a hint of concern flickering beneath his stoic demeanor.

You stammered, “I… I thought you were after me.”

“I was,” he admitted, a faint smirk teasing the corner of his lips. “But not in the way you think.”

His hands remained on your, grounding, you as you tried to catch your breath. There was a vulnerability in his gaze, a flicker of something deeper beneath the surface—a connection that transcended the chase.

“Put your shoes on,” he said, his voice softening. “You’ll hurt yourself running around barefoot.”

The warmth of his hands lingered on your skin, and you nodded, slipping your feet into the shoes. The fit offered a sense of security, a reminder that despite the shadows surrounding you, there was someone watching over you.

“Thank you,” you said quietly, looking up at him. “I didn’t expect you to… uh help me?”

“Neither did I,” he replied, his expression unreadable. “But you shouldn’t have to run alone.”

In that moment, as the city around you buzzed with the life of the night, the world felt a little less chaotic. Moze, the enigmatic Shadow Guard, had pulled you from the edge of fear, reminding you that sometimes, the shadows held more than just danger; they held unexpected allies.

Just then, a distant siren blared, cutting through the stillness of the night. Moze’s expression hardened, the vulnerability replaced by a shadow of tension.

“We need to move.” he said, suddenly alert.

“Where?” you asked, glancing around nervously.

He hesitated for a fraction of a second, his eyes scanning the dark alley as if he could sense something looming just beyond the edge of the shadows. “Anywhere but here.” he replied, a cryptic urgency lacing his tone.

Before you could question him further, he reached for your hand, pulling you toward the darkest recess of the alley. The grip was firm, yet the moment felt surreal, as if the very air around you was thickening with unspoken truths.

As you ran, the weight of uncertainty hung heavily in the air. Just ahead, you spotted a narrow doorway that led to the unknown. With a fleeting glance over your shoulder, you caught a glimpse of movement—a flicker of shadows beyond the light.

“What’s back there?” you asked, your heart racing.“I don’t know,” Moze replied, glancing back at you, a shadow of doubt crossing his face. “But we don’t have time to find out.”

Just as you reached the door, the echo of hurried footsteps filled the alley behind you—voices, angry and demanding. Moze’s grip tightened, and in one swift motion, he yanked open the door, revealing an inky darkness that swallowed you whole.

You hesitated at the threshold, the fear of the unknown clashing with the urgency of the moment. “Moze, wait—”

He turned, his violet-blue eyes piercing through the dark. “Trust me,” he urged, an intensity in his voice that sent a shiver down your spine. “We can’t let them catch us.”

And in that moment, as the door creaked open wider, you were faced with a choice. You could step into the darkness with him, leaving everything behind, or retreat to the light where you might be safe but alone.

As you weighed your options, the footsteps grew louder, and the shadows began to close in around you. The last thing you heard before the door swung shut was Moze’s voice, a whisper that echoed in your mind: “Sometimes, the darkest paths lead to the brightest futures…”

The door slammed shut, and the world around you faded to black, leaving you to wonder what awaited in the unknown and whether you would ever find your way back.

[incorrectstarrailquotes]

Jiaoqiu: I need a top.

Moze: The general is upstairs, but I can go get her for you.

Jiaoqiu, blushing: I meant for this food container!

Moze: Ok, bottom...

Jiaoqiu: Moze, please.

Moze: ...drawer.

[moonofmercury]

Moze is initially apprehensive about your and Jiaoqiu's relationship. Not because you're not good for him. You are. You make him smile, you make him laugh, you bring him fresh groceries when he has a hard time leaving the house, you make sure he doesn't just rot in bed all day (although you happily join him for this too). But as Moze comes to acknowledge his past, as he understands more about what it means to have people to care about and who truly care about you, he realizes how hard it is to live without people who mean so much. And if something happens to one of you, will the other survive?

It leaves Moze feeling confused. Is this jealousy? That losing one of you might mean losing you both, without care for what happens to the rest of them.

On some level, you all live dangerous lives, even if Jiaoqiu doesn't work for anyone but Feixiao anymore and diviners are fairly well guarded when they are near the battlefield. Moze knows it won't happen yet, that you are not yet so tied together, but he worries for Jiaoqiu and his fragile heart.

Moze remains his reticent self when Jiaoqiu talks about you, or when you talk about Jiaoqiu. You are undeniably good for him, and Moze can, with fond begrudging, admit Jiaoqiu is good for you too. And slowly, Moze's apprehension transforms into a more worn, tired worry touched with curiosity.

For so many years, stronger feelings have felt burned out of him. With no one to respond to his cries, they had died before they could lay half-formed in his chest. And although it is a gentle thing, the love between you and Jiaoqiu is strong enough to make Moze unsure. All he can do is keep you alive when he can. For Jiaoqiu's sake. He's not willing to let a thing like love keep you all from sharing the life you have been given.