#the crystalline chronicles

[goofygubegubler]

𝘓𝘢𝘺 𝘈𝘭𝘭 𝘠𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘓𝘰𝘷𝘦 𝘰𝘯 𝘔𝘦

The newlywed Reids' first stop on their European honeymoon chronicles Skopelos, Greece (the Mamma Mia island).

wc: 893 | F!Reader | cw: Reader wears a bikini and mild flirting

a/n: This is my first fic, so I hope you all enjoy! My asks are open, and I’m seriously considering turning this into a series called The Honeymoon Chronicles—let me know what you think! Mwah, enjoy! 💛 Also, I’m still figuring out formatting, so any tips or feedback are super welcome!

Your teal blue bikini gleamed under the Grecian sun, a striking contrast against the crystalline waters of Skopelos—the very island you’d stubbornly insisted on visiting for your honeymoon. Spencer hadn’t even pretended to protest, just tilted his head, considered the proposal for half a second, and nodded with a soft, amused smile that made your heart somersault. Two weeks into your month-long adventure, the victory still tasted sweet.

Spencer Reid is not, by nature, a beach person. He was a facts-and-figures person, a "let’s analyze the probability of that" person, a man who found comfort in dusty archives and labyrinthine bookstores rather than sand between his toes and the relentless glare of the sun. Yet here he was, stretched out beside you on the towel, his long limbs awkwardly arranged, curls damp from a reluctant but ultimately inevitable dip in the sea. His sunglasses were in the beach bag—abandoned because, predictably, he forgot he needed them.

“You know,” he began, squinting slightly against the sunlight, “Kalokairi isn’t a real island. The movie was filmed here, but technically, this is Skopelos.”

You turned your head, smirking. "Let me guess—you’re about to bombard me with obscure historical trivia?"

The corners of his mouth twitched. "Would that be so terrible?"

"Not in the slightest." You propped yourself up on one elbow, tilting your head. "It’s my favorite thing about you."

Spencer blinked, briefly caught off guard, but then the inevitable happened—the gears turned, and the flicker of hesitation gave way to that familiar, eager rhythm. “Well,” he started, “Skopelos is one of the greenest islands in the Aegean. Over 67% of it is covered by pine forests. The chapel from the wedding scene—Agios Ioannis—has exactly 198 steps leading up to it, inspired by a fisherman who allegedly found an icon of Saint John the Baptist there. Oh, and the island is known for its plum production. They make a particularly sweet variety of plum jam called avgato.”

His words tumbled out like they couldn’t quite keep up with him, his enthusiasm an irresistible force. God, you adored this man.

Leaning in, you brushed his arm with your fingers, feeling the sun-warmed skin beneath your touch. “You’re so cute when you do that.”

Spencer’s brain appeared to stall mid-thought. “Do what?”

“That.” You gestured vaguely at him. “You get all fast and excited, and it’s like your mouth is racing your brain.”

He swallowed, cheeks tinged with pink. “I—uh—I know I can get carried away.”

“Never,” you assured him. “In fact, I think I should reward your enthusiasm.”

With that, you reached for the sunscreen. He stiffened immediately. “Wait. No. I can do it myself—”

“Nope.” You squeezed a generous dollop onto your palm, ignoring his attempt at a dignified retreat. “Honeymoon rules. I take care of you.”

Spencer groaned, rubbing his hand over his face. “I am a fully grown man.”

“And yet,” you mused, smoothing your hands over his shoulders, “you’d forget to reapply and burn to a crisp if left unsupervised.”

He opened his mouth—probably to counter with statistics—but his brain short-circuited the moment your hands started moving. His muscles tensed, his breath hitching as you kneaded along his spine, fingers tracing the sharp ridges of his shoulder blades. He was all lean muscle and deceptive strength beneath the soft skin, and if you lingered a little too long, well, he had no proof.

“You know,” he said, attempting to regain composure, “studies show that regular application of sunscreen reduces the risk of melanoma by—”

You leaned in, pressing a lingering kiss to the back of his neck. “Spence.”

His entire body locked up. “Hmm?”

“You’re rambling because I’m touching you.”

He made an incoherent sound—somewhere between a scoff and an admission of defeat.

Satisfied, you gave him a playful slap. “There. All done. Your turn.”

Spencer blinked up at you, looking dazed, which was frankly adorable. He cleared his throat, nodded, and grabbed the bottle. The first touch of his hands against your skin was tentative, uncertain, but it doesn’t take long for something to shift. His fingers pressed more confidently along your shoulders, gliding over your back, mapping you out with a scientist’s precision but a husband’s reverence.

“You’re tense,” he murmured, his voice lower now, softer.

“Hard not to be,” you admitted, eyes slipping shut.

“Is that so?” His thumbs dragged along your shoulder blades, applying just enough pressure to make your breath catch.

“Spence…”

“You started this,” he reminded you, his touch skating lower, teasing along the curve of your spine. “Now I’m just being thorough.”

You exhaled sharply, stomach twisting with something decidedly not sunscreen-related. His hands weren’t just hands anymore—they were deliberate, knowing, teasing.

“You know,” he mused, tone infuriatingly casual, “in Ancient Greece, they used olive oil for sun protection. Not nearly as effective, but it did leave the skin incredibly soft.”

Your lips parted, some smart remark forming—except you never got it out, because Spencer chose that exact moment to lean in, his breath warm against your ear.

“Statistically speaking,” he murmured, “public displays of affection are more accepted in European cultures.”

Oh. Oh, he was playing dirty.

You turned to face him, knees bumping his, your breath slightly unsteady. “Spencer.”

“Hmm?” His lips twitched, far too pleased with himself.

“Shut up and kiss me.”

And, well—who was he to argue with statistics?

[boneapplet]

From Rust and Bone pt.7

Chronicles of the Lost Primarch

Relationship: Rogal Dorn x oc/afab!reader

Warnings: recovering from an injury

Word Count: 1420

Requested tag:@noncon-photobomb @beckyninja @blukitty40k

Masterlist

pt 1 | pt 2 | pt 3 | pt 4 | pt 5 | pt 6 | pt 7 | pt 8 | pt 9 | pt 10 | pt 11 | pt 12 | pt 13 | pt 14 | pt 15 | pt 16

Morning doesn’t break so much as seep in. The storm thinned sometime during the night, retreating into the distant vents with a low, fading growl. A acidic haze lingers, clinging to stone and scale, but the worst has passed. Outside, the light is pale and sickly gold—not quite sun, not quite safe.

They don’t rush. Kessa lets Dorn sleep longer than usual. Moving quietly, checking the sled slower, brushing down the beasts with gentler hands. When he does stir—half-wrapped in a heat tarp, jaw slack from deep exhaustion—she simply nods.

“You’re not late. Just not early.” She chimes before he can say something about sleeping in.

“Is that your version of being kind?”

“It’s all you get.”

Sitting up stiffly, but less strained than yesterday. Shoulder bandage holding. Breathing steadily.

“I’ll take it.”

The ridge shelter smells of old oil and beast-musk. Air damp, tinged with acid-charred dust. As they pack up, Dorn works slower. Not sluggish—just measured. The way someone moves when they know their body can betray them if rushed. He helps re-secure the sled lines, ties down the crate lashings, double-checks Arravox’s saddlebags. It’s a small rhythm—but it’s real.

“Should’ve slept another hour,” Kessa mutters as she cinches her bracer tight.

“Then I’d owe you two.”

“You already do.”

“I’m keeping track.”

“That makes one of us.”

She hands him a ration pack—dried root crisps and something resembling meat.

“Eat first. Then mount.”

“Are you always this maternal?”

“Only to the ones who don’t listen.”

“So… everyone?”

She almost smiles at that, eating her ration before undoing the exterior tarp. Outside the ridge, the terrain has changed. The storm scoured the earth raw—vents now glisten with fresh chemical runoff, and strange crystalline spires have sprouted in the low basins, grown overnight from warped mineral blooms. The beasts are restless but not panicked. They follow Arravox without needing much coaxing. Dorn rides second in line now. Kessa leads, but she doesn’t look back as often anymore.

               By midday, the haze has lifted enough to see further than a hundred meters ahead. The terrain still hisses in places—pockets of heat, acidic runoff trickling through black grooves—but it's passable. The beasts plod in a steady rhythm, foam crusting at the corners of their mouths, legs wet to the joint. Kessa calls a halt near a brittle ridge shelf where low mushroom-stone offers shade. As Dorn dismounts, Arravox emits a low, warbling trill. A warning.

Across the flats, just emerging from the edge of a calcified basin, a caravan crests the ridge. Five figures, three sled-runners, two mounted on six-legged ridge-skulks with mirrored eyes and salt-dried hides. Cloth banners hang from the harness poles—torn but deliberate. Painted signs, local guild glyphs. Traders. Or scavengers with rules.

Kessa narrows her eyes, “Guild or ghost?”

“Is that your way of asking if they’ll shoot first?”

“Pretty much, they’re moving with harnessed lights. That’s guild.”

“Let’s hope it stays that way.”

She doesn’t go for her weapon, but she makes sure it’s unlatched. Dorn checks the cut of his cloak—ensures it drapes over the old scars, the partial golden eagle etched in the battered plate shard at his hip. Too much of him still shines through if people look hard enough. They wait. The caravan slows as it approaches. No raised rifles. One of the front riders lifts a hand.

“Peace and barter,” she calls—voice cracked by grit, but clear.

Kessa steps forward just enough to be visible “Peace if peace holds.”

The rider nods once, closing the distance. The caravan dismounts under the ridge’s shade. Worn faces, sharp eyes. Two older men, one younger woman with a facial respirator, and a silent figure wrapped head to toe in chemically bleached linens—likely a navigator or augur. Their lead—a woman with wire-threaded hair and an augmented right eye—offers a hand.

“Guild Seven-Hook, Central Drift. Call me Brann.”

Kessa shakes it “Kessa. Herd lead, east vent pass.”

Brann’s gaze lingers on Dorn briefly. Not with recognition, but with assessment.

“And the quiet one?”

Dorn answers before Kessa can, “Helping hands are rare. She’s got one less to worry about.”

Brann smirks “Aren’t we all patched together.”

The groups set up a short camp. Barter begins—root tar for insulation balm, acid-scored harness buckles for vent-slag lanterns, stories exchanged for silence where they’re too tired to talk. Dorn keeps his distance at first. Watches. Listens. Something catches his eye, a data-slate tucked into a salvage crate. Old, Imperial. Scored but functional. He picks it up, giving it a look over.

Brann noticing his interest “Found that near the glass flats. Half a bunker buried in crystal. Mostly stripped.”

“Any emblems?”

“Just that two headed eagle. Fractured. Looked like something was torn off the wall—size of a coffin lid.”

Dorn stiffens, only slightly “See anyone near it?”

“Just bones.” she says as she shrugs, “Always bones, these days.”

He sets it back down. Kessa watches him from the corner of her eye but doesn’t say a word. As the trade winds down and fire-crystals crackle over the cooking stones, the traders start talking—as they always do when bellies are full, and weapons are sheathed. Brann sharpens a blade with slow, even strokes.

“We passed a wreck two rotations back. Old thing. Half-sunk in slag. Machine priests once, maybe. Big bones inside.”

One of her crew leans in, eager “Had one of those big skull helms, y’know? Like a knight’s, but heavier. Gold-plated. Chest was crushed in, but it had this big sunmark on it. Not the usual bird. Looked… angry.”

Dorn doesn’t speak. Just listens, gaze still.

Kessa casually throws more dry moss into the cookfire “You keep it?”

“No chance. Had glyph rot. We marked it and moved on.”

Another trader chimes in “Some say they're not dead, those big ones. The ones with armor are like coffins. Say they're dreaming in the black... waiting to wake up angry.”

Brann scoffs “Dreams don’t matter out here. The storms take all of them, eventually.”

The one with the facial respirator looks up, muffled voice dry “One crashed east last cycle. Not a wreck. A pod. Crater still hot. Nothing inside but blood and bone splinters.”

“Maybe the ‘sunmarks’ are a curse,” Brann mutters. “Every time they fall, something gets worse out here.”

“Imperium stories again?” Kessa asks flatly.

“No. Older. Before the Imperium came and left. Old ones told tales of sky-giants. Carved stone markers deep in vent caves. One of them… one showed a man with no face, with 20 smaller men around him.”

Kessa’s brow lifts slightly. She doesn’t look at Dorn, who’s staring into the fire, jaw set.

“You believe in any of that?” Kessa asks Brann after a pause.

“No. But I know better than to ignore patterns.”

The fire cracks again. Sparks pop. For a while, no one speaks. Then Brann glances Dorn’s way.

“You hear stories like that, stranger?”

He looks at her. Slow. Calm. “I’ve seen worse.”

No one laughs; they move on. Dorn retreating to lay against Arravox. The fire burns low. Trade’s been fair. The herd is rested. But Dorn hasn’t spoken in half an hour. He just sits, one hand resting lightly on his knee, eyes fixed on nothing. Not quite withdrawn, but elsewhere.

Kessa finishes securing the last of the supplies—oiled rations, a single new tarp, replacement clamps for the sled rails. Enough to matter. Not enough to tempt a second night. She watches Dorn, just long enough to see the tightness behind his stillness—the way his jaw ticks whenever they mention “sky-giants” or “sunmarks.” That decides it.

“We move at dawn,” she tells Brann, standing.

“You sure? The herd looks like it could use another slow day.”

“So could we. But slow doesn’t make storms stop.”

Brann nods, unfazed “Your road.”

               Kessa heads over to Dorn, they pitch camp a bit away from the traders. It was only early, before the sun has even risen, that she wakes Dorn. He blinks, caught between sleep and tension.

“Time to move,” she says softly.

He doesn’t question it. By the time the traders stir, the herd is already in motion. Sleds creak, beasts grunt and shuffle down the slope, Kessa walking point while Dorn rides second. No goodbyes. No drawn-out farewells. Just the quiet crunch of boots on dust and the soft call of Arravox’s low-pitched hum, leading them forward again into a horizon still stained with old storms.

[lunawolf012306]

How many intro posts am I gonna make?!

But who cares?

Anyhoozle, welcome to my blog! I'm LunaWolf! My preferred names are Luna, Red, and/or Luney. I am 19 years old. I use She/Her pronouns.

(Edited: I am bi/poly. (AND YES, I STILL LIKE GIRLS!))

The fandoms I'm into:

Countryhumans

Creepypasta (Such as Jeff the Killer and Nina the Killer)

Hazbin Hotel/Helluva Boss

FNAF (Especially the Sister's Location and Security Breach)

Bendy and the Ink Machine/Bendy and the Dark Revival

FNF (Mid-Fight Masses)

Sonic the Hedgehog (Including EYX)

John Doe

My favorite shows:

Hazbin Hotel/Helluva Boss

BeaStars

MHA

Demon Slayer

Komi Can't Communicate

Vampire Knight

Vampire in the Garden

Amphibia

The Owl House

Naruto

Spice & Wolf

Soul Eater

My favorite movies:

The Twilight Series (1-5)

MHA: Heroes Rising

MHA: Two Heroes

Jack and the Coocoo Clock Heart (So sad, but really awesome)

Mean Girls

Pitch Perfect (The first one)

Bubble (an anime movie on Netflix)

Okko's Inn

(There's more, but I can't remember them all... -_-)

The videogames I play:

Demon Slayer: The Hinokami Chronicles

FNF (Both the original and MFM mod)

Bendy and the Ink Machine

Minecraft

Sonic the Hedgehog (Classic)

Minetest (knockoff version of Minecraft but who gives a fuck...)

Undertale

Cuphead

Sonic Forces

The videogames I wish I had:

Mario Kart 8

Hatsune Miku: Project Diva

The books I read:

MHA (I have most of the manga.)

Demon Slayer (I'm still collecting them.)

Inuyasha

My favorite foods:

Chinese food

Sushi

Ramen

Pizza (Stuff Crust cheese)

Granny Smith Apples

Waffles

My favorite Gamers:

Markiplier (Top of my favorites!!!)

LaurenZSide

Jacksepticeye

SuperHorrorBro

My favorite Song artists:

Set it Off

asteria

6arelyhuman

In This Moment

Skillet

MARINA

Melanie Martinez

TheFatRat

Carrie Underwood

Halestorm

Usher

Pitbull

Imagine Dragons

Paramore

Motionless in White

KoRn

The Red Jumpsuit Apparatus

The Offspring

Muse

Flyleaf

Lady Gaga

SomethingElseYT

Silva Hound

The Living Tombstone

Kesha

Flo Rida

Kordhell

Sub Urban

Bella Poarch

My hobbies:

Draw

Watch anime

Listen to music

Play cards

My Bestest Moots:

@ruv-simp

@pamithebunterfly2007

@shadowwolfmemes

@crystalline-loptous

@samantha80ssuperstar

@luney2mooney

@vogellicht

[dk-thrive]

What I would like is to write a really, really short book. Something very beautiful and very short. Not a novel but a chronicle. But I imagine it written in simple, crystalline prose that still allows for all manner of complexities. In short, a kind of prose I’d never know how to write...I’m talking about an extremely beautiful prose, a really well-written book. I want my misery to be translated into the utmost possible beauty.

— Alejandra Pizarnik, Diarios, 370 & 412. (Lumen; April 22, 2025) from Cristina Rivera Garza's "Death Takes Me: A Novel" (Hogarth, February 25, 2025)

[talonabraxas]

🔹The Sirians🔹 Talon Abraxas

Uncovering Your Cosmic Origins: Traits, Gifts & Soul Mission of Sirian Starseeds on Earth

The Sirius Star System: Home of Sirian Starseeds

Sirius binary star system located approximately 8.7 light years from Earth in the Canis Major constellation. Comprises Sirius A, the brightest star visible in the night sky, and a smaller white dwarf Sirius B orbiting Sirius A. Sirius B was once a larger, brighter star than Sirius A in the distant past before evolving into a white dwarf.

Sirius is known by many names in ancient Earth cultures including “Dog Star” and “Nile Star.” Egyptians based the calendar on Sirius helical rising coinciding with the Nile annual flooding. Marked winter season for Polynesians and chronicled in ancient Vedic scriptures.

Sirius A believed inhabited by highly advanced spiritual beings focused on overseeing the ascension of the Sirius system itself. Sirius B original home of Sirian starseeds before the system underwent cosmic evolution. Sirians from advanced water planets were forced to evacuate when Sirius B transformed from a gaseous state into a white dwarf star. Although the home world forever changed, spiritual wisdom and technologies survived to pass down ensuing generations.

The Soul Mission of Sirian Starseeds on Earth

What drives Sirians to voluntarily incarnate on Earth again and again even when the planet is still so chaotic and dense? Each starseed has an overarching mission guiding its incarnations, though the specifics will vary. Here are some of the core objectives behind the Sirian Starseed soul contracts:

Activate higher dimensional portals and light grids on Earth’s power points and sacred sites. Sirians are encoded with advanced sacred geometrical information and wisdom from Atlantis which can energize and stabilize the crystalline grid now rising.

Anchor light and frequency through their energy field and presence. By simply existing in a high vibration of love, gratitude, and inner peace, they raise the resonance of their environment and touch all souls they contact.

Awaken humanity to its true origins, unlimited potential, and purpose for being here now. Sirians remind us of our divine nature and push us to expand our limited beliefs.

Prepare humanity for open contact with the galactic community of benevolent interstellar civilizations. Sirians educate people on ETs and bridge the gap between human and cosmic perspectives.

Teach advanced technology and innovation to be responsibly integrated for the planet’s greater good. As technically skilled as they are spiritually adept, Sirians guide how humanity can evolve through technology without misusing it.

Be spiritual teachers, healers, and leaders who reveal higher truths and inspire people to live in harmony, peace, and unity. Their wisdom and grace touch people’s hearts.

Protect and speak up for the vulnerable, oppressed, excluded, or environment. Sirians act from a place of selfless compassion that honors all life.

Help shift humanity out of duality consciousness, fear-based programming, and rigid belief systems by embodying Unconditional Love and unity consciousness.

As multidimensional light beings, Sirians work on many levels and domains to uplift humanity’s understanding and play a pivotal role at this incredible time in our planet’s ascension process.

[thee-morrigan]

the words you're too scared to say

attachment theory, chapter 11 The Wayhaven Chronicles Nate Sewell/Holland Townsend rated M

Excerpt:

Summer melted away with a slow, easy slide, candle wax dripping and cooling along the smooth column of a long, white taper. The trees turned yellow, gold, orange. Another month gone, and the weather had begun to change, the air taking on a bite, a briskness. Officially fall, now: the nights were growing steadily colder, the air crisp and tart-sharp as the first bite of a perfectly ripe green apple, and the sky had taken on that crystalline brilliance, that startling, bright clarity that only autumn skies seem to possess. (As if everything was sharper, somehow. Clearer. As if the world had become somehow clearer, cleaner.) And Holland had never been one for the summer months. Had always felt like they were a little too hazy-thick, bright in the wrong ways. Too hot and too long, an endless taffy-stretch of days spent sweltering in the sticky-wet heat, sun beating down on everything, relentless and oppressive and draining, where everything was just too fucking much. But this summer, the days had slipped by far too quickly, and the nights even more so. (And the nights had been...) There hadn't been enough time, she thought. Hadn't been nearly enough of him. Summer, for once, had been too short and too little. For the first time she could remember, Holland longed for more of summer's relentless sprawl. (And she thought: There will never be enough of Nate, for as long as I live.) Another month gone. And Holland wondered if they would run out of time before she worked up the courage to tell him that she— well. That he meant more than she’d intended for him to mean.

continue on ao3

[novantinuum]

Fandom: Steven Universe Rating: Teen Audiences Words: 3.8K~ Summary: A young human-Gem hybrid- a soul yet unknown to the rest of the Crystal Gems- takes their first brave steps towards greeting their heritage firsthand.

W o e, more OC content be upon ye

In this one, Jean meets Greg and the Crystal Gems. (There's a bit of Greg POV at the beginning, just to mix things up.) I had so much indulgent fun writing it, and hope anyone who checks it out enjoys.

Enjoy! <3

__

Absentmindedly humming a few bars of a commercial jingle he must’ve overheard on TV the other day, Greg finishes stirring up some instant oatmeal he just took out of the microwave. It’s a bit of a late breakfast for his tastes given the clock is nearing 10:45, but hey- anything’s better than nothing. Better to eat now than to find oneself running on low energy by lunchtime.

He licks his lips in anticipation, and carries the bowl over to the beach house’s living room couch.

Stars, what’s on his docket today beyond breakfast, anyways?

Groceries, for one. He’s running low on milk, butter, parmesan cheese, spaghetti sauce, and a number of vegetables. If he really wants to think ahead, now would also be a great time to stock up on bagels to toss in the freezer for later. No matter how many of those he buys, he always seems to be running out of ‘em. It’s also one of Steven’s days off from work, thus a good opportunity to try a video call. His son doesn’t always answer immediately, but that’s okay. He’s a grown adult now, a soul yearning to forge his own identity separate from the people and place he called home back in childhood. He needs his own space, and sometimes that just means ignoring your clingy ol’ man until you feel ready to chat.

And then, of course there’s his ongoing music project he can work on— a concept album of sorts, chronicling the tale of an optimistic, yet lonely young musician and his lover from beyond the stars. For nearly two decades her death silenced his work, but… seeing her framed face on the nightstand next to him every morning when he wakes up… living so close to the crystalline stage he knelt on when he sung his first romantic ballad to her… it must’ve stirred some aching desire that he hasn’t entertained in a very long while. He’s written about half of this album in the span of the last two months, and hopes to complete it by the end of the year. Beyond that he’s not sure where this project will take him… whether he’ll keep these songs close to his chest or email his old industry contact Sunshine Justice and see if she can hook him up with a decent recording studio for ‘em. Only time will tell, in the end. He’s got options.

But before he can get more than a few spoonfuls of oatmeal under his belt and reliably plan out his day, his musings are interrupted by a timid knock rapping against the front door.

Greg sighs, setting the bowl aside on the coffee table as he gets up to check who’s here.

If he had to guess, it’s most likely a recently arrived Gem— spellbound and confused— desperately trying to locate Little Homeschool after seeing one his son’s many adverts about it. That’s the most common visitor they see at the house entrance these days, beyond the rare training visit from Connie to refresh her sword fighting skills with Pearl. He’s not sure who else would go to all the trouble of hiking across the beach to reach this place. And anyways, if he’s visiting human friends in town, he always walks to their houses.

Which is why he’s surprised to open the door and see just… what seems to be a human stranger standing there, hands stuffed in pockets and expression filled with palpable apprehension.

The stranger is young— easily Steven’s age or younger— with a shock of short, wavy brown hair and teal tinted glasses, clad in overalls and a pair of ratty old tennis shoes.

He waves a quick greeting, a potent dose of curiosity painting his tone.

“Hi, uh… can I help you…?”

__

“Should I even be doing this?” Jean mutters to themself as they trudge down the far side of the beach, following the directions the cute pizza shop girl gave them last night.

But the closer they creep towards their destination, the sillier this whole stupid trip starts to feel. So they expect to… what? Simply drop in uninvited to the home of four of the most influential beings in the whole galaxy, and say “hey, guess what, you never knew I existed but I’m actually a half-Gem too?” Ughh. Oh, geeze. This was such a bad idea. Why did Dad even agree to bring them here? And what do they even want from this? To train? To harness whatever hypothetical powers they might have resting dormant within their gemstone? To… to just go on one of those zany, magical adventures they always dreamed about as a kid? To be freely invited into their little school for Gems? (Even though they’re not a Gem… not in all the ways that matter, at least.) Are they hoping to uproot their entire life and outright live here one day? Or are they literally only here because they’re craving closure to the questions they’ve been asking their entire life— who was Mother? Who am I? Is there any place in this vast universe for people like me?

What do I actually want to do with my life?

Heaving a long, exhausted sigh, they trek onwards anyways. After such a long road trip to reach this place, it’d be unthinkable to back down now.

A set of crumbled but monolithic stone arms come into view a few dozen paces further, a mere taster of the majestic vista awaiting them on the furthest point of the peninsula. Jean’s seen plenty of pictures of Beach City’s infamous temple statue online, sure— images of a regal, curly haired figure boasting enough limbs to rival a goddess— but nothing can prepare them for the sheer level of spellbinding awe that courses through their soul as they break around the edge of the cliff and finally gape upon it with their own two eyes. As melodramatic as the sentiment may sound, seeing this temple for themself is like tasting air for the first time, like waking up from a decade long fantasy to a world more vivid and colorful than they could’ve ever dreamed. Surely not a single photographer alive could capture the true scale of this ancient carving. A watery smile stretches across their cheeks while they drink in the sight. The cliffside is mossier than they expected. The earthy greens make for such lovely contrast against the colder browns and grays. Then, their gaze drops towards the statue’s navel… to the humble beach house nestled there within a set of stone arms.

Here it is. This is the place. There’s no turning back now, not unless they want to return to their motel room a coward.

Their hands fidget restlessly at their side as they climb up the sandy stairs leading to the porch. When they reach the top, they cross towards the front door and— heart pounding— rap their knuckles against the frame as politely as they can muster.

Beat.

Jean can hear the shuffling of feet from inside. They shove their hands in their pockets as the footfalls grow closer and closer, before—

The door swings open. Their expression narrows in bemusement. The person they’re greeted by isn’t one of the famed Crystal Gems, but rather… a human. A somewhat plain looking human, if they’re frank. (Which— in this situation— is a good thing, because it finally disarms the sheer spine tingling anxiety that was racing up and down through their veins prior.) The portly individual looks to be somewhere around their father’s age, with greying shoulder-length hair and a full beard. He’s sporting shorts and what looks to be a band t-shirt.

The man flashes a quick wave, and then speaks.

“Hi, uh… can I help you…?”

Jean scrunches their nose— a nervous twitch they’re unfortunately hyper-conscious of in high pressure situations like these— before working to piece together a halfway coherent sentence.

“I, um— y-you don’t know me, but my name is Jean. Jean Maverick, and I’m… well, I’m kinda hoping to—”

Before they can even reveal the crux of their mission, they feel this person’s full attention fixate upon the upper facets of their pale gemstone, just visible over the neckline of their shirt. His eyes widen.

“O-oh, yes,” they interrupt their own introduction, cheeks reddening. “That. Y’see, I may not look it, but I’m actually part Gem, like all the Gems who live here in town, a-and—”

He shakes his head, giving a laugh tinged with a bit of what they can only describe as sheer disbelief. “No, no, trust me— I more than understand this kinda stuff. I’m Greg Universe,” he says, extending his hand in greeting. “My, uh… my son’s like you.”

It’s Jean’s turn for their eyes to blow wide open with shock.

“You- you’re Steven’s dad,” they breathe, reaching out for his offered shake.

“Yup, guilty as charged. Now, what can I do for ‘ya? You looking for Steven? The Gems?”

“Well, I was hoping to talk with the Crystal Gems, b-but…” They pause, their brow wrinkling inwards as the ticking cogs of their mind consider the possible implications of their fellow hybrid’s father being present. “Steven’s not here now, is he? I heard he left town a while back…”

“Nah, he did. He’s out living on the west coast right now. The Gems, however… now that I can help you with.”

Introductory small-talk concluded, Mr. Universe invites them inside to wait for the Gems, grabbing his phone from his pocket to— they can only assume— shoot a quick text to one of ‘em.

Jean glances around the interior of the house with ample curiosity, admiring the dense collection of old CDs and cassette tapes that fills much of the shelf space behind the couch. It looks like mostly classic rock and a bit of R&B, many of them artists they don’t recognize. (Though the name Kerry Moonbeam leaps out at them— they remember jamming to a few of his top hits while on the road with Dad, like “Midnight Spectacle” and “Life on Venus.”) On the top shelf there’s an intricately detailed pink sword on display, shattered just beyond the hilt. And on the far wall midway up the stairs they spot a colorful canvas portrait, featuring what looks like a grinning, teenaged Steven sitting at the front and Garnet, Amethyst, and Pearl poised behind.

All in all, it’s a very cozy, lived-in space… enough so to almost distract them from the crystalline cavern connected directly to the living area. Their interest immediately piqued, they give a sharp exhale and advance a few steps closer. Is that…? Why, yes it is! It’s a warp pad, just like the ones they’ve seen pictures of online. (And one in person, thanks to a tip from a local.) From all their research it seems that there’s a whole network of these low, crystal platforms stretching across the surface of the Earth. And as rumors go, Gems can use them to travel from one point to another near instantaneously. Jean has no idea if this ability is one that translates to half-Gems, though. They had no luck with the one they visited years back.

Their mouth scrunches into a little frown upon that musing. There’s still so, so much about Gems they don’t know, isn’t there?

“So, Jean,” Mr. Universe says, finishing up with his phone. “Where’d you say you were from, again?”

“Prudence, Calizona?” And when his expression merely wrinkles in unawareness, they add: “It’s, um… a small university town out in the middle of the desert, so I’m not surprised you aven’t heard of it way out here.”

“And you traveled all the way to Beach City just to meet with the Gems? Wow, that’s… a pretty big journey for someone your age. This must be real important to you.”

“Well, there’s no Gems out there,” they explain with a shrug. “I’ve always known I was different, but— I never got to learn anything about that part of my heritage, y’know? So that’s why I’m here, I guess. For answers.”

“Well, I really hope you can find what you’re looking for.”

Jean’s gaze drifts down towards the gem inlaid in their chest. “Yeah,” they say, resting their palm over the central facet. “So do I.”

A tiny frown blooms across the man’s face as he observes them further. They rock back and forth upon their heels as they attempt to dodge his frustratingly intuitive gaze, unsure of what else to say or ask. Such lingering attention makes them feel twitchy.

“Here, why don’t you have a seat,” he offers then, gesturing towards the flat cushioned sofa against the far wall of the living area. “They should be inbound any minute now. Can’t imagine them dawdling on news like this, heh. And hey, uh… while you wait, d’ya want anything to drink, or snack on, or—?”

“I’m fine, thanks,” they say, sitting themself down on the far edge of the couch and noting the soggy bowl of oatmeal left half uneaten on the coffee table right in front. It’s bad enough that they’re crashing this man’s morning routine, the last thing they want to do is completely put him out. Not to mention, he probably doesn't have much they could safely digest, anyways.

True to his word though, the famed Crystal Gems arrive on the warp pad with not a second to waste, ringed in by a beam of dazzling cyan light and the platform’s resonant chime. Heart pounding a coward’s thrall, Jean averts their gaze low to keep from downright staring at the trio.

Holy fucking shit.

“We came as soon as we could,” the pale, lithe one— Pearl— says to Mr. Universe, crossing straight into the living room like a soul on a mission with the other two hot on her heels.

It’s them. It’s actually them. The Gems they’ve dreamt of meeting ever since they were just a starry-eyed preteen researching a small town mystery in the vicious trenches of obscure conspiracy theory message boards. Their jaw falls entirely ajar in the shock of it all. Oh stars, be cool, be cool, be cool—!

“—is our mystery visitor?” Pearl continues with a quick gesture towards them, the first half of her sentence consigned to auditory oblivion with how damn rapid fire Jean’s thoughts are blasting around their head.

Mr. Universe nods.

“Yeah, I was grabbin’ some breakfast, and she—” (they don’t bother to suppress that instinctive cringe. Hoo boy, they really need to step in and complete their introduction ASAP, huh)— “just showed up at the door, askin’ after you.”

“They,” Jean blurts out, mouth entirely dry with anxiety at this point.

“Huh?”

“It’s… they, actually. They/them. Sorry, I- I kinda forgot to mention.”

His brows shoot up in understanding. “Ahh, gotcha. My apologies for not asking. Anyways, these are the Gems! Garnet, Amethyst, and Pearl… though I get the sense you’ve already done your research, huh?”

They nod, still working to shake that hazy, star-stricken sensation out of their system.

��So then, mysterious stranger,” the shorter, purple Gem— Amethyst— says, sliding right across the living room towards them. “What’s your whole deal? Gimme all those good deets!”

“I, uh… well, I’m Jean,” they stammer, clasping their hands together behind their back. “Jean Maverick. I’m eighteen, I use they/them pronouns as I just mentioned, and… my mother… was a Gem.”

They tug down the scooped neckline of their shirt ever so slight, revealing the full cut of their pale lavender gemstone to the room. Pearl lets out an audible gasp. The other two simply gape in stunned silence, not uttering a single word at all.

“And now you probably understand why I called you over,” Mr. Universe comments, gesturing towards them.

“Another hybrid?” Amethyst says, her brow furrowing as she glances up at Garnet, the tallest of the bunch. “Like Steven? Is that even possible?”

“It is now,” Garnet replies with an almost mystified tone, crossing her arms as she leans back against the counter.

“But for a Gem to shapeshift human reproductive organs for that long,” Pearl muses, hand balled at her chin as she paces back and forth across the wooden slats. “Stars, for anyone but a diamond, that should be unachievable!”

The purple quartz simply waves the notion away. “Pshh, nah, that part’s easy, P- you just poof, and then reform with those organs! I do it with a stomach like, all the time. Mainly, I’m just surprised that another Gem would come up with the idea to have a baby in the first place.”

“Or that another Gem was living on Earth uncorrupted all this time, and we never knew,” Garnet comments, expression uncertain.

They swallow hard. Normally they consider themself pretty skilled at overanalyzing people’s emotions— an unexpected perk of living with generalized anxiety— but Garnet in particular is dauntingly hard for them to read right now. Pearl’s an easy one… she’s invested in the mystery of their arrival here today, too busy sorting the potential puzzle pieces in her mind to give anything else surrounding her much notice. Amethyst seems equally as puzzled by their presence, although out of the three of them it’s her who’s been the most accommodating of their awkwardness, so far. (Jean thinks back to how Amethyst leapt in amidst that weird conversational lull to give them a chance to officially introduce themself, and finds it rather perceptive of her.) Garnet, though—? Is her tense yet closed-off body language signaling confusion? (At how they could exist?) Vexation? (That they exist?) Distrust, even?? (That they’re here, now?) Or is she chewing over something else entirely, something they couldn’t ever hope to guess with their extremely limited outsider’s context?

And why do they care so much about how the three of them feel in the first place? Chill, Jean. Geeze.

“Well, if it helps,” they shrug, “my dad said he met my mother out in the wilderness of Calizona, while on a backpacking trip.”

“Calizona, eh…” Amethyst says, squinting as she thinks. “Hey, wait— the Beta Kindergarten’s out that way, yeah?”

“What exactly are you suggesting?” Pearl asks, her eyes lighting up with clear intrigue.

“I’m saying… isn’t it possible that Jean’s mom just emerged late… like me? It would explain how she avoided the corruption. And their gem does look pretty quartz-like.”

“Sounds like a more sound theory than I could ever come up with,” Mr. Universe pipes up all of a sudden with a broad shrug.

“In any case, all our broad theorizations can wait,” Garnet waves them all off. Inhaling deep, her gaze levels straight on them. “I know you came here with a purpose,” she says.

A blunt observation, not a question.

Jean shuffles upon their feet, feeling as exposed as a budding nerve under the sheer magnitude of their scrutiny. The half of them that’s merely a tangled ball of anxiety masquerading as a person craves nothing more than to spin on their heels and bolt away— too scared of potential rejection, too scared of all the unknowns bleeding through at the very edges of their future’s canvas— but then… this is what they drove hundreds of miles for, yes? Plus, they don’t want to disappoint Dad— he knows how much they’ve dreamed of this moment, and they’re sure it’d break his heart if they backed down right at the cusp of achieving said dream.

It’s now or never.

Deep breath. Hold your spine straight. Brave heart, Jean.

What do you really want?

“I… heard about your school,” they begin, weathering that treacherous unknown to make direct eye contact with each and every one of them in turn. “And I know the technical purpose of it is to teach Gems about humanity, but… I was wondering if maybe… you’d also be willing to teach a half-human how to be a Gem.”

“Hmm,” Pearl hums, leaning back against the counter at Garnet’s side. “Well, I suppose we already have a sort of human exchange program at Little Homeschool. Anyone who’s curious about the work we do there is allowed to spend a day on campus and attend whatever classes they wish, provided they give our students a quick informal lecture on a topic that interests them. Perhaps we could discuss developing a program like this that’s more long-term in nature, and customized to your needs as a half-Gem.”

Their mind reels in giddy circles at the very notion. Them? An official student of Little Homeschool?? It’s an alluring prospect, to be sure.

“Hey, y’all?” Amethyst cuts in before they can move to respond, upper lip curling into a half-grimace. “Not to like, totally derail, but I just checked the time and we’re gonna be late for the fusion seminar if we don’t start heading on back now.”

The tall, ivory Gem winces. “Oh stars, you’re right.” Then, glancing across the living space towards Mr. Universe with a somewhat apologetic expression: “Sorry, Greg— you caught us at a bit of a busy time. Do you mind entertaining our guest a little while longer as we finish up today’s classes?”

“Why don’t you just take them with you?” he suggests. “Seems they’re interested in what goes on there anyways.”

“Bismuth or Peridot may have time to give a tour,” Garnet voices, breaking her little understood silence. (Oh, a penny for her thoughts right now…)

Jean beams at the idea, a joyous little burst of energy soaring through their system upon realizing they’re one step closer to realizing that shining desire they set their eyes on the day the ocean’s disappearance kickstarted their research into their Gem heritage in the first place— to actually nurture and embrace this part of themself. “I’d love a chance to look around, if it’s not too much trouble.”

The three Crystal Gems ultimately approve, beckoning for them to join them on the warp pad. It takes every single scrap of self restraint within their soul to not do the cringiest little happy jig as they scuttle across the floorboards and step up onto the crystalline platform. Getting to experience a trip on one of these suckers is honestly a dream come true all on its own. They’ve seen one in person before— back during their forum-surfing research days, they managed to convince Dad to drive them all the way out to a lone warp pad a local enthusiast posted the coordinates of— but couldn’t manage to activate it on their own. Now, though? With the possibility of joining Little Homeschool officially on the table, there’s no telling what they may one day learn to achieve.  

Jean waves farewell to Mr. Universe as the warp activates, whisking the four of them away. It was super kind of him to take time out of his morning routine to help them contact the Gems— they’ll have to think of some meaningful gesture to thank him with later.

Pushing themself out of their comfort zone just to reach this point proved to be a bit of a challenge, but beyond the thorny confines of all their social anxieties, their future suddenly feels very bright.

[ksccrystals]

A New Approach to Crystal Wisdom

In a world often preoccupied with material answers, a quiet revolution is stirring — one that invites us to rediscover the living consciousness within the stones of the Earth. This isn’t about returning to old folklore or superstition, but about embracing an innovative understanding of crystals as conscious allies and spiritual teachers.

At the heart of this movement is Lumira, a radiant embodiment of light, clarity and higher insight. She is the princess of the Maninkari, a family of crystal guardians who have long watched over the energetic balance between the material and spiritual worlds. Together, we are unveiling their wisdom for those ready to walk between worlds.

This is not crystal healing as it’s commonly known. It’s a profound invitation to enter into dialogue with the stones, to experience their consciousness, and to understand the subtle guardians who work alongside them. Guided by Lumira’s light, you’ll learn how to attune to these energies, not simply as tools — but as ancient beings, teachers and companions on your soul’s journey.

This innovative path weaves ancient knowledge with new spiritual insight, offering courses, books, and immersive experiences to help you reconnect with the crystalline matrix of the Earth.

👉 Explore the course here

👉 Book Preview

And for those curious about the origins of this work, I’ve chronicled the beginnings of my own awakening in: 📖 👉 The Silent Language of Crystals

📖 👉 The Stones Remember

This is a new chapter in the story of human and crystal connection — and you’re warmly invited to be a part of it. The stones are speaking again. Are you ready to listen?

[essential-music]

In the pantheon of modern music, few songs achieve the alchemy of narrative depth, lyrical poetry, and sonic excellence as seamlessly as "The Poet and the Muse" by Poets of the Fall, under their fictional alias Old Gods of Asgard.

This haunting rock ballad stands as a testament to the power of meticulous composition, evocative lyrics, and polished production, crafting an experience that lingers long after the final chord fades.

The lyrics of "The Poet and the Muse" are a masterwork of storytelling, weaving a mythic narrative that feels both timeless and intimate. Lines like “Find the lady of the light, gone mad with the night” conjure vivid imagery, blending gothic romance with existential dread. The song unfolds like a fable, chronicling a poet’s descent into a shadowed world where love and loss collide. Its metaphors—light as salvation, night as madness—carry universal resonance, inviting listeners to project their own struggles onto its verses.

What elevates the lyrics is their economy and precision. Every word serves a purpose, advancing the story while maintaining a rhythmic flow that pairs effortlessly with the melody. The chorus, with its plaintive call to “follow the light,” is both a plea and a command, balancing vulnerability with urgency. This duality ensures the song feels personal yet epic, a rare feat in modern songwriting.

Musically, "The Poet and the Muse" is a triumph of structure and emotion. The song opens with a delicate acoustic strum, setting a melancholic tone that draws listeners into its world. As it builds, layers of electric guitar, steady percussion, and subtle bass create a dynamic arc that mirrors the narrative’s rising stakes. The standout moment—a searing guitar solo at the three-minute mark—erupts with cathartic intensity, its raw energy cutting through the song’s brooding atmosphere like a lightning bolt.

The composition’s strength lies in its restraint. Rather than overwhelming with bombast, it prioritizes mood, using minor chords and measured tempo to evoke a sense of longing. The interplay between soft verses and a soaring chorus creates a push-pull dynamic that keeps listeners engaged. Influences of classic rock—think Led Zeppelin’s storytelling or Blue Öyster Cult’s dark theatricality—shine through, yet the song feels wholly original, a nod to tradition without being derivative.

The production of "The Poet and the Muse" is a case study in balance. Recorded with crystalline clarity, every instrument is given space to breathe, from the crisp strum of the acoustic guitar to the resonant thump of the kick drum. The vocals, delivered with raw conviction, are layered with subtle harmonies that add depth without overpowering the lead. The mix strikes a perfect equilibrium, ensuring the song feels both intimate and grandiose.

What sets the production apart is its ability to preserve the song’s soul. Despite its polished sheen, there’s an organic quality—a slight grit in the guitar tone, a tremble in the vocal delivery—that grounds the track in human emotion. This authenticity prevents the song from feeling overly slick, a common pitfall in modern rock production. The result is a track that sounds equally at home in a dimly lit bar or a sprawling concert hall.

"The Poet and the Muse" is a rare gem: a song that marries lyrical depth, compositional finesse, and production excellence into a cohesive whole. Its story of love, loss, and redemption transcends its runtime, inviting listeners to lose themselves in its world. For aspiring songwriters, it’s a blueprint for crafting music that resonates on multiple levels—intellectual, emotional, and visceral. For fans, it’s a reminder of music’s power to tell stories that endure.

"The Poet and the Muse" stands as a defiant counterpoint, proving that rock can still be profound, poetic, and transcendent. It’s not just a song; it’s a journey—one worth taking again and again.

Year: 2010

Composer, Lyricist: Marko Saaresto, Olli Tukiainen, Markus Kaarlonen

Producer: Markus Kaarlonen

[cocorevival]

˚₊‧The Sacred art of fasting‧₊˚

A portal. A pilgrimage. A soft unraveling of everything you are not, so that your soul can take center stage. Silence for the Body is space for the Soul.

How to romanticize hunger to fall in adoration of your soul.

Fasting is not just the absence of food — it is the presence of spirit. It is a sacred return to yourself, a soft initiation into your own essence. As your body quiets, your energy rises like incense curling toward the heavens. The mind slows. The soul speaks. In this silence, truth echoes.

When you fast, you are walking the same luminous path as mystics and seekers before you. This is not a wellness trend. It is a ritual of remembrance. It is purification by light. As digestion pauses, the inner alchemy begins: the pineal gland, your sacred inner eye, awakens. Dreams become portals. Intuition deepens. You hear the whisper of your higher self — maybe for the first time in lifetimes.

To fast is to burn away the false (and fat)  layers. Old identities, unhealed wounds, and 3D density melt in the sacred fire. You are left shimmering. Crystalline. Pure. Your lightbody hums, and your soul expands into realms unseen.

Rituals become anchors : rising with the sun, grounding barefoot on the Earth, pulling tarot cards in silence, placing amethyst at your crown. You sip herbal tea not just for your body, but for your spirit. You journal like a priestess chronicling a cosmic initiation. Every breath is prayer. Every emotion a message. Every fast a rebirth.

Break your fast not with food, but with gratitude. Greet yourself like an old friend newly met. Move gently. Integrate softly. You have traveled far, so far, within.

You are not depriving. You are remembering. Let it be sacred. Let it be light. Let it be you.

Fasting is not about discipline... it's about devotion. It’s not a punishment — it’s a portal.

Fasting is Spiritual Alchemy ✧

When you pause the act of eating, you awaken the act of becoming. The body grows silent. The soul speaks louder. This isn’t starvation. This is sacred stillness — a sacred conversation between you and the Divine.

As your physical appetite softens, the spiritual hunger rises. You begin to feel:

Visions in your dreams

Truths surface from your subconscious

Old energies ready to leave

A softness in the chaos... and a clarity in the quiet

The Sacred Fire Within You, Energetic Upgrade ✧

Every ancient path knew this : fasting is not emptiness — it is purification. A burning away of the ego, the noise, the illusion. You are not just detoxing your body — You are shedding timelines, burning off outdated beliefs, releasing past lives... You are preparing the soul to rise.

When you stop numbing your intuition with food, comfort, and habit... The veil thins.

You may feel closer to your guides, an activation of your psychic senses, as well as an unshakeable connection to Source

Pair this with sunrise gazing, breathwork & sacred stillness, crystal, meditation you can transform yourself throught your fast

You are not “just not eating.” You are collapsing density. You are stepping out of the 3D matrix — and into your quantum body.

With each hour of your fast, your aura recalibrates. You become lighter. Sharper. Wider. This is soul remembrance, shadow alchemy, higher self integration and feminine embodiment.

A Spiritual Ritual ✧

This is your sacred initiation — a fast, yes — but truly, a ceremony.

Before the Fast :

Cleanse your energy field (sage, palo santo, sound bowl)

Light a white candle and call in your Spirit

Journal your sacred intention (ex : “I release all that is no longer aligned with my highest timeline. I call back my power, my light, and my truth.”)

Sip herbal tea (mugwort, peppermint, rose)

Place a crystal over your heart and breathe

During the Fast :

Rise in silence. Let your first voice be your soul’s.

Pull an oracle card. Let it guide you.

Sit with your breath. Practice stillness.

Walk barefoot. Hug a tree. Be closer to nature

Journal every emotion, vision, and shadow that surfaces.

This is sacred shadow work disguised as hunger. Let it rise. Let it teach you. Let it go.

After the Fast :

Break your fast in reverence: thank your body, your spirit, your guides

Move slowly, sensually

Do a cleansing ritual: bath, dance, write, cry

Ask: What new truth am I now embodying?

Some Prompts :

What part of me did I release during this fast?

What spiritual gifts or memories reawakened?

What soul truth is now undeniable?

How will I honor this upgrade in my daily life?

Some Affirmations :

Repeat them. Breathe them. Become them.

“I am a vessel of light and divine intelligence.”

“As I empty, I become infinite.”

“My body is sacred. My spirit is sovereign.”

“Every cell within me glows with ancient knowing.”

“I am not fasting. I am remembering.”

All of this isn’t about control. This is about consecration.

You are not depriving yourself — You are devoting yourself. To your healing. To your remembering. To your ascension.

[didanawisgi]

By Doris Loh

“It takes a lot of courage to present the truth as it is.

A recently published review of melatonin, peer-reviewed of course, discusses the multi-faceted functions of melatonin that is obviously more than just an antioxidant [1].

Considering melatonin was used by living organisms before there was oxygen on earth for approximately 2 billion years [2] is enough to persuade me, at least, that melatonin has other important functions in addition to that of an antioxidant.

What is melatonin, if it is not only an antioxidant? Why did living organisms all produce melatonin when there was no need for an antioxidant for close to 2 billion years?

Is it possible that melatonin regulates phase separation?

For melatonin to effectively regulate phase separation, the amount needs to be quite high, as shown in multiple experiments that directly and indirectly demonstrate that melatonin can regulate phase separation, but at elevated doses [2.3,4].

If that is true, what does it mean for human clinical trials using 2 to 10 mg per subject?”

[1] Cardinali DP, Pandi-Perumal SR, Brown GM. Melatonin as a Chronobiotic and Cytoprotector in Non-communicable Diseases: More than an Antioxidant. Subcell Biochem. 2024;107:217-244. doi:10.1007/978-3-031-66768-8_11

[2] Loh D, Reiter RJ. The mitochondria chronicles of melatonin and ATP: Guardians of phase separation. Mitochondrial Communications. 2024;2:67-84.

[3] Loh, D.; Reiter, R.J. Light, Water, and Melatonin: The Synergistic Regulation of Phase Separation in Dementia. Int. J. Mol. Sci. 2023, 24, 5835. https://doi.org/10.3390/ijms24065835

[4] Doris Loh, Russel J. Reiter. (2024). [Review Article] Melatonin, ATP, and Cataracts: The Two Faces of Crystallin Phase Separation. Qeios. doi:10.32388/D09YND.

Image created with BioRender.com

[atomicachronicles]

Author's single explanation:

What is Atomica Chronicles? Well, it's a work-in-progress tale set in a retro sci-fi fantasy world, somewhere between 1910 and 1940, give or take a few improbable inventions/ takes of mine. I do my best to keep things simple, well, simple-ish, enough for people to maybe follow along, I'm still quite new to this Tumblr thing :))

Long Explanation:

In this alternate fantasy-sci-fi Earth, the sun has dimmed, its once-warm embrace now a feeble flicker. The planet is a frozen shell of its former self, a wasteland where humanity still thrives to survive amid a landscape both alien and familiar. The geography has transformed under the relentless siege of cold weather and war, blending the unimaginable with the bizarre.

Life on Earth has adapted in strange and sinister ways. Gigantic, crystalline trees of ice-metal hybrid material sprout from the ground, their branches chiming eerily in the winds. These “Cryoboros” trees harvest what little sunlight remains, storing energy to warm the thin atmosphere around them. Meanwhile, the fauna has evolved a similar resilience: phosphorescent wolves with coats of metallic fibers hunt prey beneath the aurora, and herds of six-legged, fur-clad “Polar Crawlers” migrate across the tundra. The Rockies, the Himalayas, and the Andes are no longer majestic peaks they're colossal glaciers, their jagged ridges softened by centuries of snowfall. Crevasses glow faintly from the trapped bioluminescent algae beneath, a cruel irony of light in the cold void. Vast ice fields stretch to every horizon, interspersed with frozen remnants of lakes and rivers. The once-vital Mississippi is now a glacial highway, its flow stilled forever.

The oceans are frozen from shore to shore, their surfaces fractured into jagged, shifting ice plates. Below these frigid barriers, geothermal vents sustain strange and alien life bioluminescent creatures that thrive in the dark depths. Above, the sky is a pale, hazy gray, occasionally slashed with streaks of auroras. The heavens are punctuated by airships and megastructures that break through the barrier known as the clouds. The only real sunny beaches are lined across the equator, as it is the only part of the world that has a clear purplish-blue sky.

Across the remaining countries, skyscrapers and symbols of progress now serve as frigid obelisks, their Art Deco facades encased in layers of frost. Below them lie frozen streets, buried under snow, where neon signs flicker weakly, powered by forgotten technologies, and large megastructures litter the world. Other megastructures around forgotten regions remain unfinished due to the ongoing war.

[skylermadness]

Crystalline Conversion (Vandham TF/MC)

(Original Date of Upload: July 29, 2022)

Original Description:

Another story written based on a suggestion from my friend Nat! With today being the official release day of Xenoblade Chronicles 3, I wanted to write something to celebrate such an occasion. Especially in part because the Xenoblade series has been a favorite game series of mine for a little over half a year now. Picking a character to write TF for also wasn't that difficult. Vandham is probably my favorite character out of the entirety of the three games I have played so far (1, 2, and X), and that coupled with how much I liked this idea made writing a Vandham TF inevitable. Plus I feel like having the first written work of him have an intense, heavily descriptive story feels worthwhile for a guy like him. He's just a lovely character overall and I wish we could have gotten more of him. Cheers to Xenoblade Chronicles 3, and here's hoping Guernica has a better fate! This story is rated Mature for heavy mentions of a bulge.

   Inventory duty has never been Maurice's expertise, which is a little weird since he's owned this store for literal months now. But having to deal with making sure everything is still in place, which is hard when your store has no organization system. Coupled with the fact this store replaces the objects he sells almost instantly makes trying to handle this specific duty rather lengthy. Then there's adding in that he has zero idea where most of this comes from, usually having left that part of the job to the store's co-owner, it all gives him a feeling of literally knowing nothing about what he's managing.

   Nonetheless, it's still a part of his job, meaning he has to take time out of his week to assess store stock.

   The hirsute bear of a man walks out from in between two shelf rows, cracking his back as he grumbles about the annoyance of looking around the lower shelves. He then pulls up his notebook and a pen, proceeding to slowly check off various names (many of which already had checks beside them) while listing things off to himself.

   "A'ready tied scarf, Delbin; Police badge, the'ret'cally Chief Bogo; Small du'l swords, unknown owner, should probbly have Two check that out…"

   He continues to stand there muttering to himself while verifying object placement and registration. It was all the same as last week, and the week before, and the week before… With his last sale only occurring a small while ago (a month, not like he starts counting days now), this part of the job is just slowly getting more monotonous. Perhaps he should consider rebranding to a cosplay shop-

   Still talking to himself and writing, Maurice starts to walk between another row of shelves. He takes a couple uncaring steps forward, his focus not really on where he was going and what his feet were touching. However his focus is quickly broken once he feels his boot collide with something, followed by the sound of said something rolling across the floor. Lifting his head from the notebook, a brow raised in question, he closed the object and stared down at the ground.

   "The hell 's this…"

   It wasn't hard to find what his foot collided with. Mainly due to the dim, lifeless grey color of the item being a lot different than the deep brown of the wooden floors. But the item itself was a rather peculiar looking one…

   Maurice stepped over to it and bent down to pick it up. It was obviously a rock or crystal of some kind, and a rather large one since it was the size of his hand. It was cleanly cut too since it was almost entirely smooth save for a few crevices, but those were obviously in there for design. The way it was cut was also fairly complex for something it's size; twelve facets, four pentagonal-shaped ones coming to an upward vertex with four also coming to a downward vertex. The sides didn't come to pointed vertices, those being replaced with diamond-shaped facets instead. 

   His gaze wandered around the shelves, the shopkeeper wondering if this had fallen off either of them. But all the shelves seemed to be filled with the usual objects. He then momentarily disregarded the crystal and placed it on the edge of one of the shelf rows. He moved his focus back to his notebook as he started to run through it again, quicker this time as he was looking for if the object was logged.

   "Row four, row four, row four…" he was whispering to himself in an almost panicked state. "Ah! Row four, now les see here…"

   His eyes scanned the list of assorted objects, trying to find any mention of 'strange crystal' anywhere, but it was quickly turning out to be fruitless as this row seemed to lack any objects such as that. Not unless he missed it in previous inventories, but that seemed… like a slim possibility actually. But that's beside the point. 

   Closing the notebook, sighing in disappointment as he does so, he picks up the crystal again and stares at it curiously. Turning it around in his hand, feeling out the facets and poking the points. "Pecular bugger, ain't'cha…"

   It didn't even respond to that, which… interested him, to say the least.

   Owning a magic object store tends to come with learning many things. For Maurice, one of these things was magic detection and object call/response. A lot of times objects would respond to comments towards them by dimly glowing, or sparkling or something. This doesn't always occur though, as Maurice has recently found less savory and more accursed and vile objects (objects that shouldn't be sold typically) tend not to respond.

   But then comes detecting magic. Having been working here for some time, Maurice is usually able to tell the magical aura of something just by staring at it. Wizard intuitions and stuff. And everything in this store has a magic aura.

   Everything but the crystal he was holding.

   He continues to gawk at the lifeless object, trying to determine if his growing concerns were correct. "C'mon ya' weird thing, glow 'r somethin'." 

   But all the rock did was stay dark.

   "Mmmm, maybe this shop can summ'n dead 'r useless objecs."

   He was half expecting the crystal to react to being called useless, but it didn't. He didn't really want to think of it as useless, but considering the way it was (or well, wasn't) functioning, it was far from something he was able to feel comfortable selling. 

   Lowering the hand holding the crystal, he had to think of something to do. On one hand, potent magic could activate it, but he has no idea what this is or what that would do. That was the same reason he couldn't stick it in the so-called Shame Closet with all the vile relics either. He could maybe brew something up that'd completely disintegrate the thing…

   …Or he could just throw it out.

   There was some risk to it, but his reasoning hinged on the fact that this thing had no magic within it whatsoever. Even something dormant contains trace magic. So it would be a pretty fine resolution.

   Leaving the shelves and heading to the front of his store, he disregards his notebook on the counter and heads outside, crystal still in hand.

   The outside proves itself to be cold the moment he steps out, not really being the weather to just be wearing a polo shirt and ripped jeans. Nonetheless, he heads to the alleyway that parts the end of his store with that of another.

   Besides a few stray puddles, the alleyway was a pretty clean one. Likely because the small family-owned restaurant that neighbored him didn't want rats or something. Although it seemed the dumpster that laid beside the wall of said restaurant was left open. A perfect opportunity to chuck the crystal in it and forget about this!

   A silly thought did cross Maurice's mind though. Lifting his arm up and pulling it back, he had decided he would just throw it in there! 

   "God, what'm I thinkin'..."

   Well, he's already committed to it.

   "Grruhh-!" He growls out as he hurls the object.

   It ends up hitting the side of the dumpster, pretty loudly, and clattering on the ground. And Maurice could've sworn he heard a cat run further into the alley at the sound of the incident.

   "Aw heck. Nev'r been the mos' athletic," he says, slightly dejected. He shrugs it off though, deciding to leave the crystal on the ground and walk back to the store.

   What's the worst that could happen with an impotent object like that anyway?

                                        ----------------------------------------------------------

   Even with a hoodie on, Nat found it to be pretty cold out here. The occasional gusts of wind did not help with that whatsoever.

   He was hoping taking a detour through the city's shopping district was going to end up shortening his walk home. It was somewhat working, but it was still somewhat tiresome since the block he was on still happened to be the largest block of the entire district. It did come with being mildly quiet though, not many people being around and all.

   He was roughly halfway down the block when his olfactory senses were assaulted by the smell of food, definitely thanks to the restaurant he was passing by. It was definitely doing its job at making him start feeling a little hungry, but not enough to really stop his walk home. 

   But once he passed by the restaurant, he found himself stopping. He had noticed a lengthy alleyway, but judging by what the other side looked like it looked to be a good place to try and cut his time through the block. Plus, thanks to the buildings in the way, he won't have to worry about the worsening cold that the wind doles out.

   Nat sauntered into the alley, relieved that it was less cold than the outer block seemed to be. The smell here was a little worse for wear though, likely due to the open dumpster that he was beginning to approach. He attempted to step aside from it, but his foot ended up snagging onto something that was just barely wedged beneath the dumpster.

   "SHIT-" was all he could yell out in reaction as he tripped over the object and fell onto the ground.

   Hands already sore from preventing him from face planting, he groaned as he steadily got up. While relieved that he didn't fall into the dangerously close puddle that was just a few centimeters from where he was, he was also curious as to what his foot caught onto.

   Curiosity turned to surprise once he turned around and looked at what was beneath the corner of the dumpster.

   Well, beneath isn't correct. It was too large to fit under it, but it was close enough to the dumpster that it could be a hazard. But what was most interesting about it was… everything, actually.

   Picking it up, Nat found that whatever this object was seemed to be a rock. Blackish grey in color, fairly large in his hand, extremely well cut, and being almost smooth on all facets. In all honesty it looked more like an extremely expensive gemstone, considering its size and cut.

   "Woah, you're pretty cool looking…" 

   While not sure what type of rock it was, it definitely looked to be a pretty neat object. He did wonder why it was so close to a dumpster, and if someone was just trying to throw it away, but why would anyone want to discard such a nice (and again, expensive looking) crystal like this?

   A thought then crossed his mind. "This would look great in my rock collection."

   Perhaps its size and look would be a little out of place, but it was hard to deny how awesome the prospect of having this thing in his collection would be. 

   He attempted to shove it into the pocket of his hoodie, having some trouble fitting the rather large thing in there, but he was able to force it in there after a few seconds. It's rather large size was kind of proven by the fact that one of the facets' shapes could be seen pushing into the pocket's fabric. Plus there was the new weight added thanks to it, but it wasn't all that heavy.

   Satisfied, Nat starts his walk back up again; excited to add this crystal to his collection once he gets home.

                                        ----------------------------------------------------------

   Click!

   Light switch flicking on, the living room brightens as Nat fully enters it. He lets out a long, calm exhale, glad to finally be home. He takes a moment to consider what he wants to make for dinner, but his mind quickly segways once he remembers the rock he found. He was rather curious at how it'd compare to the rest of his collection.

   With his collection being in his bedroom, Nat forgos going to the kitchen and decides to head upstairs to his bedroom.

   Once there, he pulled the box containing his rock collection off from the one shelf he had in the room and placed the box down on his bed. Opening it revealed a menagerie of stones of assorted sizes, types, colorations, all collected over the course of multiple years.

   But as he starts to look down at his hoodie, he sees that something is… glowing in there. Well, not just something. It was obviously the rock…

   "What…?"

   He plunges his hand into his pocket and grasps onto the rock, the cold glassy stone now feeling warm to the touch. It takes another few moments to wrestle the thing out of the pocket, but once he does he starts to inspect it.

   The crystal is now a soft blue color, glowing warmly while releasing a soft humming noise. 

   He decided to cup it with both hands in order to hold it easier, continuously staring down at it in a worried curiosity.

   "What kind of rock are you…" he whispers. 

   As if it were reacting to his question the crystal releases two flashes of light while starting to hover for just a second, which ends up startling Nat into dropping it. 

   "What the hell-"

   Interrupted, the crystal tumbles to the ground and Nat takes a few steps back while blinking his eyes, having been momentarily blinded by the mysterious object. Once he was able to see again, he readjusted his glasses and looked down at the crystal in worry.

   Everything was getting increasingly complicated to grasp- "Did… did it just…"

   He wasn't able to finish his sentence, being cut off by another blast of intense, shining light that was practically spilling out of the crystal itself. Nat was quickly enveloped by the light, warmth filling his body momentarily as he started to feel something within him alter- like there was something more to this warmth than he was aware of.

   "Wh-what…"

   He barely had time to properly react, the man starting to feel an intense pressure wrack his entire body, with his back being the area experiencing the most of it.

   "NNNGHRH-"

   Breathing intensifying, he could feel his entire form begin to pulsate. The pressure that had rapidly built up within it squeezed at his bones, practically tugging at them as his body was being forced to lengthen and grow taller. His spine was quick to decompress, his legs working alongside it as they stretched out more. His arms were getting longer too to fit the new proportions. 

   Despite all of this he was only gaining a few inches of height, going from 5’7 to 6 feet in seconds. This merely resulted in his hoodie becoming a size smaller with the bottom reaching his waist while the sleeves revealed some wrist. Beneath it, his t-shirt began to show just a hint of stomach. The same applied to his pants, the legs inching a little further from his ankles as his changes steadily built up within him. 

   All while his body lengthened, it was at the same time beginning to gain bulk. Intense heat coursed throughout his entire form, a feeling almost akin to a heavy workout settling in his muscles. At the same time came an odd bubbling sensation in his torso and gut, which was steadily shifting into bloating. 

   "Hhhhoh… what's… happening…" he spoke out in between breaths. His breathing was quickening, and he could feel his heart beating up against his already pulsing chest. It was hard to focus on everything though, everything was constantly burning in him and it was overwhelming.

   Muscles continuously ached; pulsating, enlarging, and slowly filling out his t-shirt while at the same time starting to make its way to tightening the man's hoodie.

   The muscle growth was more exemplified in his arms. Pulsations we're coursing through the limbs, his hands constantly shifting size but always ending up larger than they once were. They constantly were packing on more meat, a heavy thickness filling them out while causing his fingers to enlarge and lengthen into thick sausages in comparison to what they were before. Then there were his palms, slowly hardening with a callous as each hand continued to stretch.

   Happening concurrently was the changes in his arms. He was still in a constant sensation of burning. His arms begin to bulge, clear definition settling within them. The hoodie rode above his wrists slightly as his forearms were increasing with mass. It went upwards more with each passing minute of enlargement, riding onwards more and more, revealing his thickening lower arms. As it started to reach his elbow, the sleeves steadily and cleanly filled out, in due because his previously non-existent biceps were beginning to swell. Triceps were increased too, defining his arm even further.

   Nat could only get a glimpse of his hand for a moment before another blast of light, pale blue this time, assaulted him. A sudden spasm coursed through his nerves as a result.

   "GRRRAAGH-" 

   He clenched both hands into fists, his arm muscles tightening as his entire body underwent another rapid pulsation. His height increased yet again, forcing his shirt to rise further up his body making the top end of his jeans and his belt visible. Everything else was effectively following the same pattern too; sleeves going further up his forearms, pants getting high enough to reveal a small portion of the crus of the leg, and the t-shirt he wore rising to show a bit more of his gut.

   His arms continued to bulk causing the tightness of his hoodie to increase more. Muscles constantly pulsated, his muscle mass getting more defined with each pulse. Noticeably ridges forming within the skin, a more visible sign of his newfound strength. The sleeves of his hoodie only got tighter as a result, moreso with his ballooning deltoids. His shoulders were following his arms, bulking out while stretching to become massive, broader.

   Nat let out a deep, shuddered exhale, his legs buckling slightly as the magnitude of the changes were getting much. "Gghhoh, s…so… hot… so heavy…"

   His breathing deepens more as his neck enters the beginning phases of its own internal changes, the diameter of it increasing more and slowly reaching the edges of the necks of his clothing. His voice was also beginning to crack, with hints of it already starting to grow deeper.

   His deeper breathing was fuelling the bloating within his chest and abdomen with, at first, subtle changes. His chest started barreling outwards, his torso beginning to broaden, small cleavage forming as his pectorals first started to grow. His midsection quivers, a churning in his stomach commencing as the area begins to get slightly pudgy. This then progresses further, gradually swelling more each moment. And with each breath he took, everything slowly advanced. Everything rippling and churning, his pecs and gut on their way to becoming bulkier and heavier, less subtle. It all just made his hoodie even more discomforting to wear.

   "Tight… aaaahhh…" was all he could say. He slowly lifted a large, heavy hand up to the zipper. His bulging deltoids made moving his shoulder around a hassle, the sleeves of his t-shirt already filling in while the sleeves of his hoodie were constricting movement. The next issue came with the size ratio between his meaty fingers and the small zipper, making catching it in between two fingers a problem. But once he was able to grasp it, he attempted to pull it down.

   Unfortunately, trying to unzip his hoodie was a strenuous experience. He could only get it down roughly an inch and a half before it started having trouble, the metallic object being stopped by his increasingly large pectorals. His torso was still within its phase of growth with his pecs becoming thick slabs of muscle. He could swear an indentation of the cleavage was already subtly forming in the gray fabric of his hoodie, but he was more focused on getting the zipper down.

   "C-come down!"

   By some Architectural grace, the zipper did as he commanded and got beyond the cleavage. It was also beginning to slide down itself, his hulking torso forcing the zipper down further. For a moment it looked like it was going to get caught in his swelling belly, but it managed to reach the halfway point and got pushed down the rest of the way by his stomach. 

   He momentarily stopped as he saw what was going on with his abdomen. While he could feel the same strength and muscle beneath it, it was obviously shrouded beneath a developing gut. Fat was accumulating quickly in his belly, churning and bubbling around it forcing it to balloon and push the t-shirt he was wearing further upwards. 

   All of this forced the slider to escape the bottom stop, the two halves of his hoodie now drifting to his sides. He knew he had to take action fast if he wanted this thing off before it ripped.

   Moving around was a laborious and slightly painful task for Nat. He attempted to shift his arms around, constantly taking steps in order to find a good spot in his room to stretch everything. He was constantly worried he'd end up ripping the thing, fighting against the fabric to pull his hands through. It took almost half a minute of wrestling around with the arm before he could successfully pull his hand into the hole and slide it out the sleeve. 

   Everything was getting hotter though. Hotter and heavier and harder and- "Uurgh, fuck-"

   Breathing quickened more, beads of sweat materializing on his forehead. His hands weakened momentarily, just, everything was getting harder to handle. But he forced himself to go forward, and while clutching onto the other sleeve he was able to pull the other arm out a little more easily. Once that was over he heaved the hoodie onto the ground before being blinded by another flash of light from the crystal and forced to feel another overwhelming feeling.

   "GGHHHRRAAHHHAH-"

   This feeling was still intense, still hot, but now it felt… different. It felt like a sense of power surging through him. 

   Another set of inches piled onto him as he went through yet another growth spurt, the bones in his back and legs (along with the rest of his body) lengthening for a third time since this all began. His chest packed on more bulk, swelling cleanly into his t-shirt as the hem of it rose up his belly. The cleavage of his pectorals started to faintly etch into the orange cotton, meanwhile his delts enlarged to fill out the shoulders.

   His belt was the next major thing to grow constricting, now under the pressure of his widening waist and constantly shifting girth. The belt tried it's best to hold everything in, his jeans doing the same as the zipper slowly was getting pushed down by an increasing mass within. The same could be applied to the rear of the pants, steadily filling out as each second passed.

   Having already gained several inches, Nat now roughly around 6ft 4, his pants had started becoming too short for him. His legs soon begin trembling as bulk starts to fill them out. Thighs steadily swelling, the muscles in them hardening and widening them out. His calves were bulking up as well, thick, heavy, pushing his jeans up even more than they were now. The denim soon started digging into his skin as his muscles were thick enough to further etch themselves into the legwear. Bulging, rippling throughout them, slowly but surely becoming visible from beneath them.

   A surge of energy hits his feet, forcing yet another wave of changes. His feet slowly began to stretch, toes curling as both feet grew a size larger, then another. His shoes were a bit cramped now, and his feet were still growing bigger and thicker. The toe caps were beginning to bulge with the indents of his toes while the rest of the footwear was looking like it was swollen. The straps that held them closed were undoing themselves under the force of his feet, slowly but surely losing the ability to contain them.

   Another strap on each shoe snapped as Nat took another few disorientated steps backwards, bumping into a dresser and knocking over a few things on top of it. Sweat crept down his face and arms, heat still coursing through his muscles as he was still getting an instant workout. His shirt was still getting tighter by the second, he could even feel some air hit his shoulders as a few rips started forming in the sleeves. The neck continued to constrain, the hem continued to ride up his belly. It was getting hard to think. His mind was muddling, either under the heat or the confusion of it all.

   "Aaa… aaaahhh- f-fuckin'... ain't feelin' to well…"

   He swallowed a forming lump in his throat. Was his voice different? It seemed deeper and accented but he… he can't seem to tell anything anymore. 

   "Sso hot…"

   He raised an arm to his forehead and wiped off some sweat. "I… I nneed to…" His eyes closed for a moment as he tried to come up with what he wanted to say. Everything was confusing, muddled, he wasn’t quite sure what was going on. There was an odd feeling of something… pressing, in his mind? 

   “Can’t… think straight…”

   His voice was cracking some more. Although it seemed to be for a while, but then again it’s getting hard to remember that stuff. And did it sound… foreign? And if so, which parts? A lingering sense, a feeling of unfamiliarity with himself was settling in Nat, but his mind holds for just a bit longer.

  Nat started to stumble around the room, steps heavy and shaky, towards the bed. His shoes continued to constrain, feet uncomfortable with each step forward. His pants strained against his legs, both limbs progressing in their own muscle gain. Walking itself was even strenuous, everything hot, tiresome, heavy and aching.

   His belt was unable to take the weight anymore and the buckle cleanly snapped, the rest of the leather staining before scuffing and tearing. A heat was filling his groin, the region working its way in swelling itself. The zipper of his jeans were already pulled down, button struggling to hold it together, but the growth in size forced it to break. The groin region was bulging in size, slowly falling out his pants as his briefs attempted to hold his meaty package together. 

   The back of his pants were undergoing a similar challenge. A fatal attempt to hold in his thickening glutes while his legs moved. They were already filled out, but a growing crevice was getting visible with each step. His butt was expanding and pushing out the seat of the jean's further, forcing them tighter. Even with pressure alleviated around the waist thanks to the open zipper, wearing these pants wasn't going to last long. This became clear once the seat of his pants couldn't handle containing his ass anymore and started to split open, revealing more of his underwear.

   The seams holding the denim together began splitting; a mixture of weight, leg movement, and sheer leg size finally pushing past their limitations. His thighs widened, quads and hamstrings bulging out in opposite directions and tearing his legwear apart at the sides. His knees were growing increasingly visible, holes emerging on that area of his jeans with each step. His calves forced the legs upwards more as muscle mass spilled out of them too. His legs were easily becoming the same muscularity as his arms: thick, heavy, massive, powerful. 

   Heat was still burning in them as they continued to swell and stretch, pulling apart his pants furthermore. Portions of them were already beyond what they got handle and were torn from the rest of the legwear, material now sloughing off his legs and showing more skin. The growing in his rear split the seat even more, aided by his wide hips to force the midline of the jeans to fully split apart and causing his bulge to descend slightly as a result. Eventually the muscle changes would halt, but what fragments of denim remained would cascade off his skin, slowly flowing down softly onto the ground. This revealed his legs to be wide, meaty, and muscular. With all the additional shifts and changes undergone, he'd also be settling at 6ft 8.

   His shoes were next, unable to hold any longer as his blunt, thick toes pushed out of the toe cap of the cloth. The straps that once held the shoes closed were all undone. The bridge of his foot pushed through the tongue of the shoe and shredded the top apart. Ankles bulged out, the overall size of his feet finally decimating his footwear. And while chunks of cloth drifted off his feet, all that was left intact were the soles, left behind in two simple steps. Air hit his feet, both massive with thick toes, wide soles, and an overall huge and chunky look.

   The hem of his t-shirt was over his belly at this point, stretched over his torso and filled to the brim with raw muscle. His thick tree trunk of a neck was pushing out the neck, a fissure slowly forming down the midline as a result of the strenuous task of holding everything in. Cleanly split holes were also budding across the fabric; more of his rippling pecs, massive delts, and broad back growing evermore visible by the second. The fabric stretches so thin over his massive arms, his bulging biceps, that it starts to tear and gradually succumb to the thickly-muscled limbs, steadily bursting up the shoulders. Soon, his shirt was expanded beyond what even itself could contain. Rips and gaps meshing together, more and more skin becoming visible, lines of fabric and string finally breaking against his hard muscles. Soon, bits of orange fabric fell off his body and onto the ground as well.

   Spilling out of it all was his body. A large, massive gut that possessed strength behind its fat. Slabs for pectorals, meaty and somewhat soft looking. Huge hands with thick sausages for fingers, connected to muscular arms that clearly show off a lot of strength.

   An X-shaped scar started to emerge between his eyes, the scar slowly making its way across his face as his mind hazes even further. The pressure in his mind continues to grow, like a feeling of something overpowering him mentally.

   “Grrugh, c…can’t think straight-”

   A pressure ached around his face as a new set of shifts rippled across it. His skull steadily growing in size; jawline crackling, sculpting out into something smooth and chiseled at first. His chin then bulges as it descends a little more with a crease fading into it. His skull structure starts to make its way into a blocky, rectangular shape; the softer features it once had smoothing out into a more rugged, mature look. Protrusions start to poke out the diagonals of his face; hard, rocky, pointed scales emerging from those areas.

   His eyes shut again as he tries to fight whatever is in his head, attempts to resist whatever is going on and tries to collect himself. “This… feeling… bloody ‘ell-”

   The scar grows larger as his face does. The tip of his nose blunts, the bridge of it widening while the nostrils flare larger. His ears begin to poke out the sides of his head a little more as their own tips elongate to a point, the soft cartilage stretching out and thinning while the insides grow slightly deeper as the result of their new shape. These changes result in his glasses hitching onto his face, frames unable to simply fall off as they are now locked into its widening form. 

   Foreign thoughts cascaded through Nat’s brain, things getting harder to focus on. Resisting growing more laborious. “N-No, I… m… must be hungover or somethin’-”

   More changes wrack his face in its constant growth. Eyebrows getting thicker, hairs on them becoming a stony grey. The scales start to bubble up and down the sides of his face hardening then. His eyes get slightly smaller, a grayish-brown settling into the deep green of his irises while his vision steadily improves. It doesn't take long until the glasses he's wearing breaks apart, temples breaking apart at the hinge as the rim falls onto the ground.

   Eyesight woozes a little, momentarily shifting from blurry to improving for a few seconds. “W-what is… fuck, must’ve had to much to drink at Vargel’s… makin’ my eyesight all weird-”

   Impossibility was settling into him, the feeling of being ‘Nat’ more fleeting as a new entity took over. Everything foreign, everything faint. Conflicting thoughts and emotions beginning to arise. 

   The nape of his neck tickles slightly as his hair starts to steadily lengthen. Follicles getting longer, the brown coloration of them fading away into silver as each second passed. An odd mix of styles start to formulate on his scalp as his hair continues to grow. The top frontmost portions arise and comb themselves, messy hairs melding into a neat formation as they continue to extend. A thick, pomp-like style is what develops in that area; tall, rounded, dense, and clean.

   Yellows and blues etch into the follicles of his sides, the remainder of the hair to the sides and back of his head slowly cascading downwards. Unlike the hair to his top, the hair to his back was messier. Although it maintained the same luscious thickness, ends were sticking out and curling upward, an unkempt mane of hair trickling down his neck and onto his back. Despite this, it looked nice, full, and somewhat fluffy. 

   Confused stumbling continued, him completely unaware that the crystal was rapidly pulsating again. Another flash of light spilled through the room, and the moment his peripherals caught onto it his head began to ache. Hands trembled as he pulled them to the sides of his head, gripping onto them as his mind truly started to twist in confusion.

   His neck throbs, the inner workings of it finally beginning to solidify his constant vocal changes. The vocal cords shift; growing, strengthening, widening, all to cement a new voice as his own. Previously, all it's been doing is cracking his voice, deepening it, giving him a slight accent, conflicting between his own and a different one. But now…

   "I… ahhh… c-can't… walk very… Uurgh…"

   With a final crack, his voice hardens. Deep, gruff, and containing a very noticeable accent; Urayan of course (what was he thinking, it's… Aus… huh)... But that couldn't be his voice, could it?

   "Should've gotten another… one of the mates- could've helped with… uugh, Architect-"

   He squeezes his head harder, a headache now bulging in his forehead.

   "Bloody- this ain't… grrrruhh…"

   A crisis of identity starts to truly bud within his mind. His own name was growing foreign to him as he was having trouble determining who he was. The past few minutes became a blur, come to think of it everything was a blur. He was having trouble recalling memories of his own, rather remembering foreign memories that… that he could've sworn were not his own. 

   Vague recollections of pounding down one or two drinks at the tavern in Garfront (how does he know that name, and… he's never drunk alcohol, has he?)

   Congratulating some of the other mercs on a job well done- especially since this was a rather big one! (mercenary work? No- that… can't…)

   "Didn't think I… had that much to drink, gotta train some rookies today after all…"

   A small thought questioning why he'd be training anyone crossed his mind, but at this point whatever was left of Nat is fading fast. More muddled memories of a long life settling into his mind, much of it even he didn't care to remember, especially that name- there's a reason he's gone with Vandham nowadays.

   …Vandham…

   "Can't… can't believe I got so drunk I… couldn't recall my name!"

   That thought made him laugh a little, the haze slowly but surely subsiding. It did have some stuff to leave behind, replacing previous skills with new ones. He could recall how to wield quite a few weapons like the back of his hand! He's usually had a preference for the larger ones though-

   There were also a couple fleeting thoughts. Some smaller stuff that had to be done himself that he should probably get to once he sobered up- mostly awkward paperwork regarding payments and other job requests. Not the most exciting parts, but it helped keep the mercs afloat. 

   "Gotta get yourself together, mate…"

   A trail of destroyed articles of clothing was left in the man's wake, and all of his stumbling around brought him next to his bed. Still dazed and confused (and believing himself to be hungover), he took a seat upon it to rest. Unfortunately, the bed was instantly proving unable to hold his weight and a sudden cacophony of creaks and snaps rang through the bedroom. There was a sudden drop of a few inches shortly after, his belly and bulge jiggling slightly as that happened.

   Massaging a side of his head, Vandham lets out a small laugh at that. "Heh, I'm… guessing this thing can't support a big mate like myself's weight, huh?"

   The pain was already starting to die down, although heat was still coursing through his body a little. Sweat continued to edge its way down his body. There was even a slight throbbing sensation in his crotch area, likely a reaction to his undersized briefs he was wearing at the moment…

   "Don' quite remember puttin' these on-"

   Come to think of it, he was starting to realize he can't exactly remember where he was right now either.

   He shifted around the mattress a little, a slight itching sensation now entering some of his body. A result of scars starting to etch their way onto it. Down his left pec, across the side of his upper left arm, a slash across his back, a cut on his neck. Old scars multiplying across his body, all signs of a new life engraving in him.

   He flinched for a moment as another flash of light entered his vision, although now it was oddly familiar. "What the hel-"

   He was cut off, his breath suddenly hitching momentarily as he felt a slight discomfort in his abdomen. Sizeable scar tissue formed; a large pool of collagen spilling across the midsection of his gut. It was deeper in coloration than the other scars, an indicator of it being recent, with a slight area started bubbling in the middle of the tissue. 

   The light shone brighter as a reaction to this, the crystal beginning to float above the ground. Light was spilling everywhere, flowing from the blue stone and enveloping everything. Blinding white only intensified, Vandham closing his eyes as that light encompassed the entire room and enveloped his form.

   Then it all stopped…

   Opening his eyes, he found the light was gone and the source… disappeared? 

   There was still a minor discomfort in his gut however. Vandham looked down at it to find a shard of a Core Crystal embedded in his abdomen, a large contracture scar stretching from where it was placed.

   "Still tryin' to get used to ya; huh, mate?"

   All the crystal did was pulsate. But then again, it always did that. 

   His eyes then caught onto a pair of glasses that were laying on the ground. Or well, fragmented remains.

   "Huh," he leaned down, bed creaking some more, and reached a hand down to pick it up. He was a little bemused by the fact that the rim looked so small compared to the fingers that pinched it.

   Holding it up to eye level, he raised a brow in curiosity. "Where'd these come from…"

   Inspecting the glasses put his mind in a slight moment of questioning, trying to rationalize who they were (momentarily fighting himself thinking they were his despite their size). It was enough to distract him from what was occurring on the ground.

   Small motes of light slowly arose from the shreds of clothing that were on the floor. The edges of each shred started to glow as something began settling amongst them all. 

   The remaining sole of the shoes curled into itself amongst the light, the tip rising while the division between the heel and the rest of the sole grew. The bits and pieces of cloth that once composed of the shoe then floated off the ground, slowly making their way towards the soles as they themselves underwent a menagerie of shifts.

   What would end up being the top cap and upper heel merged back together, the cap itself curling upwards as well while the front sharpened to a point. The former tongue of the shoe enlarged, becoming less of a tongue and more of a covering of some sort. The same applied to various other aspects; the pull tab, the arch bandages, the padding, strap guard, all of them were meshing and melding into various layers of some kind of different footwear. The straps had even merged into two separate pseudo-belts, meanwhile another chunk of shreds enlarged and transformed into two-layered knee pads.

   All of this ended up coming together into a pair of complexly made boots. Chunks of leather connecting, sewing and stitching together, a belt wrapping around the back of the heel while the knee pads were left discarded on the upwardly curved toe caps. Multiple shades of green then started to seep into what used to be plain black and white, the inner layers of these boots being darker while the outer shades were lighter. The knee pads also appeared to materialize a blue gem on the middle of each one, metal buckles hardening to the sides as the second pair of belts slink over to them.

   Then came what happened to the remainder of his scraps of clothing. Denim and cotton all floating and twisting, more greens started to etch into those as well as they began to undergo similar drastic changes.

   Instead of simply restitching and becoming the new forms equivalent of what they would've been, the remains all seemed to undergo their own thing. A few scraps were growing, shifting and squishing together as they became a pair of leather bracers. Another set twisted together, deepening to black and oozing outward into a pair of fingerless gloves. 

   Many shreds became plain and simplistic objects. Some lengthened out, metal forming on the ends as they became various sets of belts that'd go across the big man's body. There was one belt that was meant for the waist; hard denim becoming a leathery blue while oranges shifted tone to green, everything coming together into a lengthier belt with an oddly shaped buckle and shards of metal studded throughout it. Many remnants of clothing then bulked out into pouches of various sizes to adorn this new belt. And out of everything that came from the minor clothes shifts, there was a clump of remains that merged together into a large, hefty shoulder pauldron that looked to be more metallic than it was leather. Beside the pauldron bubbled an orange, rigid arm bracer.

   The largest changes came with the scraps that fused into more complex objects. There came some that enlarged into rectangular metallic plates, interlocking side by side with each other until they could circle an entire body. Raising from those plates was a set of belts that would give this armor piece an odd overalls look when worn. A strip of a thin, small and blue material emerged and draped downwards from the outside of each plate.

   What remained of the cotton and denim fragments floated and stitched with each other. Black was spreading across the article of clothing they were making, thick pillars of red appearing on the front of the legs and back of the legs. The new legwear was undergoing an increasingly large size change, getting bulkier and baggier for a few seconds before stopping. 

   Now littering the ground were multiple articles of clothing and armor, belts and pouches, two big boots and knee pads. The only thing that was off about them was the size: miniscule in comparison to the guy on the bed. Rather, they seemed to be the size of how they would fit his previous form. Small and thin, although maybe slightly larger than his body would have been.

   This was quickly rectified, however, as another bout of glowing outlined the attire. Everything started to enlarge again, bigger and heavier, better equipped to handle a thicker guy. The shifts in size were quickly packing everything together, pushing everything around and moving things further than their previous locations. It was rapidly looking to become a mountain of metal and leather.

   Vandham continued to eye the glasses for another few moments, thoughts still trying to grasp who exactly these were before, but was snapped out of it when he felt something press against his foot.

   "Hm. Ah well, they look broken anyway." He then decides to crush them in the palm of his hand. Quick, easy, like they were nothing. 

   He disregards the shrapnel on the ground, then turns his head to see what was touching his foot, which was shown to be one of his boots.

   Wait…

   Vandham looked down at himself again. His hardened pecs, his massive gut, his rippling arms and legs. Then there was that massive bulge in his undergarments…

   He scratched the side of his head. "Bloody hell am I doin' naked…"

   Leaning sideways to pick up the boot, the sound of another snap echoed throughout the bedroom before his position fell downwards yet again. The front legs of the bed screeched for a moment as they pushed forward, the frame having split in half beneath his weight. The mattress remained intact, but he could hear the strain of its springs beneath his rear.

   "Heh, I should probably get off this thing quick."

   Trying to clothe himself was a little confusing. Partially because his mind was still having trouble between familiar and unfamiliar actions, but he easily found himself falling into the rhythm of things. Why wouldn't he, he's done this every day of his life!

   The armor was always the most annoying part. Having to place it upright and step into it, then heaving it upwards by the straps before buckling everything. Moving it around to be comfortable. Then came slipping on the pauldron, strapping it onto his shoulder with a few of the belts and more shifting for comfortability.

   Vandham shifted around the pile of clothing for a few moments in search of his arm bracer, but he ended up finding his pants. Big, baggy, black and red, perfect fit for him really. A part of him wished there was a pair of properly sized underwear in this pile, but the thought of seeing his bulge bobble around a bit gave a part of him a strange sense of… euphoria? Self-indulgence? …Arousal? Whatever.

   Getting the pants on was easy, then he had to follow it up with the belt. Somehow his pouches also all got unfastened, and they were also surprisingly empty. 

   With his legwear on, he was able to locate the arm bracer along with the gloves and wrist bracers he wore. Putting those on were easy enough, leather tightly hugging his calloused wrists while more leather wrapped around his wrists. Then there were the belts that went around his wrists and arm. 

   The springs moaned as he took another seat on the mattress momentarily, shoving his feet into his boots and putting his knee pads over the already layered footwear and baggy pants. With some final adjustments, loosening any tight harnesses and tightening any too loose ones. His gaze was then brought to one last article of clothing on the ground.

   A grey hoodie.

   He got up from off the bed and walked over towards the oddly familiar object. Bending down and picking it up, he found that it was already pretty small for someone his size. And holding it out seemed to prove that by quite a bit. It looked to only be comparable to his torso and abdomen alone, and that was pushing it since it somehow seemed smaller than that. 

   There was a fleeting thought in his mind over the concept of wearing it. "Heheh, dunno what I'm thinking. I'm much too big to wear this!"

   He crumpled the hoodie up and decided to turn it around and throw it onto the mattress. As he did so, his attention was drawn to another object. A small box that was slowly sliding down the mattress. 

   Curious, Vandham took a step forward and looked into the box. It appeared to be filled with assorted rocks of various shapes, sizes, and colors. But it didn't really seem to be the most interesting thing in this room, especially if it lacked any Core Crystals to find. Honestly, most of this room was growing rather disinteresting. He wasn't sure where he was or why he was here, and the nagging familiarity of the place was getting to be slightly annoying.

   He started to piece together all the weirdness of the scenario. "The hell did I do last night…"

   Vandham was pulled out of his thoughts by a low rumble escaping his belly. Smiling, he patted the armor over the spot (particularly where the crystal was embedded in him). "Guess you're gettin' hungry, ey mate? Definitely be good fer us to get somethin' if I drank somethin' that strong~"

   The feeling of knowing this place did come in handy at least. He knew where the kitchen was, somehow. Getting there on the other hand…

   This house was not built for someone of his proportions, to say the least. At least back in Garfront everything was accommodated to larger sizes (usually because Blade size can be fairly unpredictable), so residing in it was without inconvenience. Here though, the doorways were thinner than his width, and the first attempt to try and exit what he assumed to be the bedroom was more than slightly annoying. Trying to make himself as small as possible in order to fit past a door frame was not a fun experience, especially since his armor still made him seem a little thicker laterally. Having that press up against your body (especially when you're still getting used to a Crystal embedded in you) is uncomfortable, to say the least.

   "With how much work this is already getting to be I'm hoping this place has some good Armu T-Bone Steak."

   Escaping that eventually led to a small walkway that he could just barely fit through. The top of his hair also seemed to graze the ceiling. There was also the fact that his steps made the floorboards of these creak sometimes.

   Going down the stairs was another uneasy trek. Railing forcing him to go sideways, feet too large to really fully fit on a step. The steps creaking rather loudly beneath his feet also did not make matters any better. Not even Uraya's cliffsides made him feel this uneasy. Luckily, he was able to get down fairly unscathed; save for that final step that seemed to just break as he got off. 

   With one final right turn he reached the doorway of what his mind told him was the kitchen. Getting through the doorway was just as much of a hassle as the last time, but it wasn't as hard since he knew how to handle this now… mostly.

   Just as expected, everything in the kitchen was small in comparison to him, but really his focus was now on the fridge. Squeezing in the space between the fridge and a table (which really just his rear bumping into the table and pushing it back some); Vandham foregone pulling the handle (knowing it to be too miniscule for his hand) and just went with pulling the door open from the side. Considering his strength, doing so was a success.

   Most of the food in here seemed to be random leftovers, assorted fruits, and various other foods that needed to be kept cold; all of which was in a clean three layer system.

   That was disrupted rather quickly once Vandham shoved his hand in there and started rummaging around. Rummaging meaning knocking things around, trying to pull some things out but having trouble doing so when everything is diminutive in comparison to you, and accidentally squishing one or two fruits. 

   "Architect, this thing is small…"

   Eventually, after about half a minute of messing up the fridge, Vandham was able to find something that would be of interest to him.

   It looked to be a slab of meat wrapped in foil. Likely already cooked, just needed to get it heated up. Unfortunately, it literally fits in the palm of one hand, so he didn't expect it to do too much filling.

   "Likely not Armu, but this'll do. This'll do…"

[steddiebang]

Tessellation

Author: @maryofdoom l Artist: @sparkle-fiend Posting on Friday, November 17

Steve is a knight. Steve wants to be rescued. Steve knows how to swim. Steve is tired of the ranch. Steve is pretty good at stitches. And Steve has been told that the Void is endless. Eddie wears a knight’s favor. Eddie is a tiefling bard who’s here to save the day. Eddie is a rusalka. Eddie has a way with horses. Eddie is about to bleed to death in the guest room. And Eddie has seen the Void from the other side. Six stories, six universes, ad infinitum. Steve and Eddie.

Keep reading for a sneak preview!

This tale I shall tell you, Of Stephen of Harrington in Loch Nora, Of his friends and retainers, Those who in jest called him King. I shall tell you of his noble and selfless deeds, Of his prowess on the field of battle, Of his faithful companion Torsten de Henderson, To whom he gave wise counsel. And I shall tell you above all how he came to know Edward de Munson, whom he loved so much. —the Chronicle of Robin of Buckley

…On and on he went, and in his single-minded pursuit, he did not notice the forest as it changed. The old oak trees drew closer to the path, the moss grew thicker on the rocks, and a faint melody could be heard, like a harp played by the wind. As the path curved around a large rock, a small spring revealed itself, with a crystalline pool of water, no larger than a mill-pond, but inside it—floating there, among the water-lilies and fallen leaves—a young man with long dark hair, pale as death and with ink-black drawings on his arms visible through his fine linen shirt-sleeves.

Now Stefan Ivanovich was no stranger to water, for he had learned to swim in the wide river, and he dove in straightaway to save the young man from drowning. The pond was deeper than he had first thought, and the water was colder than the first breath of winter, but Stefan Ivanovich was sure of himself in the way of those who have never known real danger, and before long, both he and the young man were safely back on the forest floor. The young man coughed and spat and said—

"Thank you, Stefan Ivanovich."

And at this, Stefan Ivanovich forgot what he had intended to ask—which was how the young man came to be in the pond in the first place—and said instead, "How do you know who I am?"

"Everyone knows who you are."

“That may be so, but I do not know you.”

The young man smiled, soft as springtime and sweet as honey. “My name is Eddie.”

“There is no one by that name in the village.”

“And you know much of the village, Stefan Ivanovich?” Eddie pointed, not to the path that led out of the forest, but to the pond, and said, “Look there, and you will see how much you know.”

—The Tale of Stefan Ivanovich

*

“Another.”

Stellan sizes up the man at the bar before refilling the mug. It’s late and the rain outside shows no signs of stopping. The couple lingering at the weatherbeaten table in the center of the room lean in toward each other, the woman laughing at some private joke as she brushes a bit of strawberry blonde hair away from her face. Soft lute music comes from the far corner, where the shadowy figure who’s playing now has been nursing the same drink all night. But this man is the only other customer left inside the Hawk-in-Loch this evening. His hands are steady, though, and he looks at Stellan askance.

“Coming right up.”

He sets the full mug back down in front of the man and resumes wiping down the bar, but when he reaches the end, he stops and looks more closely at the customer in the corner, who’s playing the final notes of their song. They’re some distance away, and the lanterns do need to be cleaned, but it’s clear that the customer’s skin is a deep red. And it looks like…yes, those are horns on their head, black and curved and gracefully pointed.

Stellan’s heard of tieflings, of course, but it’s somewhat of a surprise to have one walk into the Hawk-in-Loch and spend the night playing the lute at the corner table.

—Show Some Initiative

*

Steve gave Nora one last pat and closed her stall door. He left the barn and walked alongside the corral. Eddie was inside, along with the tall black stallion they called Judas, for the way the horse could turn traitor in an instant. Eddie’s uncle, Captain Munson, lean and weathered like the fence rail on which his forearms rested, did not speak as Steve stopped next to him. The horse’s nostrils flared as Eddie approached, each regarding the other with cool suspicion. Steve was unconcerned, though, for he knew that Eddie had a way with animals of all shapes and sizes.

"How's he coming along?" Steve said.

"Your boy or the horse?" Captain Munson said. "Neither one's broke yet."

The brim of Captain Munson’s hat did not move, but Steve could tell that he was no longer watching Eddie and the horse. He was watching Steve, judging the effect of his words. Watching without appearing to watch was a useful technique in Captain Munson’s formidable arsenal. Steve wondered if Captain Munson had picked it up during his time with the Rangers and if it could be taught to someone who lacked that particular experience.

—A Change in Management

*

Steve gets to his feet to face the source of the voice. Another black-clad figure, helmeted and painted like the others. This one’s design, now that he can see more clearly, is a massive horned demon’s head, tongue lolling, fangs dripping. “Look, I’ll give you whatever you want, just let the rest of them go—”

“You honestly think I’m going to kill them?” 

“I don’t know who the hell you are!”

“And who the hell are you?”

By now Steve has gone from fear to fury. “I’m Steve Harrington, the captain of this ship, and you—you are—are a—”

But when the demon takes off its helmet, he’s stunned into silence. For a moment Steve doesn’t believe it, because that fall of dark hair, those deep brown eyes, and that otherworldly pallor are like something dredged up from his subconscious. But it is none other than Eddie Munson, in the flesh, standing before him.

“Who am I, Steve?” Eddie says, quietly, in his real voice.

—Unavoidable

*

“You ever think…” Eddie trails off. Steve looks out at the trees beyond the fence, bare branches against the cloudless sky. The haze is turning golden as the light changes.

“Think what?”

“If there’s anything else.”

“What do you mean, ‘anything else’?” Steve tilts his head ever so slightly to look at Eddie, out of the corner of his eye. “You and I both know there’s something else.”

“I don’t mean that,” Eddie says, “and I don’t mean that either,” and he points up at the sky. “What if…” A prolonged inhale. “There’s a world somewhere out there where we won?”

“Like a different dimension?”

“Yeah, I guess.” Eddie exhales and it sounds like a sigh. “Or maybe a world where none of this happened at all.”

—Going Dark

Read more on November 17!

[talonabraxas]

🔹The Sirians🔹 Talon Abraxas

Uncovering Your Cosmic Origins: Traits, Gifts & Soul Mission of Sirian Starseeds on Earth

The Sirius Star System: Home of Sirian Starseeds

Sirius binary star system located approximately 8.7 light years from Earth in the Canis Major constellation. Comprises Sirius A, the brightest star visible in the night sky, and a smaller white dwarf Sirius B orbiting Sirius A. Sirius B was once a larger, brighter star than Sirius A in the distant past before evolving into a white dwarf.

Sirius is known by many names in ancient Earth cultures including “Dog Star” and “Nile Star.” Egyptians based the calendar on Sirius helical rising coinciding with the Nile annual flooding. Marked winter season for Polynesians and chronicled in ancient Vedic scriptures.

Sirius A believed inhabited by highly advanced spiritual beings focused on overseeing the ascension of the Sirius system itself. Sirius B original home of Sirian starseeds before the system underwent cosmic evolution. Sirians from advanced water planets were forced to evacuate when Sirius B transformed from a gaseous state into a white dwarf star. Although the home world forever changed, spiritual wisdom and technologies survived to pass down ensuing generations.

The Soul Mission of Sirian Starseeds on Earth

What drives Sirians to voluntarily incarnate on Earth again and again even when the planet is still so chaotic and dense? Each starseed has an overarching mission guiding its incarnations, though the specifics will vary. Here are some of the core objectives behind the Sirian Starseed soul contracts:

Activate higher dimensional portals and light grids on Earth’s power points and sacred sites. Sirians are encoded with advanced sacred geometrical information and wisdom from Atlantis which can energize and stabilize the crystalline grid now rising.

Anchor light and frequency through their energy field and presence. By simply existing in a high vibration of love, gratitude, and inner peace, they raise the resonance of their environment and touch all souls they contact.

Awaken humanity to its true origins, unlimited potential, and purpose for being here now. Sirians remind us of our divine nature and push us to expand our limited beliefs.

Prepare humanity for open contact with the galactic community of benevolent interstellar civilizations. Sirians educate people on ETs and bridge the gap between human and cosmic perspectives.

Teach advanced technology and innovation to be responsibly integrated for the planet’s greater good. As technically skilled as they are spiritually adept, Sirians guide how humanity can evolve through technology without misusing it.

Be spiritual teachers, healers, and leaders who reveal higher truths and inspire people to live in harmony, peace, and unity. Their wisdom and grace touch people’s hearts.

Protect and speak up for the vulnerable, oppressed, excluded, or environment. Sirians act from a place of selfless compassion that honors all life.

Help shift humanity out of duality consciousness, fear-based programming, and rigid belief systems by embodying Unconditional Love and unity consciousness.

As multidimensional light beings, Sirians work on many levels and domains to uplift humanity’s understanding and play a pivotal role at this incredible time in our planet’s ascension process.